The Last Successor

05. The Passing of the Invisible King

Adrian stood perfectly still in the middle of the quiet noodle shop. The heavy sound of the pouring rain filling the silence of the tent.

He kept his hand gently on the old man’s shoulder for a long time, waiting, hoping for a breath, but there was absolutely no movement. The old man was truly gone. The strange king of the streets had left the stage.

The owner of the noodle shop slowly walked over from the kitchen counter. He wiping his hands on a stained apron. He looked down at Victor’s peaceful face with a long heavy sigh.

"He’s finally passed, hasn't he? I've seen that old man around this neighborhood for nearly ten years, young man. He was always quiet. He never begged for money, never caused trouble like the others. He just sat on the benches, watching the people in their expensive cars go by. Do you know his family, Adrian? Is there anyone we should call?"

"No," Adrian said quietly.

His heart feeling like a heavy stone in his chest as he adjusted his wet jacket around the old man's body, "He didn't have anyone left in this city. He was entirely alone."

"What a miserable and lonely way to die," the owner muttered. He shaking his head with pity, "In a cheap tent, during a terrible storm, with nothing but wet rags on his back and no one to know his name."

"He didn't die miserable," Adrian thought to himself. He was remembering the loud and proud laugh Victor had let out right before the end, "He died like a general who had finally finished a very long secret war. He died because his task was done."

Adrian spent the entire night dealing with the local authorities. The legal process was painfully slow because Victor Aurelius had absolutely no identification documents, no registration, and no wallet.

The police wanted to classify him as a nameless vagrant and send the body to a mass grave outside the city limits. Adrian refused to let that happen. He sat in the  brightly lit hallway of the police station for hours. Later, he use a large portion of the wet cash he had collected from the hotel floor to pay for a private and respectful cremation.

Adrian didn't care that the money was supposed to be for his own needs. He knew he could not live with himself if he abandoned the man who had died in his arms.

By the time the sun began to rise through the thick gray rainy clouds, Adrian was completely exhausted. His cheap suit was still damp, his muscles ached from lack of sleep, and his eyes were bloodshot. He still had to face the hospital administrative desk in a few hours to handle his mother's urgent bills, but he had one last duty to perform.

He walked out of the city crematorium holding a small simple wooden box containing Victor’s ashes. The wood was rough, but it was clean. He placed the box carefully on the passenger seat of his old, dented sedan and drove away from the residential areas.

Adrian heading toward a quiet hill that overlooked the city's massive industrial harbor. This was the place where the great cargo ships from all over the world entered, moving billions of dollars of goods through the gray waters every single day.

Standing beneath the wide branches of a large oak tree at the top of the hill, Adrian opened the wooden box. The cold morning wind blew hard from the ocean, catching the white ashes and carrying them out in a long wave toward the wide sea, far away from the dirty streets and the greedy people of the city.

"Rest in peace, old man," Adrian said softly into the wind.

"I still do not understand what you meant by wolves, puppets, and strings. But I gave you a proper farewell, and I hope you find the peace in the quiet sea that you could never find in this loud city."

As he turned around to walk back to his car, his foot struck a hard piece of metal hidden in the tall grass right where he had been standing.

Adrian stopped. He bent down and pushed the wet, muddy grass aside with his fingers. There, half-buried in the dark earth, was a small, heavy iron key. It was entirely unlike any key he had ever seen; its handle was carved with a strange, highly intricate geometric pattern that formed a hidden circular emblem.

Adrian picked it up, using his thumb to clean the dark mud from the cold metal.

"Did the old man somehow drop this last night?" Adrian wondered, his mind racing as he examined the unique carvings. "No, that is impossible. I carried him on my back for a whole block, and his pockets were completely empty when the paramedics checked him. There was nothing on him. How did this key get to the exact spot where I threw his ashes?"

Before he could think about the mystery any further, his mobile phone rang loudly inside his wet jacket pocket. He pulled it out and saw Elena’s name flashing sharply on the dark screen.

He pressed the answer button, his voice dropping into a dead, emotionless tone. "Elena."

"Adrian," Elena’s cold.

Clear voice came through the speaker. There was an unusual hesitation in her breath, but her words quickly turned hard again, matching the pride of her family.

"Father and Raymond are furious about what happened at the ballroom last night. Raymond’s silk shirt was completely ruined, and Chloe's live stream has already caused an immense amount of embarrassing gossip among our business circles this morning. Father has already instructed the family’s senior lawyers. They are waiting inside our apartment right now."

"To sign the divorce papers?" Adrian asked. A calm, bitter smile appearing on his lips as he looked down at the iron key in his hand.

"Yes," Elena replied quietly after a brief silence.

"It is better this way, Adrian. You have never belonged in our world, and staying in this house will only make Raymond and Mother find new ways to hurt you. Just come and sign them quickly. I have already spoken to Father. I will make sure he gives you a check for fifty thousand dollars once the papers are signed. It will be more than enough to cover your mother's hospital debts for the next year."

"I don't want their charity money, Elena," Adrian said, his fingers tightening around the cold iron key until the geometric patterns pressed into his skin. "I will be there in thirty minutes."