✦ Act V, Scene IX — The End of the Tyrant
[STAGE: A broken throne hall. The banners are torn, the sky cracked like old paint. The lights are low, only silhouettes remain.]
[SPOTLIGHT: BASIL VELLACOTT.]
He stands alone now.
An Aspirant, in a story that has reached its end.
[MURMURS]:
"Kill the tyrant.
You can do it.
Finish the story.
It's the right thing to do
It's the ONLY thing to do."
Voices creep into his ears, soft and persistent like a chorus humming behind the curtain.
…
[ENTER: YARROW ASHGRAVE.]
The last emperor.
Cloaked in a tattered mantle of stars.
A crown fallen to rust.
His Role had once been noble.
The Fated.
He was meant to bring the empire into its golden age.
But something twisted.
The stage demanded drama.
His Role reversed.
He became The Tyrant.
YARROW (Cold, echoing):
"You dare to oppose me?"
He's too far gone.
[SPOTLIGHT: BASIL, still trembling.]
His sword is raised.
But it isn't courage that steadies him.
It's necessity.
It's grief.
"You were my friend."
YARROW (softly):
"Then do what friends do. End it."
Basil steps forward.
The blade pierces the Tyrant's chest.
A soundless fall.
A final breath.
…
Curtain Call
[SFX: Distant applause.]
The world dims.
From above the divine voice of the Archivist, hollow and calm:
"The performance is concluded."
"The performance has ended."
"The Curtain calls."
The stage collapses behind Basil.
Ruins dissolve into mist.
He kneels, whispering:
"I wasn't enough."
"But I could be."
"If only…"
[A page flutters from the Heavenly Library. A blank script.]
[MURMURS return not cold this time, but curious.]
"Try again."
"Rewrite it."
"Become something more."
A role blooms where none existed before:
The Regressor.
The gods lean forward in their divine seats.
The play begins once again.
---
Act I, Scene I — The Bumbling Guide
[SCENE: Dormitory room, morning.]
"The evil emperor was dethroned. The hero was crowned the new emperor. He married the love of his life and lived happily ever after...
A boy snores in bed.
...happily ever after..."
The words lingered in the air, soft and wistful, like the fading echo of a lullaby.
But immediately, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the dreamscape.
"Wake up."
It sliced through Matthias's consciousness gently,
'Who is this?'
His voice was hazy, still thick with sleep, as if the dream refused to die quietly.
"Matthias."
A flash of warm sunlight streamed through the tall, stained-glass windows of the dormitory, casting fractured rainbow patterns on the polished wooden floor.
The air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of dust and old parchment.
Suddenly, the warmth evaporated, replaced by a sharp sting as Matthias's cheek throbbed.
'Ouch—'
"WAKE UP."
The voice was louder now, clipped and firm, echoing with a tone of impatience.
Matthias felt himself begin to fall, a brief sensation of weightlessness before the inevitable thud against the cold floor.
"Hey! That hurts, man!"
His voice, muffled and annoyed, broke through the stillness.
"It's not my fault you decided to sleep in," the voice replied, dry and dismissive.
The room was bathed in the soft glow of dawn. Dust motes danced lazily in the sunbeams that streamed through the towering windows—gilded frames and intricate carvings adorning the high walls.
Matthias groaned, stretching sluggishly, joints popping. He pushed himself upright, hair disheveled and sticking in every direction.
"Yeah... yeah..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Next to him, stood Aiden Corwinne. His navy-blue uniform was immaculate, silver trim glinting softly in the sunlight, the insignia of the Academy stitched neatly onto his chest.
"Hurry up and get dressed properly! The opening ceremony starts in half an hour."
Matthias blinked, his mind still foggy.
"Half an hour? What's the rush?"
Matthias blinked, still fogged with sleep, as he scrambled to his feet.
Aiden rubbed his temple, exhaling slowly.
"You forgot, didn't you."
"Forgot what?"
Matthias tilted his head, hair falling over one eye, the dim light catching the smirk on his lips.
Sigh.
"The juniors. You're supposed to be their guide today."
The words hit like a slap. Matthias froze, realization sinking in.
'Crap.'
"Why didn't you wake me up earlier!?"He bolted toward his bed, where his uniform was carefully laid out.
He dashed into the bathroom, cold tiles biting into his feet, the mirror fogged from recent use, reflecting a hurried, disheveled young man.
'It's been nineteen years since I came to this world,' he thought, pulling on his black trousers, the fabric smooth against his skin.
'This world comes from a novel my friend recommended...'
He grabbed his white shirt, soft and starched, the fabric crisp beneath his fingertips.
'But the thing is... I only read the first chapter and the synopsis. It was so generic, I dropped it.'
He buttoned up, silver buttons clicking into place, a dry smile curling his lips.
'I mean, who in their right mind would read a novel titled—'
He recited with disdain:
"I Was Just Trying to Graduate from the Academy, but Somehow I Got Dragged into Imperial Politics, Dueled Half the Nobility, Uncovered Ancient Secrets, and Became the Emperor."
He slipped on his tailored frock coat, feeling the familiar weight settle on his shoulders. He looked at himself briefly in the mirror, adjusting the collar with a wry expression.
'And yet... here I am. Regretting everything.'
From his desk, he picked up the school emblem, a smooth, porcelain mask, polished to a mirror shine. He pinned it to his left breast pocket, the cool surface eerily blank, as if hiding a thousand secrets.
'No use crying about it. The past is the past. What matters now is getting close to the protagonist. He should be joining this year. That's when the plot truly begins. My sister should be here too...'
He burst out into the hallway, coat billowing behind him like a shadow. Aiden was already gone, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air.
Matthias sprinted toward the academy gates, boots ringing against the marbled floor, echoing like a countdown to an impending event.
…
The courtyard outside the Grand Auditorium was alive with anticipation. Students clustered in nervous groups, whispering and shifting beneath banners of gold that swayed gently in the breeze. Marble spires reached toward the sky, their surfaces gleaming like polished gems. Revel's heart pounded in her chest as she clutched her bag tighter, feeling the weight of uncertainty.
She was in Group Twelve, whatever that meant. All she knew was that someone from the second year was supposed to come and guide them. But that someone was late…very late.
"Hey," a tall boy with soft brown hair and a broad smile said beside her, breaking her concentration.
"I'm Will," he grinned, offering a hand. "Will Blackwall. You?"
"I—I'm Revel," she managed, voice trembling slightly "Revel Averlay."
"Revel Averlay," Will's eyes widened in recognition "wait, Averlay?"
Her heart sank. The name felt both familiar and heavy.
"Y-yes."
Next to them, a girl with perfectly styled blonde hair, her posture poised, her blue-dress impeccable, turned slightly, offering a small nod.
"I'm Elanor Ashgrave," she said softly. "I read that the second-years were assigned groups. If we're Group Twelve… and the guide is Matthias Averlay… he's late."
Will's smile widened. His tone was casual, but his eyes flickered with curiosity.
"Small world, huh? Are there any chances you are the little sister of our missing guide?"
Revel's cheeks flushed.
"Yeah…" she paused. "Matthias is my brother."
"He's probably caught up with something," a tall boy with blue hair leaneibg against the courtyard railing, suggested.
"Sleeping probably." a girl, arms crossed, sharp-eyed and stern, stood at the edge added
The minutes dragged on as the courtyard emptied.
Then—
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Rapid footsteps echoed across the stone, growing louder with urgency.
Around the corner came a boy, breathless, coat half-unbuttoned, hair tousled.
Matthias.
"Group Twelve?!" he called, panting, eyes wide with panic.
He adjusted himself.
"I'm Matthias Averlay," he announced, voice tinged with embarrassment. "Sorry I'm late. Very important… uh, dream-related emergency."
The group stared.
Will broke the silence, eyebrows raised.
"You're Matthias Averlay?"
"Yes, I'm your orientator," he replied, brushing dust off his coat and adjusting his emblem.
"Welcome to the Imperial Theatrical Academy!" he said with a forced cheerfulness. "Home of legendary actors, performances, and incredibly good cafeteria bread."
The students looked at each other, some amused, others skeptical.
"Anyway," he continued, voice rapid and unfazed, "I will walk you through the school, there's the main building, those are the dorms, the practice theatre's behind the west wing, and if you see a door that wasn't there yesterday—don't open it."
He paused, grinning widely, as if expecting applause for his wisdom.
"That's it?" Elanor raised a brow.
"I gave you the important parts," Matthias said, shrugging. "Everything else you'll figure out on your own. Probably."
The blue-haired boy's gaze was analytical, as if trying to decode his words.
"This is ridiculous," the girl muttered, arms still crossed.
"Don't worry, you'll be seated before the ceremony starts," Matthias said, already turning to leave.
And then he walked, fast, too fast.
"Wait—hey—slow down!" Will called after him, the others scrambling to keep up.
"Keep up, Group Twelve! The theatre waits for no one!" Matthias's voice echoed over his hurried steps.
Revel, at the back, clutched her bag tighter and quickened her pace.
This was going to be a long year.