Have you ever believed the saying: Never meet your hero—because they may not meet your expectations?
That's why I lived in secrecy in my past life.
Because I'm the Dark Lord. I was one of the champions of the gaming world.
I held the title of number one in destroying my enemies.
I had legendary equipment to show off, mythical mounts and pets that made other gamers idolize me.
My avatar was so famous, so powerful, and so rich it was like a bonfire compared to the flickering candle my real life used to be.
I'll be honest. Before I died, I was in my late forties—living paycheck to paycheck. I stretched my salary by sacrificing everything except my gaming needs and my cats.
There it is, the truth I never wanted to admit or face alone: I was broke.
But who cares? I was living a life I enjoyed—and my cats loved me.
That's why I never wanted my fans or followers to meet me in person.
I definitely wouldn't meet their expectations.
And now here he is. Merlin. The real eff-ing Merlin.
The Wizard of legends. A man from mythical stories in my world—standing here in front of me.
And he's trashing my party.
Man… it's true. You should never meet your heroes.
I'm sorry about my outburst, I hope you readers understand.
He's laughing in front of me.
And I—a fool, so scared and so awestruck—cannot even say a word.
"I… have not heard my true name spelled out for such a long time…" he chuckled.
And what am I supposed to say about that? My brows are starting to ache. I can't believe this—I'm out of banter.
The laughter faded into a hum as he leaned forward slightly, the dim glow from the Dominion's veins glinting along his long, white hair.
His purple robe flowed around him like mist. The black staff in his hand tapped softly on the obsidian floor, each sound echoing like a distant heartbeat.
The man's presence bent the shadows themselves; even the air felt older around him.
"Ahh… your main body… still wrapped with that Thorns of Ra."
He bent a little further, peering from his ivory chair as light from its surface washed faintly against the surrounding gloom. It was the only illumination in the hall that wasn't born of shadow—the only color that dared to stand against the dark.
The Thorns pulsed like veins of molten iron, constricting around the crystal husk that bound my true form.
Each flare sent a hot ache through my chest, as if the curse itself were breathing with me.
Seeing his eyes trace those bindings made the tendons in my neck tense.
Anger welled inside me, sudden and sharp—like a dam breaking.
"You!" I shouted, surprising even myself as the stunned fog lifted.
"You are part of this!"
"Marvelous…" he murmured, still examining my prison. His expression was that of an artist admiring a sculpture. My rage didn't even register.
"You're the one behind my summoning!" I pushed on. "You gave the order to imprison me with those cursed ropes!"
The fury shook through me. I stood, fists clenched, the Dominion answering instinctively. Shadows steamed upward from my feet, coiling around me like serpents.
Merlin turned at last, his face serene, his white mustache curling faintly with his smile. There was no threat in his bearing.
He looked more like a grandfather watching his grandchild take a first step, waiting patiently for the fall that must follow.
"Of course I did," he said gently. "How would young Silas know about the dying star—much less when it would die—if not for me?"
He smiled again, that same maddening, knowing smile.
"The question is… what will you do now?"
His words struck like a blow to the chin.
My head spun.
What would I do?
Lash out in anger?
Tear the void again and let the abyss consume him, as I once threatened the Seven?
The shadows around me pulsed, eager—waiting for command.
But something inside me urged restraint.
Why not strike? Why hold back?
I looked at Merlin—Caled, or whatever name he wore. He hadn't broken a sweat. He hadn't flinched. He had walked into my Dominion as if it were a garden path, sat on that luminous chair that glowed like the memory of daylight, and smiled.
He was powerful. Tremendously powerful.
Of course he was. He's the eff-ing Merlin.
Violence should never be the first answer, I reminded myself.
Maybe that was the "something inside" speaking.
I drew a breath and slowly forced myself to sit back down—dignifiedly… if that's a word.
The Dominion twitched in protest; steam folded inward and melted back into shadow.
"Good… Gooood…" Merlin whispered, inhaling as if he could taste the restraint in the air.
My own damn words.
No—not even mine.
That was Star Wars.
My blood chilled. Merlin shouldn't know Star Wars.
"What the fuss!" I blurted, startled.
And once more, the chamber reverberated with Merlin's laughter.