The Last Successor

04. The Whispers of a Dying King

The white steam from the empty soup bowls slowly drifted into the cold night air. It disappearing into the dark corners of the small tent.

Outside the noodle shop, the heavy rain continued to fall like a solid wall. It making a loud and endless sound against the plastic roof. The storm effectively cut them off from the bright lights and busy streets of the wealthy district just a few blocks away. Inside this small space, two men from completely different worlds sat across from each other at a shaky wooden table.

The old man, Victor Aurelius, leaned his heavy weight back against the cheap blue plastic chair. The hot chicken broth had brought a tiny bit of color back to his pale and deeply wrinkled cheeks. His chest was moving slowly.

The long years of wandering the streets as a nameless beggar. All the freezing nights on concrete floors and the brutal kicks from the thugs earlier had finally broken the last strength his old body possessed. Yet, despite his weak body, his gray eyes remained bright and sharp.

"You look at that watch very often, young man," Victor said suddenly.

His voice was no longer a weak cough, it dropped into a low, deep rumble that seemed to make the very wood of the table vibrate.

Adrian paused. His hand freezing over his cheap glass of warm water. He lowered his arm and looked down at his left wrist. With a gentle movement, his thumb brushed against the heavily scratched glass face of the old mechanical watch. It was a simple outdated piece with a worn leather strap. It completely out of place in a city obsessed with modern luxury.

"It belonged to my father," Adrian said softly.

His voice calm but filled with a quiet weight, "Before his partner stole everything and left our family with nothing but debts, my father used to hold this watch. He always told me that time is the only thing we can never buy back. You can lose a million dollars and make it again through hard work, but once a single second is gone, it is gone forever. I wear it to remind myself never to waste a single moment on regret."

Victor’s gray eyes flickered with a sudden deep emotion. He stared at the ticking hands of the watch, then back at Adrian's face.

"Your father was a wise man, Adrian. A very rare thing in this wretched world full of greedy fools who trade their souls for paper wealth."

The old man leaned forward slightly. The plastic chair creaking under his movement, his gaze locking onto Adrian’s gray eyes.

"Tell me, young man. If you suddenly had all the money in the world—more riches than this entire city combined—what would you do with it? Would you buy palaces? Would you make those who hurt you crawl in the dirt?"

Adrian looked away from the old man. His eyes staring out into the dark rain-swept alley. In the shadows of his mind, he saw his mother’s pale face in the cold hospital room. She surrounded by the constant and  terrifying beep of medical machines he could barely afford.

He saw the cruel, mocking smile on Raymond Sterling's face as he dropped the wine bottles, and the cold, disgusted look in Edward Sterling’s eyes when he threw the cash onto the floor.

"I would pay for my mother's treatment first," Adrian answered.

His voice showing no excitement or greed, "I would buy the best doctors and the best medicines so she never has to suffer in a crowded public ward again. And then... I would build something absolute. I would build a structure so powerful that people like Raymond and Edward Sterling could never use their wealth to crush honest, hard-working families. I do not care about luxury cars or gold. I just want justice for the ones who cannot fight for themselves."

Victor closed his eyes. A serene and deeply satisfied smile spreading across his old face. He let out a long breath that sounded like a sigh of relief.

"Justice. A beautiful, grand word, Adrian. But it is the most expensive thing to buy in this world. For twenty long years, I have walked these dirty streets, hiding my face, looking at the very bottom of humanity. I wanted to see what happened when my wealth built the world. I saw rich men acting like rabid beasts, and poor men turning into monsters for a single dollar. I truly thought the fire I spent my youth building had turned to cold ashes. I thought there was no one left."

Suddenly, Victor’s body stiffened. He gasped softly, his face turning an unearthly shade of white as he clutched his chest tightly. His shoulders shook, and a thin, dark line of blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth, staining his white beard.

"Old man!" Adrian stood up instantly. His cheap chair scraping loudly against the floor.

In a split second, he moved around the table and supported Victor’s shaking shoulders. He keeping him from falling onto the dirty floor. "Hang on! Don't talk. I'm taking you to the hospital right now. It's just a block away, I can carry you!"

"No..." Victor whispered.

The word was weak, but suddenly, the old man’s hand reached up and grabbed Adrian’s wrist. The strength in his fingers was shocking. It didn't feel like the grip of a dying beggar; it felt like bands of cold iron tightening around Adrian's arm.

"It is too late for doctors, Adrian. My heart has finished its count, and that is exactly how it should be. Do not waste my remaining seconds. Listen to me very carefully."

Adrian froze. His body locked in place as he felt the intense and powerful energy coming from the old man’s piercing gray eyes. The weakness of the beggar was completely gone. In his place was the undeniable presence of a king.

"The world you think you know... the famous corporations, the stock markets, the daily news... it is all a carefully staged lie," Victor whispered.

His breath growing shallower. His voice dry.

"They are nothing but puppets dancing on a stage. The real strings are held by an absolute power born in the dark. I built that darkness more than a century ago to protect the common people from the greed of tyrants. But I grew old, I hid away, and the wolves have taken over the pack. They have forgotten the purpose."

"What are you talking about? Who are you?" Adrian asked. His brow furrowing as he tried to understand the strange words.

"Go to the old harbor... the abandoned warehouse area near Pier 14," Victor murmured. His grip on Adrian's wrist finally starting to loosen as the last spark of his life faded.

"An old friend named Thomas is waiting there. He will look for the ring. Do not trust the ones who wear the golden crown... do not trust the cold metal of the forge... trust only the heart that remains faithful to the beginning."

Victor’s head slowly fell back against Adrian's arm. His long white eyelashes closing over his gray eyes for the very last time.

The invisible presence that had filled the small tent just moments ago completely vanished into the night air. The iron grip relaxed, leaving behind only the cold and still body of a homeless old man who had died in a cheap noodle shop during a storm.