text: He awoke in bed. Stiffly, he reached for the edge of the bedframe to prop himself up. His joints popped as he levered himself erect, and he faced the large interior of his lavish bedchamber. Moving towards the wall closest to him, he half leaned on it to shuffle towards his numerous dressers on the other side of the room. Sunlight streamed out of the large windows, looking into a courtyard of snow, as he shuffled along the wall. Reaching the other side of the room minutes later, he looked up, above the dressers, at the large mechanical clock fitted above the center cabinet. He still had thirty minutes. His stomach grumbled, but he knew it would be an effort in futility to try to eat. His lean, malnourished body demanded food, but his hands shook far too much for him to eat more than spoonfuls of the worst sort of soup. Ignoring his bodies promptings, he shuffled to the far side of the dressers, snatching his walking cane from the wall it was propped against. Armed with his cane, he shuffled towards the exit. He slowly made his way past the two guards, standing rigidly at their post, on either side of the door. They did not move as he limped past, instead staring straight ahead into space. They had been ordered not to escort him, on today of all days. It was the one day they had not been by his side in nearly a century. After what seemed like hours later, although it had only been a few minutes, he reached the door. It was a plain, wooden door, of average height and plain in appearance. Anyone who did not know what he knew would not think anything of it. Opening the door by its handle, the hinges complained noisily. Beyond the door, gaped a dark room, with only one window to give relief. The room was below him, bridged by a wooden staircase reaching up to the entrance and now-open door. Gritting his teeth, he put his foot on the first stair that led down into the room. Stairways were the enemy. Stairs should be ripped out of the entire city, he resolved, just as soon as this ordeal was over. Yet he had no choice, and so put his right foot forward onto the first stair downwards. Each passing stair took painful moments to navigate with his enfeebled frame. Finally, he reached the bottom, and moved several feet beyond the stairs, where a wooden bench sat amongst the gloom of the dim room. Behind the bench, barely visible were a set of plain white archway, leading nowhere. He reached down and grabbed the loaded crossbow below the bench. The sunlight coming from the solitary window played against the plentiful dust motes in the air. He waited. He had only just caught his breath from the harrowing ordeal that had been the staircase when he heard it. The door creaked open. Soft feet fell upon the stairs. A short figure approached him. A young girl, with short brown hair, looking of the age of 15, appeared in the dim light of the one window in front of him. She appeared startled, not expecting to see someone else. Why should she be surprised? He had been expecting her. He aimed the crossbow at her chest, and touched the spot on it that would trigger the release. A soft swishing noise followed. The girl laid sprawled on the ground, scrabbling for anything, making fast breaths. Blood pooled around her body. “Good”, he thought. He had been aiming for her lungs. It was much quieter that way. “I’m sorry it has to be this way”, he began, as she writhed on the floor. “See, I was like you. Just like you in fact. The gods chose me to lead the kingdom for my allotted century. When I was done, I decided I should talk with my successor - inform him of what I had done, and what he might do to protect the kingdom. It was a break in tradition, I knew, but I waited down here, by the arches, behind me. Imagine my surprise when I met my successor, and he was only a kid. He cared not at all for the work I had done. He insulted me and thought nothing of the work I had done, and yet the gods had chosen him to lead the kingdom!” At this moment, he set down his crossbow and reached for his cane. He hobbled up from the bench, his joints popping in protest. Winning the brief skirmish, by only external aid in the form of his cane, he resumed explaining his story to her. “The gods were fools, I decided. In a fit of rage, rage over the work that I had done and might be lost, rage over the waste, I killed him. Then I took his place, stepping through the archway. Imagine my surprise when I stepped out young again, rejuvenated and ready to lead for another century! It appears the gods didn’t care who stepped through their archway, the passage to heaven, as long as it was at the specified time. So another century passed. Near the end of it, I waited down here for every day for a month before I finally caught my next successor. Each century, I got a little bit better at predicting the exact end and appearance of my replacement. This time I only had to wait for 5 minutes.” He stopped talking, realizing he was alone. He turned around, and stepped into the archway. Some time later, he stepped out, and as he moved away, let his cane clatter to the floor, abandoned.