The King's Doppelgänger

"That is sufficient."

The crowd's murmurs ceased abruptly as the booming order tore through the air. A mountain of a man strode forward, likely in his thirties or forties. He possessed an aura of raw power that sent the onlookers reeling, his craggy features fixed in a perpetual frown. It was clear this man was a figure of considerable authority.

He gave the ambassador a curt, almost imperceptible nod. I couldn't determine whether his grim mask was a permanent fixture of his personality or a reaction to the current circumstances. The ambassador returned the gesture and, with a glance in my direction, nudged me forward.

We took a different path from the one leading to the military encampment. Instead, we were guided toward a smaller, adjacent floating island, connected by a second cable car. Atop this secluded isle rose a single, majestic edifice reminiscent of the opulent cathedrals of old Europe.

This was no dull, grey monolith, however. The structure was a symphony of light and color. The walls, the color of a cloudless dawn sky, were interspersed with vibrant stained-glass windows depicting saints and sagas. Sunlight glinted off the roof, a cascade of gleaming, bone-white tiles. The envoy explained that this was the hallowed ground where the summoning ritual was performed—the very place from which I had been torn from my own world a month ago.

"You are to have an audience with the King," he had said. "This is it?" I had asked. "Not the royal palace?" He explained that I was to meet the monarch just before he conducted another summoning. I had been mistaken. It seemed they were about to drag another poor soul into this world.

A disturbing thought began to crystallize in my mind. Strip away the regal pretense, the grand narrative of saving the world, and what was left? Wasn't this, in its rawest form, kidnapping? My own situation had been a fluke, a fortunate exception; the summoning had, in a way, saved me. But what if someone was ripped from a life they cherished, only to be saddled with the crushing burden of vanquishing a demon lord? Based on that logic alone, I had to wonder: were this King and his court the true villains of the story?

Lost in these thoughts, we arrived at the summoning cathedral. The entrance was marked by two enormous marble doors, each easily five meters high. Their magnificent presence was enhanced by exquisitely rounded tops, each culminating in a masterpiece of etched art and scripture.

The envoy exchanged words with the guards posted outside, instructing them to announce our arrival to the King. After a moment, one of the guards who had slipped inside returned and bid us enter. We passed through the threshold without hesitation.

The interior was just as I remembered, yet it seemed vaster now, perceived through a lens of newfound composure. We stood in a rectangular antechamber that opened into a much larger, circular hall, perhaps ten meters wide and fifteen long. The ceiling soared to a height of at least ten meters, its dome a canvas for lavish decorations and a breathtaking painted mural that mimicked the heavens. The circular hall itself was easily twenty meters in diameter. In its precise center sat a low, round altar—an ethereal fusion of polished marble and what looked like pure crystal.

The King and his personal entourage were gathered near the altar. Their collective gaze tracked our approach as we stopped a respectful distance from the royal assembly. The guards who had escorted me, still on high alert from our last tense encounter, instinctively formed a protective circle around me.

Before anyone could deliver a formal address, I chose to take the initiative, my voice breaking the solemn hush with purposeful indifference. "Well, Kazir! Decided to let me go, have you? The little princess already told me the whole thing was a misunderstanding."

I refused to appear subservient, to beg for his pardon. He was a king, yes, but that gave him no inherent authority over me, even if I had been in the wrong for striking him during his supposed act of mercy. It was a test. If he was truly a wise and benevolent ruler, surely he could tolerate a little sarcasm.

"You insolent savage! Who gave you leave to speak? You stand in the presence of His Majesty, King Ramstaros Imber IX the Fifth! You are not fit to—"

A snort escaped me, then another, followed by a full-throated laugh that I couldn't have suppressed if my life depended on it. "Pfft! Bwahahaha!"

"YOU—!" The retainer and several of his colleagues flushed crimson with rage.

"My apologies," I managed, wiping a tear from my eye. "I couldn't help myself! That name—Imber—it's just too perfect. He's the spitting image of someone I used to know." I was right; he was a dead ringer for Kazir. This observation, of course, only served to further enrage the King's retainers. A pang of self-awareness struck me. I had just lectured a child on controlling her temper, and here I was, gleefully ignoring my own advice. Still, that name. Imber! I never would have guessed.

With a single, raised hand, the King quelled the disturbance just as the knights at his side tensed to restrain me. A lone eyebrow arched in irritation and a flicker of impatience crossed his features, but he masterfully smothered the impulse to anger. A surprisingly composed monarch, then. It explained his restraint during my initial assault. Perhaps he was a decent king after all. I resolved to give him a fairer assessment.

"Enough," the King said, his tone cool but absolute. "Let us dispense with these pleasantries. I have been informed that upon your arrival in our world, you—the one called Axel—were not granted the Deity's Boon. Is that assessment correct?"

King Ramstaros—old man Imber—regarded me with a sharp, glacial stare. Despite the absurd name, he possessed an undeniable air of nobility. I felt a twinge of regret for my earlier mirth.

"That's correct. I have no special abilities, at least none that I'm aware of."

"No surge of power? No newfound aptitude for pyromancy, or some such? Even a general sense of enhanced well-being could be considered a gift."

"Well, I haven't gotten motion sick since I arrived. Does that count?"

"No," he stated flatly. "Dismiss the thought." He turned away, his voice laced with finality. "I had held out a sliver of hope, but you are a failure, after all."

Any nascent respect I might have been developing for him evaporated in that instant. At his core, he was still just King Imber.

"We shall commence the summoning," the King announced, his attention already shifting. "Prepare the Sovereign Aetrium Crystal."

His attendants moved with practiced efficiency. Some wheeled in a large, cart-like apparatus shrouded by a heavy drape, while others examined the glowing, cryptic runes inscribed in a circle upon the altar. Taller than a man and nearly twice the bulk of an old-world telephone booth, the object had a commanding presence.

The attendants carefully drew back the drape, revealing an enormous, flawless crystal housed within a transparent, glass-like casing. The sight was breathtaking, another stark reminder of this world's unearthly wonders. The crystal was shaped like an inverted teardrop, formed from three smaller, intertwined spires that splayed out at the top and base. It was a semi-translucent marvel of shifting hues. From a soft, embryonic yellow at its base, the color bled upwards into a milky rose-quartz, which in turn deepened into the serene blue of the upper atmosphere. Each of the three spires was not a solid band of color, but a dynamic swirl of these blended shades. As sunlight streamed through the cathedral's domed glass ceiling, the crystal's surface seemed to drink it in. Rather than simply reflecting the light, it internalized it, emitting a soft, internal luminescence of its own. The longer I stared, the more mesmerizing it became. The King, too, seemed captivated, his gaze lost in its depths. This object was clearly priceless, rare—perhaps one of a kind—and absolutely vital to the summoning ritual.

"King," I said, tearing my eyes from the crystal and back to the matter at hand. "What happens to me now?"

He lingered on the crystal for a moment longer before slowly turning his gaze to me. "I made a promise to my daughter before she departed. You will be granted your freedom. However, we will offer no aid in your new life. You are hereby severed from any connection to the crown. And understand this: we lack the means to return you to your world."

"My freedom? That's all I require. I don't need your help, and I have no particular desire to return. I suppose you have no use for a 'failed' hero."

"That is correct." His gaze drifted back to the shimmering crystal. "A failed hero is not merely a disappointment," he concluded, his voice cold as he assessed the jewel. "He is a liability."