Joshua took a few hesitant steps into the chamber.
The floor was cold beneath his bare feet, but the chill didn't unsettle him nearly as much as the imposing presence of the man before him.
Kaelveth's room was absurdly vast.
It resembled more a library buried within an ancient temple than any royal quarters. Every corner whispered of power and discipline: the meticulously organized desk, the immense arched window letting golden light cascade over endless rows of books, and the subtle aroma — of old scrolls, perhaps incense, or smoldering ebony wood.
Joshua noticed every detail the way someone does when life has trained them to see the world as a battlefield: a weathered map framed on the wall, red lines carving through unknown kingdoms; a tall cabinet sealed with a lock heavy enough to deter curiosity.
Still, he didn't look away.
Inside him, the old armor — forged from years of abuse and fear — urged him not to lower his guard. No matter how calm the tone, that man was an emperor. And emperors, as he had learned, never acted without reason.
> "You said… emperor?" he asked, his voice low, almost defiant. "And this place — is it a kingdom?"
Kaelveth nodded subtly.
Joshua swept his gaze across the room again, absorbing the space with the instinct of someone who had long lived on alert.
A voice within — still unfamiliar — warned him to be careful with his words.
But another, more tired, more human, simply wanted to understand.
> "Why… me?" he murmured, his eyes drifting toward the window, where the distant forest seemed to whisper riddles only old gods could decipher.
> "As we've said, it was an accident," Eryan replied, his tone steady. "We're trying to send you back."
The words hung in the air, freezing it.
Joshua blinked, slowly, as if the meaning took a moment to find him. Then, a dry laugh slipped out — devoid of joy or humor, just disbelief.
> "Send me… back?" he repeated, voice hoarse. "And what does that mean, exactly? Throw me into another glowing circle and hope it works this time?"
His gaze locked onto Eryan, no longer with fear, but with something sharper — sarcasm, and beneath it, something wounded and raw.
> "I just came out of hell," he muttered, lowering his eyes as if glimpsing old memories. "I killed a man. Burned my past with my own hands. And now you're telling me… you'll send me back?"
Joshua stepped forward.
He didn't dare cross the invisible line that marked the emperor's space — but he made sure it was clear he was no longer the frightened boy who had stumbled into this world. His breath was sharp, uneven — the storm beneath his skin restless and rising.
> "Maybe I don't want to go back. Maybe… this is the only chance I have to start over."
Silence followed.
Eryan studied him, unmoved — or trying to be. Every word Joshua spoke carried the weight of someone on the edge — not of rage, but of something deeper.
> "Then tell me, Kaelveth," Joshua said at last, voice trembling yet resolute,
"What would you do if you had the chance to start over, in a place where no one knew your sins?"
Eryan didn't answer. Not immediately.
The silence that stretched between them was thick — not empty, but full of everything unspoken.
What would you do if you had the chance to start over, in a place where no one knew your sins?
Joshua's question still echoed when he turned his gaze back to the window.
Outside, the forest was painted in hues of burnished gold, the sky bleeding into dusk.
And Eryan remembered the prophecy Aurora had spoken of — a soul from another world, destined to bring the fall of an emperor.
They didn't understand.
The world was at peace now. And yet, Eryan often felt the weight of his reign had been for nothing.
He looked back at Joshua.
White hair like liquid silver.
Eyes so impossibly blue they seemed to cut through falsehood. A stranger, plucked from another reality — and possessed of a courage too pure for this world.
Eryan crossed his arms slowly, resisting the urge to let the gravity of the moment show.
He inhaled deeply.
> "I would destroy everything that reminded me of them," he said at last, his voice low, careful.
"And then I'd pretend they never existed. But pretending doesn't erase what was done. The real burden is living with it."
His gaze softened, just a little, as it returned to Joshua.
And for the first time, the mask of the emperor cracked — revealing the man beneath, the one who had made mistakes too large to bury.
> "You don't understand yet, Joshua… but being here is more dangerous than you realize.
Your existence… it disturbs the balance of this world."
He took a single step closer.
Not with arrogance, but with the gravity of someone burdened by too many truths.
> "If it's up to me," he said, "you'll have peace.
But there are forces here that won't ignore you.
Not once they know you're not one of us."
Another silence.
He could feel the uncertainty stirring in Joshua — and something else, too. Something searching.
> "But if you want a new beginning," Eryan added, almost gently,
"you'll have to prove you deserve that chance."
As he moved closer, Joshua held his breath — not from fear, but from something unfamiliar tightening inside his chest.
And only then did he truly look at the man before him.
The emperor seemed carved from the myths of old — the kind told in hushed voices beside dying fires.
His regal bearing, his commanding presence, barely veiled the weariness in his eyes.
Eyes dark as varnished wood, weighted with memory, yet fiercely aware.
Eryan's face was striking — not flawless like statues, but beautiful in a way that had weathered time.
Fine lines etched by worry. Shadows that refused to fade beneath his eyes.
And a sorrow that had clearly taken up permanent residence in his soul.
His dark hair fell loosely over his brow, and something in the way he watched Joshua made the young man feel… exposed. Not threatened. Not diminished.
Just seen.
Joshua felt heat rise to his neck — a mingling of confusion, shame, and something dangerously close to awe.
The emperor radiated something he couldn't define — a presence that made him feel both small and strangely… safe.
Was it because, back where he came from, he had always been alone? he wondered.
But what struck deepest wasn't the authority, or the uncommon beauty — it was the invisible burden Kaelveth carried.
And Joshua, someone who had carried burdens all his life, recognized it at once.
He looks so... lonely.
The thought came unbidden, escaping from some corner of his chest he didn't know still had softness left.
That silent solitude — so well-hidden beneath Eryan's carefully composed exterior — stirred something unexpected within him.
Empathy. Recognition. Or maybe just the aching familiarity of someone else who bore unspoken scars.
Joshua looked away, unsettled.
His heart thundered — not from fear, but from a chaos of emotion he didn't yet have names for.
In that moment, the world seemed to shrink to the size of a single chamber.
A golden room.
And the silence between two men who had already begun changing each other without realizing it.