The palace doors sealed behind him, not with a clang but a whisper, as if the walls had drawn a breath and held it. The Man stood in a hall vast as memory, its floor a mosaic of shattered mirrors, each shard glinting with fragments of his face proud, weeping, ambitious, disdainful.
The air hummed, not with sound but with expectation, as if the palace itself waited for him to claim it. Chandeliers hung like frozen stars, casting light that twisted into shadows of hands reaching for something just beyond grasp. His boots crunched on glass, each step a question he could not voice.
"Where are you?" he murmured, seeking the horse, its absence a hollow ache he was his only companion now he's all alone ,. A corridor opened before him, its walls lined with statues tall, faceless, their heads tilted as if judging. Each bore a crown, not of gold but of thorns, their points sharp with unspoken names. He walked, and the statues turned, their stone eyes hollow yet piercing. "You belong here," the voice said, no longer cold but proud, resonant, as if it spoke from the walls themselves. "This is your throne. Claim it."
The Man's chest tightened. He saw himself in a statue's polished surface: taller, unyielding, a king who needed no past. The image flickered, and he saw his true face scarred, uncertain, the one from the mirror. He turned away. The corridor curved, leading to a chamber where a single mirror stood, its frame carved with words he could not read. His reflection stared back, but it moved before he did, stepping out of the glass. It was him, yet not ,clad in robes of light, eyes burning with certainty. "You ran from me," it said. "But I am what you were meant to be."
The reflection held out a scroll, its edges smoldering. "Read it. Name your greatness." The Man took it, his hands trembling. Words appeared: I was the one who never faltered. I was the one who deserved worship. His throat burned. "This isn't me," he said, but the reflection laughed, its voice his own. "Then why did you write it?" The scroll crumbled to ash, and the mirror cracked, revealing a new chamber. The voice whispered, "Solve this, or stay forever."
Hooves echoed, faint but steady. The horse emerged, its black coat dusted with mirror shards, its eyes wide with something like fear. It snorted, pawing at the ground, and the Man felt its warmth steady him. He stepped into the new chamber, where a throne sat, carved from bone and draped in voices the whispers of praise, shouts of triumph, murmurs of adoration. They wove around him, seductive, promising a name that would never fade. "Sit," the voice urged. "Be known." The horse lowered its head, refusing to approach, its breath heavy with warning.
The Man circled the throne. Each whisper carried a memory: a crowd cheering a victory he couldn't recall, a hand he hadn't shaken, a promise he hadn't kept. "I don't want this," he said, but his voice wavered. The throne pulsed, and the whispers grew louder, accusing: You left us. You thought yourself above us. He saw faces in the bone ,those he'd abandoned perhaps?, those he'd judged?. His father's statue from the maze flickered among them, stern and silent. The Man's knees buckled, but he did not sit. "I'm not above you," he whispered. The throne cracked, its voices silenced, and the horse nickered, soft and urgent.
A final chamber appeared, its walls a maze of mirrors reflecting not his face but his choices: turning from the village, shattering the father's statue, ignoring the boy's warning. At the center stood a gate, locked with a chain of thorns. A riddle burned into its surface: What is heavier than the world, yet lighter than nothing, when you let it go? The voice laughed, mocking. "You'll never answer. You'll never leave." The horse pressed its flank against him, its warmth a quiet anchor.
The Man closed his eyes. The word came unbidden, sharp as a blade. . "It weighs you down until you release it." The chain dissolved, and the gate creaked open, revealing a a throne room , there was statues of knights with their head bowed down….and the end of the room there was someone sitting there with a crown over his head but he didn't look alive at first. The voice hissed, faint now, almost broken. "You think you've won. But you'll bow again…this is your chance to prove me wrong….to prove US wrong" The Man stepped toward the gate, the horse at his side, its eyes no longer fearful but clear…he knows what he has to do now...and he wont back off.