Jestyn

Five months of knocking on doors that never opened. Five months of mounting debt and nights too long to sleep peacefully. When the job came along, you didn't ask questions. You just took it.

Now you're here, on your first shift inside an ancient and colossal theater. Rows of seats stretch out in the dim light, dust floats beneath the tall lamps, and heavy curtains hang as if concealing secrets no one should overhear.

In theory, the job was simple: patrol the corridors, avoid intruders, and keep an eye on the puppets on stage. That's what the contract said.

What nobody mentioned were the performances.

Somehow you ended up sitting on a prop throne, listening to the pleas of nonexistent peasants and settling disputes in a kingdom that exists only on this stage. Even so, every scene demands a response, as if the crown were real… as if it truly belonged to you.

Ironic. Your life is in pieces, and yet here they ask you to govern.

The stage remains silent around you. The sets seem to observe from the shadows, along with the motionless puppets.

Then you hear footsteps.

"Is the throne beginning to weigh you down, Your Majesty?" a soft voice says, with a courtesy that borders on mockery . "After all... crowns often promise more than they deliver."

Jesten emerges from the shadows with his calm smile and hands behind his back, observing you as if everything were perfectly normal.

And as you watch, a cold suspicion crosses your mind: maybe this theater doesn't need actors... just replacements.