"A masterpiece?" My voice was no longer a wheeze; it was a sharp, quiet blade. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Himeno. You talk about thrones like you've already won. But you're a doctor. You're used to things that stay in beds and follow orders."
I closed the remaining distance, the height difference forcing her to look up for the first time since the explosion. I didn't let go of the sword; it felt right in my hand, like an extension of my own arm.
"The thing about monsters is simple..." I said, looking out at the ruins of her 'perfect' arena, "is that they don't care about your design. They don't care about your kingdom. And they definitely don't care about your medicine."
I took a step past her, my shoulder brushing hers. I didn't look back.
"Next time I turn," I whispered, the edge of a smirk catching in my voice, "I won't just be testing my limits. I'll be testing yours."
I expected a retort, or maybe the cold silence of a bruised ego. Instead, I heard the high-pitched hum of a drone descending from the arena's rafters. It didn't carry a scanner or a needle. It carried a long, ornate hilt that caught the dying Ishabana sunlight.
Himeno reached out, her fingers closing around the weapon as the drone released it into her palm. I didn't need to turn to know she was there; the air in the arena seemed to tighten as she approached, the pressure of her presence making the "heartbeat" in my marrow go dead silent.
"Testing mine?" she asked.
The click of the weapon's trigger mechanism echoed through the ruins, a sharp, mechanical challenge.
"You've spent so much time looking at me through a microscope, BJ, that you've forgotten what I am when the lab coat comes off. You think that armor makes you a monster?"
I felt her stop just inches from my back, the heat of her authority radiating through my shirt like a physical weight. She didn't touch me, but the presence was suffocating—a sharp, yellow pressure that made the pulse in my bones go dead silent.
"Are you sure about that?" she asked, her voice dropping into a regal, dangerous register that echoed off the scorched monoliths. "Do you truly think you can keep up with a Queen, or are you just a boy playing with a stolen crown?"
I didn't turn around. I couldn't afford to let her see the sweat on my brow or the way my lungs were burning. Instead, I tightened my grip on Saba's hilt, the ornate metal biting into my palm.
"A stolen crown is still heavy enough to crush a head, Himeno," my voice coming out like a low, grinding gear. "And a doctor who spends all her time in a lab might have forgotten how it feels to bleed."
I took a step forward, putting distance between us, my boots crunching over the glass remains of her drones.
"Keep your medicine. Keep your 'masterpiece.' I'm done being your variable."
I walked toward the pressurized doors of the arena, my spine straight, my gait steady. I felt the barrel of her weapon—and the weight of her gaze—tracking the exact center of my spine. I didn't give her the satisfaction of a flinch.
Behind me, the expected shot never came. Instead, I heard the faint, metallic clink of her weapon being lowered and a sound that chilled me more than the "Cold Constant" ever could.
A soft, amused hum.
"We'll see, BJ," she called out, her voice regaining that melodic, clinical detachment. "But remember—even a King needs a doctor eventually. And I've already sent you the bill."
I didn't stop until the heavy doors hissed shut behind me, sealing her and the wreckage away. The second the seal clicked, the world tilted.
I hit the hallway wall shoulder-first, the "lead" in my lungs finally winning the fight for my breath. I looked down at the sword in my hand. The white-and-gold hilt was cold against my palm.
"You pushed me to stand," I hissed at the hilt, my voice a ragged ghost. "You let me talk that way to a woman who could have ended me. Where's that pulse now, Saba?
"Where's that pulse now, Saba…?"
The tiger-head on the hilt shifted, the jaw clicking open with a faint, metallic rasp.
"Oh, so now it's my fault?" Saba's voice was dry, dripping with enough sarcasm to sting. "I give you enough legs to stand on, and suddenly you think you're a God. Don't blame the blade just because you decided to grow a pair at the worst possible moment."
I narrowed my eyes at the sword. "I was just... testing her."
"You were being an idiot," Saba snapped back, her golden eyes flickering. "That black-and-gold rot is steering your tongue, BJ. Drakkon's ego is leaking into your head, making you think you're the apex predator in a room full of Kings. Newsflash: You're the one currently leaking on the floor. She isn't a lab tech she's a Queen. Next time you want to insult one, maybe check if we actually have enough juice to finish the fight first."
I let out a harsh, dry laugh that turned into a cough. "You're saying she scared you too?"
The tiger-head clicked shut, the metal going cold again.
"I'm a sword, boy. I don't get 'scared.' I just prefer not to be used as a toothpick for that golden bug.
" Figure out who's actually talking—you, or the armor—before you get us both melted."
The hallway went silent. I leaned my head back against the wall, the weight of the sword feeling heavier than ever. Saba was right. We were just a heavy, golden anchor—drifting in a world that was quickly realizing we didn't belong.
But I couldn't stay slumped here forever. I forced my spine to straighten, shaking off the tremors in my hands before I stepped out of the shadows.
As I walked through the gilded hallways of the Ishabana palace, I kept my hand clamped firmly around the hilt. The white-and-gold sheath slapped against my leg with every step, a rhythmic, metallic heartbeat that cut through the soft ambient music of the corridors.
The palace guards—the "Himeno Loyalists" in their pristine yellow uniforms—stepped aside as I passed. They didn't just move; they recoiled. One guard actually fumbled his weapon as I brushed past, his eyes wide, fixed on the soot staining my skin and the jagged tiger-head of Saba. I wasn't a guest anymore. I was a walking breach of security.
"They are afraid," Saba whispered, her voice a low, vibrating hum in my palm. "I can smell the salt of their sweat. It is a familiar scent. In the old world, men would kneel before they even saw the edge of my steel."
"This isn't your world," I muttered, my voice echoing off the marble walls.
"No," she rasped, and the hilt grew warmer against my bruised palm. "But the fear is the same. They aren't looking at a boy from the 'Cold Constant' anymore, BJ. "They saw the shadow of a man who had shattered worlds". You're wearing Drakkon's face right now, and they're waiting for the first strike."
I adjusted my grip, trying to ignore the way a group of servants backed into an alcove to let me pass, their heads bowed as if trying to become invisible. "I'm not him," I whispered harshly. "I'm just trying to get back to my room."
"Then stop walking like you own the place," Saba snapped, her golden eyes flickering with a sharp, red light.
"Lovely place, really. Very bright. A bit too... yellow for my taste. But you're letting the 'rot' lead your feet. You look like a walking advertisement for a coup d'état, covered in drone oil and arrogance. If you keep this up, one of these guards is going to stop sweating and start swinging just to end the tension."
I looked at a reflection in a nearby crystalline pillar. I didn't recognize the person looking back. The soot made my features look sunken, predatory, and the way I held my shoulders—stiff, dominant—wasn't me. It was the suit. It was the ghost.
"I'm just a guy trying to settle a bill, Saba," I said, though even to my own ears, my voice sounded like grinding gears.
"Tell that to the audience," Saba mocked. "Because right now, you're the only monster they've ever seen in a armor like that. Keep your head up, 'King.' We're almost there.
I reached the double doors of my quarters. I didn't wait for the sensor to recognize me; I shoved them open. The room was exactly as I'd left it—luxurious, over-designed, and feeling more like a cage than a suite.
I crossed to the center of the room and threw myself into the velvet armchair, but I didn't let go of the Saba. I rested my forearms on my knees, the tip of the blade pointed at the floor, my fingers still locked around the tiger's throat.
The silence of the room was heavy, but the "Cold Constant" in my veins wouldn't let me rest. My healing factor had finished its work, but it had left me with a restless, jagged energy that made my skin crawl. I looked down at the sword, the red glow of its eyes the only thing cutting through the dim light of the suite.
"You called me a Usurper," I said, my voice flat, echoing off the high ceilings. "And you talking about a monster. If we're going to be stuck together, I need the truth. Who did I look like when you saw me in that... whatever place you came from?"
Saba's eyes pulsed a deep, blood-red. The tiger's jaw creaked open, the sound of ancient metal grinding against itself.
"You looked like a King," she said, the words dripping with a mix of reverence and loathing. "But you didn't wear a crown of gold. You wore a crown of broken dimensions and shattered worlds. You were the one who ended the war... by ending everything else."
I tightened my grip, my knuckles turning white against the ivory hilt. Before I could ask the next question—before I could ask if I was destined to become that graveyard king—the chime of my door echoed.
It wasn't the soft, polite chime of a servant. It was the sharp, rhythmic knock of someone who knew exactly what had just happened in the arena. Someone who wasn't afraid of the "monster" inside.