The first thing he felt was weight. Heavy. Suffocating. The second was the floor—cold marble pressing against his knees.
The third? Silence. Not digital, not peaceful. Holy silence. Like a cathedral preparing to scream.
Erik's head slowly rose.
High ceilings. Gold-framed stained glass. Rows of polished armor and crimson banners lined the walls. A faint scent of myrrh mixed with steel filled the space. He blinked at the surreal sight.
He knelt on the side of a red carpet pathway, lined with gold. At the end sat a grandeur throne, waiting for a ruler. A coronation ceremony.
`Okay… weird dream. Extremely detailed. I don't remember downloading this DLC.`
Then the armor on his shoulders shifted.
The clank was real. Loud.
So was the stiff fabric around his neck. The pressure on his spine. The distinct weight of a sword on his hip.
He looked down.
Silver-plated gauntlets. The runes… he knew them. He'd written them.
`What a strange dream..it feels kinda real. But there's no way this is real, right? I can't be someone that's not even real..`
He gritted his teeth.
"I… I finished the last chapter."
He whispered the words like a prayer. Like they'd save him. "I finished it. I published the damn thing."
His voice shook. No one heard him.
"Sir Lancelot?" A low voice interrupted his spiral. A tall man in royal armor leaned down toward him. Thick beard. Intense eyes. "You alright?"
"…What did you just call me?"
The knight raised an eyebrow. "Sir Lancelot? You're not concussed, are you?"
Erik's breath hitched. His face paled.
`W-What the heck is going on?`
He gave a tight, awkward nod.
"Just tired. Long night of… brooding."
Sweat dripped down his face. His face was pale, as if he had seen a ghost. But it was worse. He let out a sigh.
`Okay, calm down. Denial isn't gonna change the fact that I'm inside the novel I wrote. I'm currently Lancelot Du Lac, a boss villain. Well, atleast not now. But if everything goes according to the story then surely. If she, Nata—`
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of massive trumpet.
He turned toward the cathedral's massive double doors.
Right on cue—they opened.
Three figures entered through the light.
At the center, Natalia Viktoria Petrova. Eighteen, young but fierce. Crimson gown, black sash, pale skin like frost, and eyes like violets dipped in ink. Her presence was colder than any winter he could write. A villain— No, the worst villain.
`It's suddenly so cold..`
To her right, Julius Theroux. Polished armor, model features, the poster boy of righteous nobility. Smug. Charismatic. Dangerous.
`Tch. This fucker was here too..`
To her left, Elena. Soft-spoken court mage. Bookish. Soft braid over her shoulder. Ger eyes brimming with hope and potential. As bright as ever.
Upon seeing her, Erik's eyes narrowed. His gaze flickered with perhaps with guilt..and sadness.
`Sigh. It's fitting together now. This is the coronation ceremony of Natalia, the worst villain of my novel. I wrote her. Very badly. She'll soon face a lot of tragic events which'll lead to her become a ruthless tyrant..`
Natalia's eyes flicked toward Erik. Brief. Uncaring. Like she was looking past him.
Of course.
To her, the current Lancelot nothing more than a hound she never picked.
The coronation began.
Holy chants echoed. The Grand Knight—name still escaping Erik, something impressive and loud—offered the royal blade. Natalia kneeled. The priest spoke. And then, like thunder drawn from velvet, her name was declared:
"Long live Queen Natalia Viktoria Petrova!"
"Long live the Calanthor Empire!"
Applause. Cheers. Trumpets.
Erik didn't clap.
His hands curled into fists.
`This is the start of the fall.
Everything I wrote—the purges, the executions, the flames—all of it begins here.
Not like I can complain, I was the one who wrote it this way.`
His heart beat faster. A strange tingle went up his spine, he spun back to find a man that he perhaps knew.
The man radiated an aura, that strangely felt like the sun. Warm but strong. Tall, clad in white and gold plated armour, boring the insignia of the Calanthor Empire. Graceful blond hair and a bright grin.
"Sharp as they say, Lancelot Du Lac. Do you know me?", he said with the same bright grin.
`That tingling sensation. Was that Lancelot's instinct? Pretty handy.`
"How can anyone not know you? The captain of the White Sun Knights, Grand knight, Garrick Solvain."
He broke out in laughter.
"Aw man! You're flattering me. I ain't that great."
"You must be greatly mistaken then, the people call you Sunforged."
"I gotta say. You're good with words."
"Well, I suppose that's true."
"Hahaha. Honestly, I thought you'd be a unfriendly guy. But you're unexpectedly friendly."
`Garrick Solvain. The strongest knight in Calanthor Empire. Although it's not like hes my most favourite character. But if there was to be someone I could trust blindly. It'd be him.`
---
The banquet hall glittered with chandeliers and golden goblets. Courtiers danced and drank. The music was foreign but beautiful, like an opera performed at the edge of war.
Erik stood near a marble column, arms crossed, scanning faces.
That's when she approached.
Natalia. Alone.
Her presence cut through the noise. Not with sound, but silence.
She stood before him, poised, perfect, and terrifying.
"I don't remember summoning you," she said coldly.
Erik blinked.
"No, Your Majesty. Just keeping watch."
She leaned in slightly, voice low. "You look pathetic. Try not to soil your armor when people are looking."
`Wow. Okay. No wonder she gets worse later. Did I really write her like this?
Don't respond. Don't snark. Just survive.`
He gave a small bow. "Of course, my Queen."
A moment later, Julius appeared like a shadow with a grin.
"Your Majesty, go easy on him. Lancelot has served well, hasn't he?" He turned to Erik, expression friendly but mocking. "Don't mind her. She speaks daggers, but they're dull."
"Hmph", Natalia smirked and walked off.
Julius lingered.
"Always admired your stoicism," he added with a wink, then followed after her.
Erik exhaled sharply. His eyes hooked onto Julius.
`Julius Theroux, the prince of the Northern Kingdom and Natalia's fiance. I'm going to rip that smile off your face. Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day, Julius. You're going down. And I'll be the one to do it.`
---
Julius and Natalia danced.
She looked weightless, flushed, happy.
Young.
It didn't suit her. The Mad Queen—vulnerable. In love.
She smiled up at Julius like he was her whole world.
Julius smiled back.
The two youngsters kissed. But only one showed love the other was just playing along.
But his eyes… didn't.
They were sharp. Calculating. Cold.
`Tsk. Idiot brat. He doesn't love her. He never does. Not in the book. Not now. She'll burn the world for him. And he'll sell her soul for power.`
Erik's hands trembled slightly.
`Because he's the first factor the one who started to domino to Natalia's fall. He'll betray Natalia. And kill Elena, Natalia's one and only friend. The gate to her madness.`
He glanced at Elena. She stood near the main altar. Laughing, carefree. He let out a sigh because he knew she'd die in an attack a few days later. He had wrote it. Her death was written by him and him alone.
`Natalia's fall. Tyrant. Storyline. The protagonist. Julius.`
"Ugh..my hear fucking hurts. There's just so much happening. I don't know what to do."
`Should I save her? But that'd mean changing the storyline. If Natalia becomes a tyrant I'm dead anyways..the protagonist will kill me for sure..`
Just then, a small body collided with him.
A child—no older than six—had bumped into his leg and fallen, tears in her eyes.
"Hey... Are you okay?" Erik knelt. "That must've hurt. Where are your parents?"
She pointed shakily toward the dance floor.
"Go on. Be careful, alright?"
She nodded and scampered away.
Erik watched her disappear, then turned to the window. The crescent moon gleamed over the cathedral.
`I keep on babbling about storyline. But is this really just a story anymore?`
He looked around. The cathedral was vibrant.
`Its not. Nor am I the author. Fuck the story. I'll do what I want.`
He took a single step.
Toward Elena.
`I have to warn her. Even if she laughs. Even if no one believes me. Maybe this time... she lives.`
Then he froze.
Across the hall, Julius spun Natalia in the air.
And Erik saw it—
A ring on Julius's finger.
Black. Angular. Wrong.
It pulsed faintly—powerful, foreign.
`That's... not mine. I didn't write that. That's not in the story.`
His blood ran cold.
The music swelled.
But Erik heard only silence.