Last Ruler Of The Empty Throne-Chapter 1: [START]

Palflic University

In one of the rooms in the male dormitory, a familiar scene was playing out.

"JOE! WHY THE HELL DO YOU HAVE A PICTURE OF MY SISTER ON YOUR PHONE?"Alex, a tall, light-skinned boy with curly hair, bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls.

Joe, unfazed as always, looked up from his bed and shrugged, "So?"

Joe was everything that annoyed Alex. Tall, dark-skinned, athletic, with plaited hair and a couple of earrings that somehow made him even more attractive. Women gravitated toward him without effort.

That, more than the picture itself, was what set Alex off.

He knew Joe too well—his charm, his carefree attitude, and his absolute refusal to take things seriously. Alex saw trouble written all over him. But what could he do besides shout? And shout he did. Loudly. Repeatedly.

Palflic University, nestled in the southernmost region of South Africa, was world-renowned for its discipline and promise. It attracted students from across the globe, especially in sports like cricket, soccer, and baseball. The university's prestige sparkled from the outside—but within its walls, life could be far messier.

Jon knew that all too well.

He shared the same dorm room with Alex and Joe. All three were in the same course, a deliberate arrangement by the university to foster collaboration. But to Jon, it often felt like punishment.

Lying on his bed, Jon sighed as the shouting dragged on. After five full minutes of noise, he finally snapped, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"SCREW YOU!"

"FUCK OFF!"

The two shouted back in perfect unison.

Jon clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath, "Two more years... just two more fucking years..."

As he collapsed back onto his bed, his phone buzzed. Two notifications:

A bank alert.

And a message from his dad.

His heart skipped. That combination never meant anything good.

So, he decided to check the bank alert first.

[Credit Alert]Sender: Mr. WhyteAmount: 5,000,000Current balance: 5,067,500

"What the—"

He shot upright, nearly dropping his phone. The sheer volume of his voice actually paused the argument for a moment.

Jon stared at the numbers, blinking rapidly.

Five million?

He restarted his phone. The number remained the same.

"Okay, Jon... deep breath..."

Then he remembered—the second notification.

He opened the message from his father.

[Hey, son. Use the money we sent you wisely. And don't forget, your mum loves you (not me). Meet us soon.]

Jon read it again. Then again. His frown deepened.

"...What the actual hell?"

His father's messages were always strange, but this one was unusually cryptic. And chilling.

Still, there was one undeniable truth—five million was sitting in his account.

Maybe this was his dad's twisted idea of love. Either way, Jon made a silent decision:

He was going to blow the money.

Why not? His dad wanted to play games? Jon would play right back.

Yet, even as he planned how to spend it, something gnawed at him. A year ago, his parents had abruptly moved him from his normal life in South Africa and enrolled him at Palflic, without warning or reason. Since then, silence.

And now this.

He shoved the phone into his pocket and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly, and his dreams—so vivid, so strange—welcomed him once again.

The next morning, Jon woke early and left the dorm before his roommates. He liked being first to class, especially to claim the back row—perfect for zoning out without drawing attention.

But today, even as lectures dragged on, his mind remained fixed on one question:

What the hell am I going to do with five million?

Funny how things change. The things he once dreamed of now seemed small. His new fantasies were on another level entirely. And ironically, even five million didn't seem like enough.

By 4 p.m., classes ended, and with nothing else pressing, Jon offered to treat Alex and Joe.

They headed to Pal-Mart, the university's massive supermarket.

"Why are we here?" Alex asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"He remembers we exist," Joe smirked, slinging an arm over Jon's shoulder.

Jon shrugged. "Parents sent me some cash. Thought I'd treat my boys."

But his mind was elsewhere—chocolates... ice cream... maybe I'll try that one...

The teasing began.

"So, you're a rich kid now?"

"How'd you get that money?"

Jon ignored them, wandering into the aisles to begin shopping.

"W-Wait, we're still talking—"

"Stay there if you don't want anything," Jon called over his shoulder.

Joe laughed. "I like him."

Alex rolled his eyes and followed them both.

They bought everything. Enough that the cashier actually hesitated before ringing them up. Still, money talked, and by the time they returned to their dorm, their arms were loaded with bags.

That evening, Joe headed to athletics practice, Alex went to his art class, and Jon?

He went straight to sleep.

Despite never working out, Jon was just as fit as Joe. It wasn't training—it was sleep. Ever since turning nineteen, his dreams had become... something else. So vivid, so captivating, they felt more real than reality.

At first, it scared him. Now, he looked forward to them.

By the end of the week, Jon began to feel sluggish. The junk food had caught up with him. His body felt wider, heavier.

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That Sunday evening, he made a rare decision—he would jog.

"Oi, Oi, am I seeing this right?" Joe gawked. "Is bitch Alex not the only one ruining the vibe now?"

"Yeah," Jon muttered, lacing his shoes. "I need to burn off the junk."

"YOU ASSHOLE!" Alex snapped, finally catching the insult.

Jon just shook his head and walked out.

The Palflic sports arena was world-class. From football to basketball, tennis to track—it had it all.

Jon chose the field. A light jog. Nothing intense.

By the first lap, he was already winded, collapsing on a bench to rest.

It's not a bad idea to do this more often, ' he thought, catching his breath. The breeze felt good. His eyes drifted over the other students.

Then—

CRACK... CRACK... CRACK.

The sounds that shattered the peace, like lightning splitting the sky open.

Jon's heart pounded. He looked up—

CRASH... CRASH... CRASH.

It was as if the sky itself was fracturing. Yet, strangely, no one else seemed to see it.

Then—a blinding light.

Everyone shielded their eyes.

And then...

The voice.

It wasn't human. It wasn't natural. It scraped against the very soul. Cold. Cruel. Eternal.

It made their heads ache. Their skin crawl.

A voice no one wished they heard.

[START]