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CHAPTER 3
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Rarely do we get second chances. One does well not to waste them.
— A regretful philosopher
Alex awoke in his bed, heart pounding. Sunlight streamed through the window, and for a moment, he thought it had all been a dream. Then he rubbed his eyes and muttered:
“Fuck.”
What the hell happened? Alex looked at his hands, his plain clothes—and where did that pointlessly long cloak go?
Getting out of bed, he surveyed his room. The cabin was the same one he’d lived in for the last hundred years. After Aunt Sherry’s "accident," it had made sense to get away. So... was all of that just a dream?
Alex flopped back onto the bed with a groan. Becoming King of the Milky Way? What a ridiculous notion. There are at least fifty inheritors ahead of me before I need to worry about that.
He sighed again. It must be Grandpa Chuck’s death getting to me. He was always my favorite—well, among what’s left.
No one knew why the royal family of the galaxy lived such short lives, though theories abounded. Most suspected the cabinet was behind it, finally tiring of the monarchy’s increasingly powerless and short-lived rulers.
Shaking off the thought, Alex rose and dressed in something far more reasonable than royal regalia. Entering the study, he let his gaze wander over the simple furniture and quiet charm of his cabin.
Back in the day, he’d served as an imperial governor for some distant outer districts. But as the royal family shrank with each bizarrely tragic death, he’d opted for an early vacation—just a hundred years or so. Lying low hadn’t done much good.
No, that was only a dream. It must have been.
The air here was fresher than the palace’s artificial atmosphere, and Alex relished it. The less extravagant detailing I see, the better.
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Boiling water on the stove, Alex prepared a mug for tea the old-fashioned way. Not every task needs to be magicked away with technology. Sometimes it’s nice to enjoy the little things.
He placed an Earl Grey bag in his cup and poured the water carefully, holding the tab to keep it from slipping into the swirling vortex.
Mug in hand, Alex stepped outside to his porch, the forest around his cabin buzzing with life. Settling into a chair, he inhaled deeply.
Even if I was next in line, how would they find me? Alex thought. I have the highest cybersecurity available, no implants, no traceable tech. Worrying over a bad dream is pointless.
He brought the mug to his face, savoring the tea’s deep, aromatic scent. Perhaps next time I’ll try a London Fog—milk and sugar could be a nice change. Despite millennia since Earth’s departure, Alex appreciated that humanity had held on to some traditions.
He sat there for hours, sipping his tea and basking in the sounds of nature.
If I’m next in line, they’ll arrive soon. Alex sighed. Hopefully, that dream stays a dream. Even without that… voice… I was screwed the moment I sat on the throne.
When the last sip of tea had cooled to lukewarm, Alex stretched and cracked his neck.
Who am I kidding? That wasn’t a dream. He chuckled darkly. There weren’t any advertisements.
Rising from his chair, Alex stretched again and combed his hair.
I don’t know how I’ve been given a second chance, but I won’t waste it on denial. If things go the same way, they’ll be here any minute—with Gashon leading the charge.
He’d learned the truth last time: every member of the royal family had a chip implanted at birth to track their location. No one was free, and the galaxy’s reach left nowhere to run.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the Imperial X450 entered the atmosphere—a majestic medley of metal and propulsion. Alex watched as a landing vessel detached from the hangar and descended toward his cabin.
“That should be them.”
Alex grinned, a spark of mischief lighting his face.
No reason to play it safe this time. I’m unlikely to survive long anyway. Might as well have some fun with it.
As the landing craft touched down, Alex lifted his hand in a universal gesture of defiance.
He flipped them off.