The silence was the first thing that felt wrong. Aris had been hunched over a desk in the university library, the low hum of the heater his only companion. Now, the air was cold with smelling of ancient dust and the sharp.
He opened his eyes and gasped. He was sitting on a high, jagged throne carved from obsidian that felt as cold as ice. The hall around him was a cavern of shadows, its vaulted ceiling supported by pillars that looked like the ribcages of giants. But as his gaze traveled upward, his breath hitched.
There was no ceiling.
The great dome that must have once capped this hall had long ago shattered, leaving behind a jagged rim of obsidian that framed the heavens like a crown of broken glass. Above him, the sky was an impossible tapestry. Two moons hung in a velvet-purple void—one a massive, bloated orb of pale silver, the other a sharp, crimson sliver that looked like a fresh wound in the night. Between them, swirling nebulae of stardust stretched across the cosmos like glowing veins, casting a dim, ethereal light over the ruins.
"Finally," a woman's voice whispered from the gloom.
Aris flinched, his heart hammering. Standing at the foot of the throne was a woman who looked like a ghost born of royalty. Her hair was a startling, bone-white silk, and her eyes had a strange glow to them.
"Where… where is this?" Aris stammered, his voice sounding small against the vast, ruined walls. "Is this a prank? Did I pass out in the stacks?"
The woman sank into a deep, fluid kneel, her robes pooling on the stone like spilled ink. "You have been summoned, My Lord. The ancient rites have chosen you from across the stars. You stand in the heart of the abandoned continent, the new Demon King. I am but your summoner, and from this moment, your most loyal subject."
Aris stared at her, then at his own hands. He was still wearing his college hoodie and worn-out sneakers. The contrast was absurd, yet the weight of the throne—a monolith of void-glass with armrests carved into snarling, many-eyed chimeras—felt terrifyingly real.
"Demon King?" Aris let out a shaky, nervous laugh. "I think there's been a mistake. I'm just a student. I don't know anything about being a king."
The woman looked up, her gaze intense and searching. "You do not need to know, My Lord. You only need to desire. Think of it—this world is fractured, weak, and leaderless. With the authority you now hold, world domination is not just a dream. It is your birthright. Every kingdom, every treasure, and every soul can be brought to its knees before you."
Aris slowed his breathing. He looked down at the woman, his eyes tracing the delicate line of her neck and the sheer elegance of her posture. A strange, bold light flickered in his eyes—the look of a young man suddenly realizing that the rules of his old life no longer applied.
"You say… anything, huh?" Aris asked, leaning forward on the black throne.
The woman didn't flinch. "Yes, My Lord."
"Anything I say?" Aris stood up, his sneakers squeaking slightly on the lapis lazuli floor. He walked down the steps of the dais, circling her slowly like a wolf inspecting a prize. He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering with a blunt, predatory intensity. "Really anything? Like… anything with your body?"
The woman's shoulders went rigid for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something—perhaps deep-seated weariness and hidden disdain—crossed her face before it vanished back into a mask of devotion.
"If that is your command," she said, her voice dropping into a low, erratic vibration. "I am your subject. Anything which I can do for you… I shall."
Aris stopped right in front of her, his shadow falling over her. "Good," he said, his voice regaining its confidence. "Then do it. I'm parched. Go bring me some water."
The woman froze. She looked up at him, her fractured eyes blinking in genuine confusion. She had clearly braced herself for a different kind of demand after her speech about power and conquest. "As you wish," she said stiffly. She rose with a sharp, fluid motion and disappeared into the darkened corridors.
Aris stood alone. He walked toward the edge of the hall, where a massive wall had collapsed. The scale was dizzying. Fluted pillars wrapped in rusted chains of cold-iron groaned softly as the wind whistled through. He leaned out, looking over the "Abandoned Continent." It was a sea of monochrome despair—jagged black peaks and valleys choked with swirling silver mist. No smoke, no lights, just the whispering wasteland.
He picked up a shard of obsidian. It was heavy and vibrating with a residual warmth. "Wow," he whispered, boyish awe finally breaking through his mask. "This is incredible. A real fantasy world... just like the novels ."
The soft, rhythmic click of heels returned. The woman held a chalice of hammered silver. "Your water, My Lord," she said, her voice a cool, practiced melody. She held it out with both hands, her posture rigid.
Aris took the chalice. The water was crystal clear and cold enough to fog the metal. The woman watched his throat, expecting him to drink. Instead, Aris walked toward the base of the throne where a patch of bioluminescent blue moss was pulsing feebly. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tipped the chalice, pouring the entire contents directly onto the vegetation.
"There," Aris said, letting out a satisfied breath. He held the empty cup out toward her. "Now it's hydrated. It was looking a little depressed, don't you think? Can't have my first royal subject be a wilting fungus."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crack the stone. The woman stared at the damp moss, then at the empty cup. Her jaw tightened so hard a small muscle jumped in her cheek.
"That water," she whispered, her voice vibrating with an erratic sharpness, "was brought from the Deep Well of the Silent Peak. I walked through two miles of collapsed, monster-infested tunnels to fetch it for your thirst, My Lord."
"And I thank you for your service! Ten out of ten," Aris replied with a breezy, boyish grin. He patted his stomach. "But I'm a big believer in 'save the planet.' A King has to look after his kingdom, right? Even the moss. It's part of the aesthetic. Very important for morale."
She looked at him as if he were a particularly nonsensical insect. "You speak of aesthetics and hydration while the world outside prepares to erase you. I offered you empires, and you play gardener with the ruins. Tell me, do you intend to conquer the world by watering it to death?"
Aris chuckled. "Hey, you said you'd do anything. Fetching water for my plants falls under 'anything,' doesn't it? Unless your loyalty has a 'no chores' clause."
She exhaled a long, slow breath, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the silver chalice. "My life is yours," she said, each word sounding like it was being dragged over broken glass. "My patience, however, is not infinite. If you have finished being a 'friend to nature,' perhaps we can move to the only room left standing. The Great Library."
She gestured toward massive double doors. "Since you are a 'student,' I assume you know how to read? Or should I fetch more water so you can give the dust on the shelves a bath?"
Aris pushed off the pillar, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Library it is. And don't worry, I promise not to water the books. Unless they're dry reading, of course."
As he followed her, his relaxed gait remained, but his eyes narrowed, tracking the way her robes never quite brushed the dirt.