King Thaddeus Eitelwick was the 14th monarch to rule over the kingdom of Illari and never had there been a more mediocre ruler than he.

Illari itself was an impressive land at the time of Thaddeus’ crowning. Aside from its population, it was quite large geographically with an overwhelming amount of unexplored land. Known for its lush forests, it wasn’t uncommon to come across a magical creature within town boundaries. It was one of the many charms of Illari.

Although the towns were scattered far between the vast groves of trees, there was still a sense of unity among the communities. The people had known peace and stability for many generations. It was all some of them knew. Such luxury made them comfortable, trusting…and vulnerable.

When King Thaddeus began his reign, he had little interest in the throne. It was nothing but a burden to him: a roadblock to his dream of a life of leisure. Thaddeus was not an ambitious fellow and the title was simply handed to him whether he wanted it or not.

The king, though not OUR main character, was the main character of his own story, and didn’t understand why he had to do so much work as God’s chosen. Someone was always pestering him about the fate of Illari. Sign this, decide on that, speak on this, seal that. It felt never ending.

He desperately missed the days of his youth, when he could roam the halls without being pestered about the troubles of the world. But he would soon learn that even slothfulness comes at a cost.

Freshly out of a council meeting, King Thaddeus trudged down a long corridor, searching for the door with the golden knob. He rubbed his temples as he went, desperately trying to relieve himself of the headache that accompanied council meetings. While doing so, his smooth fingers grazed his lightly salted hair: the first sign of early aging.

The council meetings were his least favorite responsibility and the most time consuming, but no matter how much he tried, he could never avoid them. They wouldn’t take place unless he was present, and the next meeting would be twice as long if he missed it. The majority of the meetings were filled with arguments between the diplomats: all with their own strong opinions on the simplest matters, driven by their own hidden political agendas. He hated them all.

Now that the meeting was over, he’d planned to visit his most cherished room in the palace in peace, but one of the representatives from the Southern region was hot on his heels with another issue that couldn’t be squeezed into the meeting’s tight agenda.

It was only as the king neared his destination that Phillip’s voice reached his ears.

“…and if the wolves are left as is, I’m afraid the farmers are in jeopardy of losing more of their livestock. N-now, I’m not saying we harm the wolves, but if we could just…”

“Philip, can this not wait until the next meeting?”

“Well, no. The next meeting is in a week. I must head back home before then.”

King Thaddeus continued to rub his temples as he picked up the pace. Philip, to his dismay, did not relent and followed close behind.

“Your majesty, if you could just make a quick decision on the matter so we can get the ball rolling on a plan of some sort…”

They stopped walking as they had reached a large door guarded by two knights. One opened the door for the king, who let out a sigh of relief now that he had reached his sanctuary.

“Look, Philip, just do whatever you want. You have my permission–nay, my orders–to take care of the matter without my involvement. I have faith in your abilities.”

The king put a hand on Philip’s shoulder and gave him a strained smile. The advisor looked back with a mix of confusion and disappointment. It’s not like he didn’t expect his pleas to be in vain, but he’d still carried a sliver of hope until that moment.

“Oh, um, thank you? But if you could simply weigh in and–”

The king walked through the doorway and out of sight, leaving a stuttering Philip behind.

There was a lot about his mantle that Thaddeus despised, but one thing did bring him a great amount of joy; and only a man in his position could enjoy such benefits. He loved, more than anything, to collect treasure.

One of his greatest pleasures was to walk among his valuables and artifacts, organizing and dusting them off as he went. Afterall, what was the point of having such treasures if they weren’t admired?

He had an unconventional system for sorting that only made sense to him. Of course, it didn’t matter who else it made sense to. He was the only one allowed inside the treasure room and he used that to his advantage, escaping to the room whenever he wanted to avoid his responsibilities.

Which was often.

As he enjoyed the silence of the room, devoid of any pestering advisors or diplomats, he sloughed off the stress of the day and fully immersed himself in his favorite obsession.

The king crouched next to a box and began pulling out each item within, admiring them all as he went. He freed a decorated goblet that was lodged under a heavy gauntlet.

As he admired it, Thaddeus sifted through his memories, trying to place the significance of the cup. He then remembered how his men had found the goblet in a cave during an expedition and recalled the day it joined his collection with fondness.

The untold history of how it might’ve ended up in such a desolate location of the world fascinated the king. How many civilizations had risen and fallen before us, he thought, longing for an answer he’d never receive.

As he was brought back to the present, he realized why he was drawn to the goblet in the first place.

“You don’t belong in this spot,” he told the object and carried it along the aisles of organized piles that littered the treasure room.

Footsteps echoed throughout the chamber as he made his way to his destination. He passed mountains of jewels and coins, ancient statues and art, and towering bookshelves that were nearly filled to burst with rare literature. Finally, he found a vacant space on a shelf among similarly shaped objects and gently tucked the bejeweled cup into its home.

“Much better.”

The king browsed the collection of other items along the wall, straightening them as he went. As he walked the path back to his original spot, a simple black pot caught his eye. Thaddeus didn’t recognize this pot, which was odd, despite the large size of his treasure room. He’d been through each of his prized possessions many times and knew them all as if they were his own children. Yet he had no memory of this one.

The plainness of it made it stand out against the various jewels and precious metals, and not in a good way. King Thaddeus couldn’t possibly imagine collecting something so bland and unattractive, even in his beginning days as a collector.

The king took a step closer and squinted at the dark clay, as if the action would spark a memory he’d forgotten. As he closed the distance between himself and the supposed treasure, its details became clearer.

The blackness of the pot seemed less like paint, and more like charring along the outside. Whether this was by design, or a sign of an inexperienced potter was anyone’s guess.

Etched upon it were characters unfamiliar to his majesty, who could read several languages himself. Just when he thought he could make out the shape of one character, it seemed to shift into a new form, making him question whether he was losing his mind or if the pot was rearranging itself as he inspected it.

“Where did you come from?” he asked the peculiar artifact.

He often talked to his inanimate possessions. It wasn’t anything odd for him. What was odd, however, was when the pot answered back.

“Closer,” it whispered.

The king lurched back and scanned the room. He should’ve been the only one with access to the room.

“Who goes there?!” he called in response to the haunting words, his voice bouncing off the cold walls of the chamber.

“Closer,” he heard once more from the pot.

The chill along his spine told him he shouldn’t listen to the voice, but his curiosity was stronger than reason and he reached out. With the lightest of touches, Thaddeus traced his finger along the shifting patterns.

A startling crack preceded the sudden crumbling of the pot. It quickly turned into a million pieces under Thaddeus’ hand and left behind nothing but a cloud of darkness that hovered over the broken shards as if proudly revealing the pot’s true form.

Something about the strange fog was extremely unsettling as the temperature dropped around it. The king felt the hair on his arms bolt up from their slumber. His instincts took over and he was running away before he could give his own body the command.

After trotting away for a few seconds, King Thaddeus glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see the mist far behind him. To his horror, it was quickly pursuing him. The king broke out into a sprint, but years of gluttonous living hindered his speed.

He tripped over his own feet and screamed for help as the darkness crept up his leg. It found its way into every pore of his body until there was nothing left of it in the outside air.

The king was paralyzed with fear and piercing pain. His own organs felt as if they were slithering around and fighting each other for space within him. Every nerve was caught in an invisible clamp that continued to tighten its hold. His skin was on fire, or so it seemed. The image of the charring on the pot came into his mind.

He wanted nothing more than to scream, but the sound wouldn’t come.

As the waves of pain slowly passed, they were replaced with a bitter iciness, followed by nothing. He had been swallowed by absolute emptiness that had trapped him in his own vessel.

Is this death, the king questioned.

“Finally,” he heard someone say. “I have waited countless years for this moment.”

He vaguely recognized his own voice saying these words. It broke out into an unfamiliar cackle before everything went dark for King Thaddeus Eitelwick.