A million—no, a billion—things tore through Jonathan’s mind all at once.

  Jafar was a god? One of the five strongest beings. Whatever that meant. But this was his castle? Then why was Jonathan being called ‘lord’? And the three suns—those were actual god-heads? And the world was stitched from divine corpses?

  His breath quickened. He stopped walking and reached for the nearest wall—only to misjudge the distance and stumble forward, catching himself awkwardly before sliding down to the floor.

  Xizelen turned quickly, concern flickering across her otherwise unreadable face. “My lord, are you all right?”

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, trying to breathe. “I’m still trying to figure out what the hell is going on,” he said. “None of this makes sense, X.”

  She blinked. “X?”

  He looked up at her, managing a small smile through the nerves. “Your name is, uh… hard to say. And think. And spell. So… X. If that’s cool.”

  A soft laugh escaped her, light and graceful. “Ah. I see. X shall do, then.”

  Jonathan exhaled, still not fully steady. “X… why am I here? I’m kinda freaking out. My legs feel weird.”

  He let out a nervous chuckle and rubbed his face. His hands were a little clammy.

  Xizelen knelt beside him, her movements precise and unthreatening. She looked at him—just looked—and something inside him softened. Like a wave of pressure lifted from his chest.

  He blinked. “What did you…?”

  She looked slightly downcast. “I apologize, my lord. I acted without thinking. I only meant to soothe you. I did not mean to violate your boundaries.”

  She bowed deeply. “I am truly sorry.”

  Jonathan held up a hand. “No, no—X, it’s fine. You just caught me off guard. But it helped. Seriously.”

  He gave her a tired smile. “Just… don’t do the whole ‘my lord’ thing all the time, alright? Talk to me like an equal. Or whatever’s close enough.”

  She tilted her head, curious. “As you wish… Jonathan.”

  And that calming sensation? Still lingering. Like an invisible hand had brushed away the worst of the panic. He took a deep breath, steadier now.

  “Okay,” he muttered, “let’s try this again.”

  “I can’t fully say why you’re here, Jonathan,” Xizelen said softly. “Someone else will explain that.”

  “Alright, cool, but you don’t have to say my name every time. It’s kinda intense,” he said, offering a crooked grin.

  She tilted her head. “Duly noted.”

  “So… who is this mysterious someone I’m supposed to meet?”

  “You’ll meet them,” she said with a faint smile, “after breakfast.”

  “…Oh. You were serious about that?”

  “Of course.”

  They continued walking, the halls opening into chamber after chamber, each one more breathtaking than the last—marble arches traced with silver filigree, fountains that flowed upward instead of down, windows that showed not just the outside world, but sometimes starscapes, deserts, even different skies entirely. Jonathan had no idea if it was real, or some kind of illusion. But either way, one thing was clear:

  This Jafar guy had taste.

  Still, Jonathan’s legs were starting to ache. “Hey, X… is there a faster way to—”

  And then he wasn’t walking anymore.

  He blinked. They were suddenly standing in a vast royal kitchen, warm with sunlight and filled with the sounds of clinking plates and low, polite conversation. Tables stretched in smooth arcs across the polished floors. Food was already prepared—platters of things he recognized and several he absolutely didn’t.

  The servants moved with quiet precision. Some were human. Others looked close to it. And then there were a few who were definitely not: furred or feathered, with animal faces but humanoid hands and arms.

  Jonathan looked around slowly. “Oh. So you were just showing off before.”

  Xizelen raised an eyebrow. “I thought it might unsettle you if I teleported us everywhere immediately.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get that. But honestly, considering the floating bed, shifting sandals, and the whole ‘you’re too beautiful to be real’ thing… I feel like I’m handling the impossible okay. Though it’s hard to believe your human.”

  She blinked at him, lips parting slightly in thought.

  “I’m not human,” she said at last. “I am Veltherian. From Oloris-Ennai, the Crescent Province.”

  He stared. “That sounds ridiculously fantasy. You just made that up.”

  “I assure you, I did not.”

  “…Of course you didn’t.”

  A group of servants approached with gleaming silver trays, laying out food in front of him—roasted meats, fragrant grains, warm bread, a cool drink that shimmered faintly like liquid starlight. The moment the scent hit him, his stomach growled like it hadn’t been fed in days.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He looked down in surprise. “Huh. Guess I was starving.”

  Then he took a bite.

  And every flavor exploded across his tongue like it was tuned to every childhood comfort food, every perfect craving. Sweet, savory, rich, refreshing—whatever he focused on, the meal seemed to answer.

  “Oh my God,” he muttered around a mouthful. “This is—this is illegal good.”

  Xizelen watched with a small, amused expression. “I’m glad you approve.”

  He leaned back, chewing slowly, watching the strange yet elegant world around him. “If this is a dream… I don’t think I wanna wake up.”

  “You are awake, Jonathan,” Xizelen said gently, watching him savor another bite. “This is reality. Just… a different one.”

  He let that sink in.

  Right as four women entered the room.

  All of them were stunning in different ways—tall, graceful, elegant. Their dresses shimmered like they were woven from moonlight and fire, the fabrics catching the light in unnatural ways. Each moved with practiced grace, their eyes sharp, aware. Royal.

  Xizelen caught his gaze, her tone still calm. “Those are some of the Princesses of Jafar.”

  He blinked. “Some of?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Guy gets around, huh.”

  She let out a soft laugh. “None of the Princesses are his biological children. The rest are offerings. Symbols of peace treaties. Or they’ve earned their place through trials.

  Jonathan stared. “So he’s got, what, like… a princess system?”

  “You could call it that,” she replied with a slight smile. “Jafar is a king with no official queen. Though there is one… someone who could take that place. But she is rarely seen. Never remains for long.”

  Jonathan leaned back, grabbing the silver goblet beside his plate and taking a drink. The liquid was cool, weightless, and left his whole body feeling just a bit lighter. Like his muscles had released some tension he didn’t even know was there.

  He sat in silence for a moment, absorbing everything.

  Princesses. Realms the size of universes. A god-slayer who turned corpses into suns. Seventy million dimensions run like kingdoms. And me… sitting here like a confused tourist in some divine Game of Thrones spinoff.

  Still, it could be worse. He wasn’t being tortured. The food was amazing. The castle was wild. Xizelen was kind—even if terrifyingly composed—and despite everything, no one had tried to kill him yet.

  Cautious optimism, he thought. Emphasis on cautious.

  He glanced again at the Princesses, who hadn’t even looked his way. Politely uninterested, like they had seen hundreds like him.

  That… actually made him feel a little safer.

  “X… did my sister come here too?”

  Xizelen’s expression softened, just a hint. “No. She is safe. And she will live a long, fulfilling life… despite your passing.”

  He froze.

  The food lost its taste.

  “So I… did die.”

  She nodded solemnly. “Yes. A noble sacrifice.”

  “Please don’t say it like that,” he said, voice tighter now. “Like I’m some statue in a war memorial.”

  Xizelen bowed her head. “Apologies, my—”

  “X,” he interrupted gently. “Come on.”

  “…I was offering my deepest regret,” she said quietly.

  Jonathan exhaled and looked down at his half-eaten plate, suddenly nauseated. The warmth of the room felt a little too warm. The light too golden. The peace around him—too sharp a contrast.

  He died.

  And not in some heroic, cinematic way. Just… gone. One moment pushing his sister out of the street, the next—here.

  He always told himself he was content. No regrets. But that had been under the unspoken assumption that he had time. Time to mess up. Time to get better. Time to chase something.

  Now?

  Now there were seventy million realms and floating castles and celestial courtiers with cosmic eyes—but not his mom. Not his best friend. Not his sister’s dumb jokes. Not his own damn apartment.

  He stared blankly ahead.

  “…Even though this technically is more time,” he murmured, “it doesn’t feel like my time anymore.”

  There was a long silence.

  Then he turned his head slowly. “Wait. How do you know she’ll live a good life?”

  Xizelen’s smile returned—but this one was mysterious, veiled.

  “Everything will be revealed,” she said, “after you finish eating.”

  He looked down at the food.

  Pushed the plate away.

  “I’m done eating.”

  Xizelen nodded, her expression unreadable once again. Then, with a graceful wave of her hand, she stepped aside.

  The air changed.

  Jonathan felt it before he saw it—like gravity got heavier, like the room suddenly remembered it was standing in the shadow of power. A pulse, subtle but immense, spread through the floor and into his bones. He’d watched enough anime to recognize what it was.

  Aura.

  Pure, unrelenting, and far beyond anything human.

  Every servant in the room—including the ones mid-pour and mid-step—stopped. Then bowed. Deep. Even the chefs dropped what they were doing and went to one knee.

  Xizelen followed suit. Even the princesses kneeled.

  Jonathan slowly turned his head—and saw her enter.

  She was armored head to toe in blackened steel trimmed in white and gold, her pauldrons etched with insignia that looked like miniature suns. Her presence was regal, but it wasn’t delicate. It was sharp. Controlled violence wrapped in grace. Her eyes, a piercing red, locked forward with unwavering focus. Long blond hair framed her face in waves, and she carried a massive, ornate greatsword that looked like it had been carved from both divinity and dread—an impossible blend of artistry and function.

  She didn’t walk. She arrived.

  Xizelen spoke, head bowed.

  “Jonathan North, may I present Jahluyina Rynuired Hon Jafar.”

  The Jahluyina. The name hit like a gong in his skull.

  Acting head of the Jafar Empire.

  He had no idea how he knew that, but the name carried weight, legacy, threat.

  Even X’s voice had a different edge now—formal, reverent.

  “War-Chief of the Heavenly Battalion. She is the acting matriarch of the family and the one whose decisions guide the internal affairs of the Jafar Empire. She speaks for the bloodline when neither the King nor the Elgon Monarch are present.”

  Jonathan stood slowly, the weight of her aura pressing down on him like a mountain. “So she’s the—?”

  “She is the closest thing the King has to a daughter,” Xizelen said, “and she bows to no one but him.”

  Jahluyina’s eyes locked on him. No smile. No warmth.

  Only presence.

  Jonathan swallowed, standing as straight as he could, feeling very small and very mortal.

  He thought to himself, Okay. Cool. I’m dead, in a god’s backyard, and now the angel of death just showed up to judge my vibe.

  Jahluyina stared at him with eyes like polished bloodstone, unblinking. When she finally spoke, her voice was layered—like it echoed through centuries of battlefields and celestial courts.

  A voice forged of command… but burnished with the elegance of royalty.

  “Impressive…” she said slowly, each word weighed like judgment. “You became anything at all.”

  Jonathan blinked. “Huh?”

  Without another word, she turned.

  The massive double doors behind her—once sealed with gilded iron—had vanished, replaced by a glowing rift, vertical and shimmering like molten glass. The portal pulsed with quiet power, anchored by golden rings inscribed with runes that hummed just at the edge of hearing.

  “Come with me.” Her tone offered no room for debate. She stepped through the portal and vanished.

  Jonathan turned to Xizelen, confused. “Uh… so, X… you wanna come with me? Be emotional support or—?”

  She shook her head gently, hands folded in front of her. “I have done my part, Jonathan. From here… your path is yours alone.”

  “…You could just say you don’t wanna hang out anymore.”

  “I wish you luck with your meeting,” she replied, her smile soft but her words final.

  “Wait. Wish me luck? That’s never a good sign.”

  Before he could say anything else, a tug—subtle at first, then absolute—wrapped around his chest like a current in deep water. He tried to take a step back, but his feet left the floor.

  “Okay wait hold on—!”

  The portal pulled him in—light swallowed shadow—and the kitchen, the warmth, Xizelen’s gentle smile—all blinked out of existence.