The Empty Throne
The Citadel was prepared for the King's public return, though the air was thick with whispered questions about Consort Neshuda's sudden, private disappearance. King Hayate, however, was beyond caring about rumor. He was now solely focused on executing Neshuda's final, absolute Command to Live.
Hayate spent hours reviewing Neshuda's final Code—the ethical and strategic blueprint for the new era of peace. The logic was flawless, designed to ensure the stability of the Eternal Rule for generations. He knew every perfect decision he would make from this point forward would be Neshuda's legacy, enforced by his own agonizing grief.
For the first time in their reign, Hayate walked into the Council of Dual-Being alone. He took his place on the main, singular throne. The second, identical throne remained empty beside him.
The sight of the empty seat was a physical blow, a constant, gaping void in his reality. He felt the absence of Neshuda's steady, reassuring presence—the spirit who always balanced his kinetic power.
He addressed the council, his voice steady but carrying the immense weight of his sorrow and absolute Resolve.
"The Cosmic Curse threatened the very foundation of our peace," Hayate announced, his eyes meeting every council member's gaze. "To save Aeterna and the stability of the Core, Neshuda performed the final, most absolute act of Submission. He willingly became the single vessel to receive the curse, sealing it away forever."
He looked at the empty throne. "He succeeded. The world is safe, stabilized by his ultimate devotion. Neshuda is now eternal, the spiritual guardian of the Core. His sacrifice is the final, ultimate proof of the Eternal Rule."
The council members, stunned by the news of the dramatic, private sacrifice, rose in unified silence, acknowledging the profound loss and the new stability. Hayate had successfully established the public legend: Neshuda was a divine spiritual guardian, not a mortal who died in his arms.
The Haunting
Hayate retreated to their private sanctuary immediately after the council. The immense effort of maintaining his composure and establishing the tragic legend had drained his remaining strength.
The sanctuary—the room where their absolute love and fierce dominance had always culminated in unity and renewal—was now a chamber of exquisite torture. Every surface, every scent, every shadow reminded him of Neshuda.
He went to the ritual table, where he had performed the agonizing, final preparation of Neshuda's body. He ran his hand over the cold, smooth marble. He remembered the intimate, devastating detail of that final duty—the sight of Neshuda's serene face, the cool temperature of his skin, the faint, lingering scent of his spirit.
Hayate collapsed, the control he had maintained in public shattering completely. He needed to feel the absolute union one last time, even if it was a ghost.
He went to their Vow platform and lay down, reaching for the connection that was no longer there. He closed his eyes, desperately searching for Neshuda's consciousness, that familiar, warm spiritual presence that always overwhelmed his own.
He reached for the memory of Neshuda's voice, the sound of his laughter, the feeling of his total, physical Submission under his King's command. He recalled the immense physical ecstasy that always sealed their truth.
Neshuda! My love! I command you to return! Hayate silently screamed, pouring his despair and kinetic power into the empty space beside him.
The silence was the answer. Only the cold, persistent hum of the now-perfected Core filled the void.
The Legacy of Pain
In his crushing grief, Hayate realized the only way to endure the silence was to enforce Neshuda's final Command to Live. He had to channel his overwhelming sorrow and pain into the strength Neshuda had commanded.
He stripped away his ceremonial robes. He was the King, the sole source of kinetic power, and the ultimate vessel of the Eternal Rule. He had to reinforce the Core, and there was only one way he knew to generate the immense, focused energy required for absolute system stability.
He initiated the Vow ritual alone.
It was an agonizing, intimate act of self-dominance. He used his powerful kinetic force and absolute Resolve to drive his own body, forcing the physical act of surrender and union, desperately trying to channel the grief into pure power.
He drove himself to the most intense, desperate climax, forcing the immense physical release, trying to mimic the spiritual flow that Neshuda's presence had always provided. The pain of the empty space, the ghost of Neshuda's touch, made the act agonizingly intimate and profoundly sad.
He was fueling the world with his heartbreak. Every surge of energy was a tear shed for the man he had lost.
When it was over, he lay spent, the Core's hum slightly stronger, the world a little more stable. But the spiritual silence was deafening.
He stood, washed the grief and the ritual from his body, and returned to his throne. He would rule perfectly, powered by sorrow, forever bound by the command of the man who died for him. The Widow King had taken his solitary place in history.