I sat cross-legged on my bed, the glow of my laptop painting my face in soft blues and whites. Around me lay the remnants of another ordinary day: an open novel on the sheets, my phone buzzing with notifications I barely glanced at. My eyes drifted to the calendar.
It was my birthday.
Nineteen years old, and yet it felt like nothing had changed.
I scrolled through the endless feed of other people's lives, and the familiar hollow weight settled in my chest. Everyone seemed to know their purpose, their direction. Everyone except me. I felt like a ghost wandering through the world, a spectator to life rather than a participant. With a quiet sigh, I tossed the phone aside.
I turned toward the window. The city hummed below, indifferent and alive. People moved with intent, going somewhere, doing something that mattered. I envied them.
My gaze shifted to the small statue of Buddha on the wall. It stood there in silence, peaceful and unmoving. I closed my eyes, letting the quiet stretch, letting the noise of the world fade.
And then darkness came.
At first, it felt as if the lights had simply gone out. But the darkness deepened, growing heavier, thicker. It swallowed sound, sight, even the sensation of my own body. I tried to move. To breathe. To call out.
There was nothing.
No air.
No gravity.
No time.
Just the void.
And then light.
My first sensation was light.
Golden. Oppressive. Brighter than anything I had ever seen.
It felt wrong, too heavy, too real, nothing like the gentle emptiness I had just left behind. I blinked against it, my vision swimming as sunlight poured through towering stained-glass windows. The air was thick with incense, heat, and something old. Something sacred. My chest tightened. The walls seemed too tall, the space too vast, as if the world itself were pressing inward.
Then sound struck me.
Choirs sang. Trumpets blared. A roar of noise thundered beyond massive doors, growing louder with every heartbeat.
And then I felt it.
Metal.
Heavy. Unyielding. Pressing down on my head. Not just weight, but presence. It felt heavier than my own existence.
Panic surged.
"W-where am I?" I whispered.
The sound startled me.
It was not my voice.
The words came out in a language I did not understand, smooth and authoritative, completely unfamiliar. My breath caught as I raised my hands.
They were not mine.
Long fingers. Strong. Covered in pristine white gloves, stiff and immaculate. I flexed them slowly, watching the movement as if they belonged to someone else.
"What… that's not my hands."
Unfamiliar, yet impossibly my own.
Heavy robes draped over my shoulders, brushing against my skin as I moved. The fabric rustled softly, like wings shifting in the air.
This was not a dream.
The massive doors swung open.
A wave of sound crashed into the hall.
The crowd erupted, hundreds, maybe thousands of voices merging into one deafening cheer. Cameras flashed, bursts of white light blinding me as they captured every movement, every breath.
"Long live the King!"
My stomach lurched.
King?
The noise fell away in an instant, replaced by a silence so sudden it felt unreal. The crowd stilled, as if the entire world had stopped breathing.
A voice spoke behind me.
Soft. Clear.
"Majestate. Your Majesty."
I turned slightly.
A young woman stood there, perhaps in her mid-twenties, and for an instant the world narrowed to her alone. She was breathtaking, not softly, not gently, but with a severity that felt unreal. Her features were flawless, her posture immaculate, her calm absolute. She alone felt untouchable.
For a moment, my panicked mind betrayed me completely. She looked like something that did not belong to this world.
Not human.
Not here.
Everyone was watching.
Men in fine clothing bowed deeply. Others wore black robes, crosses resting against their chests. Priests, I realized dimly. Nobles. Officials. Faces carved with expectation, reverence, and scrutiny.
They were waiting for their king.
And I was not him.
I was just me, a stranger inside this body. I had no memories to rely on, no instincts to guide me. No manual. No explanation. No mercy.
My mind raced.
What am I supposed to do?
Fragments of my old life surfaced uselessly. A life spent observing, thinking, judging, never acting. Never risking anything that truly mattered.
My knees felt weak.
I caught sight of a mirror along the wall.
The reflection stole my breath.
A middle-aged man stared back at me. Handsome. Composed. Regal. A gold-embroidered tunic draped his frame. A crown rested on his head, ancient and unmistakably real.
Not me.
The weight of it pressed down, unrelenting.
A thought sent a cold shiver through me.
If I made a mistake, I could die.
I swallowed hard.
Slowly, deliberately, I straightened my back. I lifted my chin. I forced my breath to steady. My face formed a smile. Not warm. Not kind. Controlled.
I felt their eyes on me.
I raised my right hand.
The motion was simple, but the effect was immediate. The murmurs died. The restless shifting ceased. Even the air itself seemed to still, as if the hall were holding its breath.
Silence.
I let it linger.
Then I spoke.
"I will do what must be done."
The words echoed through the hall.
They still felt foreign, yet they carried weight. Authority. Inevitability. Something ancient and unquestionable.
Silence followed.
Then something inside me shifted.
Fear was still there, sharp and suffocating. But beneath it stirred something else. A thrill. A dangerous, intoxicating awareness.
This was power.
This was fear.
This was what it meant to be a king.
The trumpets sounded once more. The crowd erupted again, louder than before.
And I, an utter stranger wearing another man's crown, took my first step forward, knowing that every decision I made from this moment on could shape a nation or destroy it.