It was a long and painful night for Tassia, she had only been only able to function through sheer adrenalin, which had kept her mind preoccupied from the overwhelming tiredness that threatened her body. There had only been one time prior that Tess had ever felt so vulnerable, and exhausted. But that was a memory that she would rather never have to live out again.

However, Tess was a seasoned bushman – by necessity rather than any actual willingness, so despite the uncomfortable sleeping conditions she was in, it was still enough for her to sleep relatively soundly.

It was only when she awoke, that Tess began lamenting her lack of sleeping preparations during the night. No fire, no cleared area, she hadn’t even cast an alarm spell of any kind, it was like she was begging to be assaulted in the night. Though looking back on Anna’s memories, it seemed as though Demons no longer lurked every corner of the night like they had during Tess’s time, which was a solace of some kind.

As Tess scratched of the dirt, grass, and morning dew that clung to her skin, she had a realisation that beyond a rough estimation of her height, she had literally no idea how the current her looked like. Though Tess was never particularly fond of how she looked, nor how she presented herself, the curiosity was biting her… Or that might just be the insects that crawled upon her during the night, but that was irrelevant.

Besides, it was only a first level slot, so it wasn’t too much of a waste to spend it on her own vanity, right?

It hurt her that she didn’t have her spell book with her, if she did, she wouldn’t need to worry about mere first level spells.

The next ten seconds went excruciatingly slow for Tess, before eventually she caved.

“Silent Image” Tess waved her hands in front of her.

Invisible mists weaved around her, as eventually a figure took form before her.

The women, no girl, in front of her, she instinctively realised was around 2 and a half cubits in height. Which was a depressing shrinkage of her almost 4 cubits in height of her previous life.

A mane made of strawberry-blonde fluffy hair exploded out from the forming figures head, stretching all the way down towards her legs, conveniently covering her breasts, and other more important parts.

‘Had mother called her Lady Godgifu?’

Her eyes were a sapphire blue, and she was nearly as pale as snow.

Were it not for one other thing about Anna, Tess would’ve found her to be an attractive young woman.

That was, Anna’s ribs seemed to be unhealthily jutting out from her body, and her arms were skinny beyond belief. This was not the body of a healthy 16-something year old.

No, Anastasia was likely starved, and thereby had become severely malnourished. Were it not for the supernatural constitution that Wizards provided their bodies, Tess didn’t believe that she would’ve been able to escape the cellar during the night.

It was sadly not a new situation to Tess. No, she had seen various children starved beyond belief, refugees who were forced to resort to cannibalism, even those who ate dirt to try and survive. It was the only thing that would ever make Tess regret being a Wizard, was the fact that she wasn’t able to provide them the help they needed. She was only glad that Alvrik, was able to magically create food for the hungry.

Yet even then, as they had wandered the old-world, they still encountered the Pigs, known as “Nobility”, it made her disgusted whenever she saw some inbred fool who only knew how to gorge themselves fat, whilst their people suffered in pain.

Maybe…

Maybe if she had never met Issandar, she would’ve never helped the Mortal World?

It was a strange thing to think about, especially since near two-decades of her life was spent wandering the vast plains, and forests; jungles, and marshes; deserts and mountains.

Regardless, seeing Anna’s current body, Tess couldn’t help but imagine that there was fowl play involved, especially if Anastasia was a first born as Tess recalled.

Premonitions were often times accurate whenever it concerned a wizard, as they read the Weave that made up the world, so they couldn’t help but have accurate feelings even if they didn’t want to.

And this certainly was a time that Tess didn’t want to have one.

Tess let out a deep sigh. For nearly three decades of her previous life, had she been exempt from the exhausting politics that made up nobility, and classism, now it seemed whoever had inserted her mind into poor Anna, had a different thought in mind.

With a wave of her hand, the Silent Image shattered back into the aether.

Tess was left alone once more, there was only the wind, which played softly with her hair.

‘This isn’t good’

If Tess didn’t keep her mind occupied, she might start remembering her past once more, and that would only make her sad.

Reaching out her hand, she started making a weaving motion, “Fabricate”, she spoke softly.

The wind, which was once caressing her, now started circling around her, picking up any leaves, twigs, and grass in the vicinity, and gently depositing them in Tess’s hair.

It was a trick that she picked up, whenever she walked whilst casting a spell.

Surrounding her was nothing but trees, and shrub land for as far as her eyes could see.

Only the nearby cellar gave any indication of their being life here.

Even the birds which normally chirped outrageously seemed to stay unnaturally silent. Regardless, it didn’t matter whether bird songs were being sung in her ears or not.

So, she started walking.

The winds whispered quietly, as the worked to create an item for Tess.

Flapping wings of Birds echoed from the distance and rustling of small rodents.

It was actually nice.

There were no infernal screeches in the distance, nor any ever-present pitch smog.

No low rumbles of Dragon fight.

Nor marching drums of war.

It was actually a world of peace. One which Tassia and her companions had long fought for.

But why did she not remember anything?

It was painful, she knew she had nearly sixty collective years of memory, and she could perfectly recite every single Arcane spell. But for some reason, it was just simply not there.

It was probably not some memory editing spell, seeing as she had quite literally reincarnated. Maybe it was a side effect of it?

But she knew that her memories, even if they were complete, ended at standing before the Demon Lord’s castle.

Unlike the rest of her hard to remember memories, her waking up felt more like opening a door and walking through it, as opposed to looking through a series of shattered windows.

So, for the next few minutes, Tess walked in silence thinking about various topics, mathematics, how this tree looked odd, or the linguistic humour of Anna’s name.

Finally, she felt that the spell she was working on had finished. Reaching up to tap her head she felt something there now, unlike the leaves and twigs which were sticking inside. Picking it up and bringing it before her.

A beautifully crafted witches’ hat was before her. Even its texture felt completely unlike the Grass and leaves that it was made from. A level four spell would produce brilliant results, regardless of what the material was.

Yep, a level four spell. Unlike all the previous times, her heart didn’t ache from using this spell. Making this hat could never be considered a waste. Although it wasn’t inherently magical, objects such as these were beyond powerful in the hands of an Arcane caster.

Unlike Divine, and Primal casters, Arcane casters only required something they were familiar with, in order to use their spells freely.

She didn’t need to desperately conserve her lower-level spells anymore.

Touching her hat, she spoke with a slight smile “Fly”

Spells like this would no longer require obscure materials that were often required by high level spells, so she could be a bit more wasteful…

Her legs hurting from walking for over ten minutes, had absolutely nothing to do with it…

Floating in the sky, she couldn’t help but look around for a very particular object.

Which didn’t take to long to find, grabbing a loose branch, which was slightly above her height, she quickly cast ‘Prestidigitation’ on it, to clean it of its dirt and grime, and any loose insects that might’ve been crawling along it.

Bringing it between her legs, a smile touched her face.

“Kyahaha” A soft cackle left her mouth.

It was just like the stories that Mother had read her when she was younger. Although she was not particularly fond of seducing men, she did enjoy tales of witchcraft, and pact-making with ancient fiends. As such, it was almost irresistible for her to take the opportunity.

Although she had once owned a proper Witches’ broom, it was frustratingly locked away within her Bag of Holding, that she clearly no longer had.

‘How lamentable’

Although it was not difficult for her to fashion a new one from scratch, the issue lied in getting the funds and having the time necessary to actually create it.

It was an issue that plagued all the wizards of her generation, flare versus utility. Whilst Tess firmly found herself in the latter category, it wasn’t as though she could forsake flare entirely, it was something that was etched deeply into her blood. Even the most hard-line wizard didn’t become one because of how much they loved studying, no at first everyone wanted to fly around and reign fireballs down on their enemies.

It was a simpler time.

…

However, that time had passed her.

She flew on in silence.

Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you view it, it didn’t take long for her to find something that was definitely not normal.

It was a clearing. Nearly 20 Cubits in width, it stretched into the horizon of either side of her.

Raising up her caution, Tess lowered herself towards the ground, hovering only a mere foot above it, careful not to go over, nor touch whatever it was that was within this clearing.

Numerous, tiny runes decorated the ground. Naturally, it wasn’t made from something like powder or blood, as that would’ve only been eroded by the winds of time. Instead, it was a method that Tess was quite familiar with, if only for its extravagance, and having been encountered only once in her past.

Back then, the Demon Lord’s castle was surrounded by a titanic antimagic field.

It was why, even with the whole world against them, Demon kind was able to continuously oppress human civilisation, without regard for their head being cut off by an elite force.

It was only after dozens of foolish mages had fallen victim to it, that humanity had realised that assassinating the Demon Lord was an impossibility.

Eventually Issandar and his party had come across the runes which produced the antimagic. Deep within the ground, at some point, Demon kind had created complex runes in the ground, and then poured in molten adamantine, causing a terrifyingly large and expensive magic circle.

Of course, Tess doubted that anyone other than the Demon Lord was capable of using adamantine for the runes, it was likely that they were at most silver. It lacked the distinctive hue that an adamantine creation would have.

Regardless of whatever this was, it definitely wasn’t producing an antimagic field. Seeing as she was still floating in the air.

Using the branch in her hand, she gently started to move it above the circle. Nothing immediately happened, which only made her more nervous. She continued by prodding the circle, and again nothing was happening.

Seeing that her flight was going to run out soon, she gently lowered herself to the ground, dispersing her concentration of the spell, before she brought a hand up to her breast, and the other touched her hand.

“False Life”

She spoke, as she pushed down her hand where her heart was. An unusual sensation overcame her entire body, listening to her own heartbeat, it felt as if it beat twice, one only half a second after the other.

And she took a step onto the circle.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

The sensation was indescribable.

She held her breath instinctively, as though her head was shoved into water. But she could still breath. Her movements were half-slowed, and she felt less weight than usual.

It was as though she was underwater, yet her movements were unrestricted.

Just a heavy, and oppressive weight was pushing down on her very existence.

However, her façade of life had not crumbled yet, so she felt confident in continuing forward, although her mind was focused on the scene behind her, ready to cast a Teleportation spell, if the façade did fall.

With each step, the dissonance of her mind and her body was only increasing, as she started squinting, wading through the air. But every wade she took it only caused her to stumble. She felt taller than before, weightless, and powerful.

She had returned to right before she had entered the Demon Lord’s castle. Numerous black dragons, their forms bastardised from the corruption of demonic energies, were shackled to the ground, forced to bow to their new master. Demons were laid slain around them, forced to battle their undead comrades. The antimagic field was broken, and the righteous fury of the ascended and angels bore down on the ashen lands.

It was a terrifying sight, and the original four comrades were the only ones who could push onwards into the near-dead castle.

The door had opened, a horrific screech, the comrades stood in anticipation, Alvrik had his bow taught, Issandar wielding his great-sword, Mari spoke in a low and continuous hum of prayers. Tassia herself pulled her scarf over her mouth.

She felt anxious.

It wasn’t anxiety from facing the “Final Boss”.

Tess couldn’t describe the anxiety.

However as quickly as the vivid memory had come, she returned back into the body of Anastasia.

She now stood on the other side of the magic circle, surrounded by figures in blackened-red robes.

The power of Warlock-pact radiated off of them. The smell of Demon clung to them. She scrounged up her nose, as she realised.

The trash needed to be thrown out.

There were five figures, all of them were far too weak to pose any real threat to her. There were two of the worshipers on both sides of her, all four had their staves in a readied position, probably ready to cast any spell which their leaders, the singular figure before her, command.

After five seconds, Tess realised that none of the figures were really moving, they stood as still as statues, with only their eyes darting to each other, and vaguely mouthing something.

Tess realised instantly that they were communicating with each other using the ‘Message’ cantrip, the most basic of coordination spells.

Raising her hand to her hat, she spoke softly to the figure who seemed to be in charge.

“Friends,” The spell was cast successfully, “Might I ask your names?”

“I am, Katharine, oh esteemed one” The leading person, Katharine, spoke almost subconsciously.

“Esteemed one?”

“Yes, esteemed one, we are your humble servant!” Katharine spoke with a strange piety.

“Mine? Anastasia?”

“No, you who occupies those lowly mortals form!” Katharine yelled out her eyes took a strange appearance.

The figures who were surrounding Tess, started to exchange more glances with each other, they spoke far more quickly, likely in a panic over their leader’s sudden change in actions.

“What do you know of my occupation of this girl?”

“We are the ones who offered you this child, mighty esteemed one. The ancient pact has been fulfilled!” Katharine finally took a step back, and got on her knees, her eyes signalled for the others in her party to do the same.

Tess likely was only able to ask one more question, before Katharine figured out what she was doing, so she asked:

“Say my name, and your mission is fulfilled”, it was easier to play along with whatever the raving lunatics said.

“Oh, I dare not!”

“Speak!” Tess yelled out.

“Lord Gallu Mar, the True Dragon-Wizard!”

‘The fuck was a Mar?’

With that thought, clarity filled Katharine’s eyes, as she realised what had happened. Her mind had been corrupted to become a ‘Friend’, she had been filled with artificial piety and reverence. Now only hatred filled her mind, she loathed the figure before her, just as she was going to call out to her comrades so that they could attack.

“Die” Tess spoke out, and an explosion of violent thunder, exploded with Tess in the middle. Instantly the cultists around her had blood explode from out of their ears. Before a second passed, and they collapsed to the ground.

Even a cantrip, when cast by someone of sufficient level, was capable of being fatal to even an intermediate warrior.

All five figures had become brain-dead without even being capable of processing what had happened.

It was sadly the major issue of cantrips like ‘Friends’, regardless of what their attitude would’ve been, only resentment and hatred would fill their mind whenever they thought of the caster. Tess had never thought of sparing demon worshiping scum, so they would’ve ended up dead, regardless of how good their answers had been.

Demon kind had brought the world to the bring of destruction, and she could never forgive them for it, no matter how many millennia would pass.

Now she had a target in mind.

Whatever the fuck a Bakru was, and why people were trying to revive them.

Though, as she exited the giant magic circle, some memories of Anastasia’s life had returned to her, and Tess now knew the direction towards Anastasia’s domain.

But before all that,

Necrotic energies gathered at the fingertips of Tess, bringing one hand up to her hat, and the other waving across the corpses, a sudden low growl came across three of the corpses.

Slowly they stood themselves up.

Using the corpses of three of the cultists, Tess had turned them into the lowest tier of undead, Zombies, a foe that beginner warriors are more than capable of slaying. However, fighting wasn’t the purpose of these corpses.

Instead, Tess walked up the closest zombie, who knelt down, allowing Tess to climb onto its shoulders.

Looking at the other two zombies, she mentally commanded them to pick up the corpses of Katharine, and the last unnamed cultist.

As all the zombies were carrying their respective corpses, and Tess herself, she commanded them forward towards Castle Voyant.

Tess needed information, and the dead could not disobey.

----------------------------------------

Augustus-Frederick Ladislaw-Francis Otto-Karl Julian III Alexander von Alpert-Hohen af Ligura-Ravskogen d’Leonherz, King d’Oc Akes, prince of Mekduna, Palatine of the Eastern Marches, Warden of the Northlands, Grand-Duke Lawren, and heir of the Lion Throne.

Or as his friends call him, Imperial Prince Julian.

Julian was however exhausted, despite him having done nothing to earn his numerous titles, as the heir of the Lion Throne he had granted them regardless, along with all the “privileges” it ensued. Not even eighteen summers of age, and he had no time to himself. Whom-so-ever thought that being a Prince meant endless luxury, and debauchery was entirely wrong. Well to a degree, but Julian had been raised with a strict discipline thanks to the expectations put upon him by his Great-Grandfather.

Imperator Alexander XVII Julian, former King of the Lion Throne, and the greatest ruler seen in the past century. It was thanks to that, that the current King of the Lion Throne had named his first-born child after him, and had all the expectations that that entailed, weighing down on the child’s shoulders.

From day one of Julian’s life, he had been surrounded by tutors, nobles, politics, and court-life. It was tiring.

But what made it worse, was the fact that the current king could not even hold a candle to his own son.

It felt that everything Imperator Louis VIII Francis, King of the Lion Throne, was designed to undo the absolutist rule held by Alexander XVII Julian, and his own son. Just to make Julian’s own life, and future rule, miserable.

It certainly didn’t help that thanks to the rapid boom of industry, that the Lion Throne’s strength had become a façade. It was old fashioned, and could only hold on, thanks to the prestige of its few great rulers. Merchants were the ones who held onto the true power of the Empire, Money, and People.

Which is what brought Julian to his woes of this day.

They were two letters written by Julian’s father. Which any lesser man might believe they were merely friendly correspondence between a father and his son. No, instead they were Imperial orders.

The first one, was substantially less concerning than the second.

But it didn’t make it any easier to read.

‘King Julian III Akes, we are here to congratulate your engagement to the honourable Duchess Simone de Chatres.”

There were only two lines, and a wax stamp at the bottom.

They made Julian only feel worse.

Julian was never one who cared for marrying, or true love or believed in any of those fairy-tale stories. Instead, Julian recognised that he was likely going to be married of for the sake of empowering the ever-weakening might of the Lion Throne.

However, his father couldn’t even do that right.

Grand-Duke, Eugene de Chatres. The current Prime-Minister, and right hand of the Lion Throne, and also a member of the nobility faction. Julian could never understand what possessed his father to make him into the strongest figure of the whole Empire, second only to his father himself.

Now suddenly, the next King of the Lion Throne, had been married into the Noble faction, whilst it a smart move if the Lion Throne had wanted power, money or even to maintain the bloodline, as Nobles had all that. It was instead an issue politically, as the Nobility had always been the ones who want to weaken the power of the Imperator and strengthen their own. This was even more frustrating as the Noble faction had been on the constant decline, with the rise of Merchants, and even ideas of nationalism which was slowly spreading throughout the empire.

The next letter was far more exhausting in length, but it detailed how little Imperator Louis VIII Francis understood how to play the political game. It was proposal of Duke Friedrich II van Lehrberg, a man of the progressive’s faction, which was to make it such that the commoners, and especially the merchant’s children, would be granted permission to attend the Royal Academia. Alongside this there was a secondary proposal, this time created by Chancellor Ludwig von Uthburg, a militant figure for the soldier’s faction, which would force Prince Julian, and his siblings to also attend the Royal Academia.

Julian rubbed his temples.

It seemed that Julian would never live to be the Imperator, his father was beset on all sides by the various factions of the empire to continuously weaken his position, and grant power to various castes.

One might wonder where a centralisation, or royalty faction was. Well, there existed both, however the centralisation faction was made up of the weaker viceroyalties who often times would not be able to create enough of a powerbase within one lifetime, before it returned to the crown. Which then in turn turned into expenditures of the Royalty faction.

The Royalty faction was made up mainly of the Kings and Princes, similar to Julian himself, however they were selfish and greedy, they paid few taxes thanks to their privileges, and would demand pay from the Lion Throne, so they could keep up their exorbitant lifestyles.

It was truly a wonder why the Empire hadn’t collapsed already…

Well, it already had, there were many across the empire, especially in the Far North, and South, who had declared their independence, only a handful of them were left, along with Julian’s own Kingdom d’Oc.

Of course, the empire refused to acknowledge most of their declarations of independence, but could not do much about it, especially since the independence factions were propped up by the states outside the Imperial Basin of the Eastern World.

It was all a mess, and Julian was half tempted to bail on the empire just like many of the other kings during his grandfather and father’s reign.

But alas his sense of duty and pride outweighed his want to leave. He was still a young man after all, so he had plenty of time to attempt to reform the Empire. Maybe he could even attempt to form a faction within the Royal Academia, in order to gather a power base which was loyal to him, even if he never truly inherited the Lion Throne?

It was all wishful thinking.

Not that he’d even met the Duchess de Chatres, so he couldn’t guess how useful she would be as a political tool. Maybe if he tried looking optimistically, something good would come up?

These thoughts of optimism were quickly shattered.

A knocking came from the door,

“Come in.” Julian tried to look happy in front of his visitor. However, his half-placated smile would’ve crumbled instantly, if he hadn’t had better control of his facial expressions.

It was a young man of similar age to Julian.

“Your Majesty, King d’Oc” The young man bowed deeply, his voice was like a silken song, soft and harmonic.

The young man nodded his head up, to stare directly at Julian, his eyes were a piercing coal, a twinge of blue within an abyss, which seemed to look right through Julian.

The young main took a step forward, and raised himself straight, his posture was like that of a well-disciplined soldier.

His long-black hair was glittering an ashen grey, in the oil-light, short all around his head, with a long ponytail tied up at his back, which reached all the way down to his waste.

“This one is here to inquire of you, a question”, the man continued, unperturbed of Julian’s own scrutinising gaze.

This man before Julian was Auguste-Charles de Renard, Heir to the throne of Foxes. A noble man who could make even the most hard-hearted women swoon with a single glance, competent beyond belief, and one of the most powerful bachelors of the empire.

“We shall hear your inquisition.” Julian spoke.

“This one has been informed that his majesty shall be attending the Academia within the spring. This one would inquire upon his majesties escort.”

“We are not assigned an escort.”

“Then this humble servant of his majesty shall further inquire, should his majesty be willing to accept this lowly one as his majesties escort towards the capital within the coming week?”

Julian hesitated for a second, and then two. Before a full ten seconds had passed.

“Very well” Julian sighed, unable to come up with a solid reason to deny Charles’ request “We shall permit your escort of our journey.”

“This humble servant is ecstatic” Charles’ face had not shifted once during this conversation “This one shall be preparing, such that his majesty shall not be disappointed”

He bowed once more, before exiting the room, leaving Julian alone in his thoughts once more.

Auguste-Charles de Renard, or simply Charles de Renard. His father, Louis-Auguste de Renard, the previous Prince of the Throne of Foxes, had died when Charles was young, which had enabled Charles to utilise the de facto power of the Throne of Foxes, without the consequences that a true Prince would bring. Charles de Renard was known to the nobility of the kingdom d’Oc, as the black-hearted tyrant.

He seized land without reason, beyond his Imperial right, as the Regent of the Throne of Foxes, he would seize wealth from all those who broke imperial law, without worry for retribution, nor had he cared for the traditions which were not law, that the Nobility worshipped so very much.

In short, in only 9 winters, he had taken the already powerful Throne of Foxes, and made it completely uncontested under the King d’Oc. Even the nobility from other regions were careful when it came to his dealings.

He was also the number one headache for Julian’s two years as the King d’Oc. As numerous petitions, and complaints from the lesser nobilities about the actions of Charles, was what made up the majority of his paperwork. Which he could do little about, as by technicality Charles wasn’t breaking any Imperial laws, nor had he done anything which could be considered treason. Instead, he had always been courteous to the Monarchy, but heartless to the nobility. He would’ve been an ideal member for the Centralisation faction, as the Lion Throne certainly could use the Throne of Foxes support once more. However, Charles had been distinctly neutral up unto this point. He had never made any marriage proposals, nor had he made any official alliances with any factions.

He was equally hostile with everyone, he took money from the Merchants, he had his own military, he seized land from the nobles, and only performed the bare minimum to not be convicted for treason by the state.

Along with this, there was the fact that he refused all marriage proposals that came his way. Without question, even those from the other Royalists were rejected. Which would’ve been fine if it ended at that, but when Julian became King d’Oc, he had become a sort of matchmaker according to the many houses, where they were attempting to have Julian introduce their daughters to Charles. Of course, for a not-so-small fee.

Of course, if he took the money, and failed the matchmaking, he would bear the consequences, which was not something Julian could do at the moment.

It was all a constant headache, one after the other, Julian could only lament on how things had reached this headache inducing point.

Standing up, he lightly rung a bell that was to the side of his desk.

He proceeded to turn around, and pull open a pair of giant curtains, which blocked the sunlight.

Squinting slightly as the room became far brighter, than what it was for the past few hours.

A slight cracking sound echoed, coming from his back, as he stretched his arms.

Behind him the door opened, turning around he held out his hand expectantly.

A cup of tea was carefully placed in it by a butler.

Several maids ran around, putting out the oil lamps, and cleaned up the various papers.

Turning back around he held his tea, and pushed opened the window-door, and stepped onto a balcony.

The sunlight was gradually retreating behind the mountains in the distance.

It was the very same sunset that he had fallen asleep to back at the Lions Throne.

It had been two years since he was sent to the Palace d’Oc, to serve as its king.

“Learning how to rule” was what it was called, The first Three children of the Lion Throne, were granted one Kingdom each once they reached age. The Kingdom d’Oc, Kingdom d’Oui, and Kingdom d’Och.

Until now, the titles had been entirely titular, where even Julian’s father, the former King d’Oui, had lived at the Lion’s Throne, until he ascended the throne.

But for some reason, Julian, his younger brother, and sister had each been given a title, and sent of to their respective Palaces. Julian could only pray silently in his heart that his siblings had been given a competent regent, as they were two and five years younger than him, respectively.

Looking down, Julian saw the various gardeners working about, ensuring that the garden of the Palace d’Oc was as well maintained as possible. Various maids and butlers were rushing about, even at night, the life of the palace would continue.

Julian took a sip of his tea, frowning slightly, realising that he had left it for so long, that it went cold.

A shiver suddenly went down Julian’s back.

He instinctively looked west, away from the sunset.

He took a few steps back into the Palace.

Placing down his tea, he continued walking westwards throughout the Palace.

Eventually he came across another balcony.

The moon was rising.

‘What had…’

Julian started to think. Suddenly the sky had seemed to disappear.

A blackened void was all that hung above him.

His entire body felt submerged in liquid, as a rising heat overcame him.

The outside was cold. Maybe he could find a torch. After all he was only allowed to explode.

There was a blade in his hands, and his hair burned like the sun itself.

Tears fell down his eyes, what did it mean?

A warm embrace came across him. It was his wife.

After all, it had become a forest of tombs.

But why was the train chugging?

So, he did the only thing he could do.

It was time he learned how to rest, after all 3155695197 was a big number.

8.

9.

3155695200.

Then the void had left.

The moon kept climbing upwards.

Voices of concern echoed.

Julian could only blink a few times.

Everything returned to how it was.

But everything was a millimetre too far left.