A white hall reflected in the girl’s eyes. Behind her was an infinite expanse and her front exhibited a grand marble door. As the large white door appeared to be the only point of interest in the impossible landscape, she began walking towards it. Upon closer inspection, the door itself was clean and smooth. It bore no fancy architecture and appeared like a clean slate. Similarly, the frame of the marble entrance was a simple and plain archway held up by marble pillars. Near the structure's base was a regular-sized lectern with a single piece of paper and a plain white mask. The girl picked up the piece of paper and read the inscription.

  ‘King of Nothing’

  Below the large text, smaller letters were written out,

  ‘Goodluck, Laica’

  Thinking to herself, she pondered what the name Laica insinuated and concluded that, perhaps, it was her own name.

  ‘Laica… is that my name?’

  Suddenly, the door began to move. As it slowly opened with a loud rumble, a gush of pressure peered out toward the girl. She attempted to brace herself from being blown away but just as her grip on the ground was about to be lost, the door became motionless. A crack within the grand marble door could now be visible and behind it appeared to be another white room. With no other choice, she equipped the mask onto her face and proceeded forward through the small opening.

  Within the room were thirteen marble white thrones. They were placed in a circular formation with each throne facing the center. As the girl walked closer to the seating arrangement, she noticed others had claimed spots on certain thrones. Carved into the base of each marble seat appeared to be an inscription of the person's title or epithet. Finding the words written on the paper she had prior to entering the room, she quickly found the throne that was designated for her.

  Sitting down, she examined and observed the other attendees and their titles.

  The first one she carefully analyzed was the Royal Slaughterer. He had a large muscular build and the mask he wore was blotted in blood red. His clothing seemed to signify a certain level of authority, perhaps that of a general in war. A blue officiate garment wrapped tightly around his torso as he crossed his arms. Noticing the girl's stare, he glared back.

  “Oh don't be so mean, you murderous killer.”

  The voice came from the girl's right, from a man dressed in a casual suit. His mask was framed in roses with musical instruments, writing utensils, and doves. Strangely enough, it was dyed with a blackish hue. His title at the base of his throne read out as the Tormented Lover.

  The Royal Slaughter grumbled and a sigh could be heard from across him. A man sat directly left of Laica wistfully looked at the killer. He wore pure coloured martial art robes and had a gentle demeanor.

  “I miss the days when you were friendly.”

  Immediately, an invisible force rushed from the gaze of the slaughterer and attacked the robed man. However, a barrier appeared and bounced the pressure right off.

  “Tsk.”

  Ignoring the killer, the gentle person smiled at Laica. He had a friendly and reassuring tone when speaking.

  “Don't mind him, he's just cranky from having withdrawals. We appear to be unable to hurt each other in this sanctified space after all.”

  Curious, Laica quickly took a gander at his title. It was spelled out as Sword Memoralia. The art displayed on his mask was a simple picture of a single sword.

  ‘Friend!’ Laica thought to herself, relieved to find that some of the people here were accommodating.

  Soon, many others began entering through their respective doors. Noticing this, Laica peered around at her surroundings. Each door was similar to her own, albeit much different as well. While her entrance was plain and smooth, the other ones were decorated with sculpted events. Each one seemed to correlate with an important piece of history pertaining to the person.

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

  She analyzed the decor that was strewn upon the Royal Slaughterer’s door. It displayed a bulky man wielding an ax, slashing it through multiple people. The expression found on the face of this man demonstrated pure ecstasy. Unnerved by this, the girl decided to check out a different door. Behind her on the left was the Sword Memoralia’s entrance. A man performing a series of actions with a sword was carved into the marble. Following each step unveiled a final expression which exuded a sense of tranquility as the man embraced the sword to his chest.

  As the girl finished contemplating the symbolic significance behind the two doors, all the thrones finally had owners sitting atop each one. Once the attendees had settled down, a man and woman approached from nowhere to the center of the circle. The woman wore a black dress decorated in starry veiling which covered her dark violet hair. Her partner on the other hand, was completely draped in a shadow veil.

  She looked at Laica and smiled. It was a strange smile, however, it did not feel uncomfortable. It emanated a similar feeling to the Sword Memoralia yet different altogether. Regardless, she shook off the odd emotion and began to pay attention to what the woman was going to say.

  “I see we have finally all gathered here today.”

  “And where exactly is… here?” Questioned the Tormented Lover.

  “King’s Court.” She replied

  About a quarter of the attendees appeared visibly shocked and confused, including Laica herself.

  “It seems some of you may not have the required knowledge of this special place, so as the host, I shall perform the service of explaining it to all of you in due time.”

  In a bowing motion, she continued.

  “First and foremost, I’d like to congratulate you all for qualifying as King Candidates. As you know, the current king has been missing for the past few centuries. Even we do not know where he has gone, this world must continue. So, as the two left-hand men of the previous king, we have invoked the sacred ritual of crowning the next ruler.”

  “Why now of all times?”

  A man who bore a mask of a lopsided scale asked. He wore a judge-like robe and beneath him was the title, Corrupt Judge.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Only in this time period have there been enough candidates to perform a crowning selection, am I correct, Concealer?” Another person responded.

  “Correct indeed, Historifics.” Replied the hostess.

  Glancing at Historifics, his beige mask merely exhibited a pocket watch plastered onto a book. Thinking nothing of it, Laica continued to pay attention.

  The veiled woman smiled to herself and truthfully spoke out once more.

  “We began this process some decades after we couldn't find the king but there have never been enough candidates alive in the same era.”

  ‘Alive?’ Laica wondered.

  “Ya must’a killed ‘em all, ya dirty slaughterer haha!”

  A young male voice boisterously jeered at the Royal Slaughterer. It stemmed from a man wearing peasant rags and a mask depicting various faces of differing emotions. Sometimes they were sad, other times they were happy.

  “I would have killed you too if you weren't so… odd.” Replied the killer, somewhat disgusted.

  “Aw, ya should’a just not missed your swings. I could’a been dead by now if ya didn't.”

  The psychotic person now slumped back into his seat as if he was extremely sad.

  “That's enough bickering, Hysterical Serf, Royal Slaughterer. I have a question for Miss Concealer, how did we qualify as candidates?”

  This time, a woman in a red dress asked. Her mask displayed a simple smile. The inscription beneath her then spelled out, Sweet Tooth.

  Happy to answer any questions, the Concealer quickly replied with, “The King’s Court measures one’s potential to create change.”

  “Change?”

  “Correct, the King’s Court bases the selection process by what is most needed in the current times. During this era of… nothing, I suppose that’s what you could call it, a king that brings about great change will be necessary. This means, regardless of how many Marks of Mastery you attain, the King’s Court requires one to have potential in change before candidacy.”

  ‘Marks of Mastery? Wiseman didn't teach me about that. Perhaps something to do with the efficiency of a concept?’ Laica questioned to herself.

  The second host then shot a glance toward the Concealer. He tapped on his wrist and she nodded back.

  “It appears we must abruptly conclude our question phase as we have run out of time. Ah, one final thing, beware of the Ruler Spirit.”

  The hostess then took a step back and allowed her partner to present himself. He had a raspy and stern tone and spoke with whispers.

  “We will be watching over all of you during this process. You shall be summoned when the first cull takes place.”

  And with a wave of the Concealer’s hand, a large curtain enveloped and spun around the centre of the grand hall. It spread upward to the air and bloomed into the surroundings, covering each candidate throne.