Scene: Dictator POV continues
Chris's voice echoed in the room like a decree from the heavens themselves.
"You will do neither."
I raised my head slowly, heart pounding. He wasn't angry. Not visibly. But there was something deeper in his eyes—disappointment? Or was it a lesson he needed to teach?
"You are the Dictator," he continued, rising slowly from the bed, each movement a statement of control and recovered power. "But that power comes with a curse—pride. You were tested, and you failed."
I lowered my eyes. I couldn't argue.
"But…" he said, now towering over me, his tone shifting into the godlike calm I knew too well, "failure is not final. It's fertilizer for greatness… if you learn."
He extended his hand. I hesitated… then took it.
"I didn't trust anyone fully," he admitted. "Not even you. I needed to see what this empire had become in my absence. I needed to see how you ruled, how the people felt. And I needed to know—" his gaze pierced mine, "—if the gods still walked these streets, or if mortals had replaced them."
I stood, his hand still gripping mine.
"Father…" I said, voice cracking, "I wanted to be you."
"No," he said firmly. "You were never meant to be me, Christiana. You were meant to be better."
I felt Skylar's hand touch my shoulder from behind. Soft. Supportive. My mother hadn't spoken much since the reveal—but her eyes never left him. She had seen him shot, comatose, and now disguised and reborn. He wasn't just a man. He was a force.
Chris turned toward the window, where the sun was rising over the capital.
"I've returned," he said, voice low but thunderous in its promise. "And the gods shall never walk hidden again."
He turned back to us.
"Prepare the throne hall. Tonight, I speak to the people myself."
I nodded and left the room, mind still swirling.
The empire had watched a beggar be arrested.
They would now see their God return.
To be continued…