Global Apocalypse: My System Is Always AFK

The broadcast cut out a few seconds after the Origin Engine’s admission, leaving all four candidates standing in the terminal chamber’s restored quiet, the weight of what had just happened settling over them in very different ways.

Malachar hadn’t moved. He stood with his hands pressed flat against his own face, breathing unevenly, the aftermath of a breakdown witnessed by an entire multiverse clearly still crashing over him in waves. Ethan kept his hand on his shoulder, saying nothing, letting the silence do whatever work it needed to do.

”I need to go up there,” Malachar said finally, voice thick. ”Halvorsen saw that. My officers saw that. I need to-”

”You don’t need to do anything right now,” Ethan said gently. ”Give yourself a minute before you go figure out how to be a king again.”

”I don’t know how to be a king again,” Malachar admitted, quieter now. ”Not after that. Not after everyone I rule just watched me fall apart in front of the entire multiverse.”

”Maybe that’s not the worst thing that could’ve happened,” Sundari said, her own composure carefully rebuilt after her earlier confession. ”I’ve watched a lot of leaders across a lot of worlds, Malachar. The ones people actually trust with their lives aren’t the ones who never crack. They’re the ones who let themselves crack, occasionally, and still show up the next day anyway.”

Malachar didn’t answer that, but something in his posture eased slightly, the words clearly landing somewhere real.

They surfaced together to find the courtyard in a state Ethan hadn’t fully anticipated - not chaos, not the diplomatic scrambling he’d braced for, but something quieter, heavier, an entire gathered crowd of delegates and residents standing in a hush that suggested every single one of them had just watched the same broadcast.

Regent Halvorsen stood at the front of the Instance-9 delegation, and the moment Malachar’s eyes found hers across the courtyard, something passed between them that Ethan couldn’t fully read - not shame, not pity, something considerably more complicated.

Halvorsen crossed the distance first, closing the gap between herself and her king with the same brisk, formal efficiency she brought to everything, and then, without any preamble at all, simply pulled him into an embrace.

”You absolute fool,” she said, voice rough. ”Ten years, and you never once let any of us see that. Do you have any idea how much we’ve been carrying, all this time, believing you needed us to be as certain as you pretended to be?”

Malachar stood frozen for a moment, clearly unprepared for this exact response, before something in him finally, fully broke loose, and he returned the embrace with an intensity that suggested he’d been waiting a decade for permission to need it.

”I thought,” he said, voice muffled, ”if I showed anyone how afraid I actually was, everything I built would collapse.”

”It’s still standing,” Halvorsen said. ”It was always going to still be standing, Malachar. You built it on more than just your own certainty, whether you let yourself believe that or not.”

The courtyard watched the exchange in respectful, quiet silence, and Ethan found himself thinking, not for the first time this story, about how much of the last several months had come down to exactly this - people discovering, usually the hard way, that the things they’d been most afraid to show each other were often the exact things that made them worth trusting in the first place.

The Instance-9 officer corps’ formal response came an hour later, delivered through a hastily arranged all-hands broadcast back to their own world, and Ethan watched from a respectful distance as Malachar, still visibly raw but steadier now, addressed his people directly for the first time since the trial.

”I have spent ten years telling all of you that unity required my certainty,” Malachar said, standing before the assembled delegation’s own transmission equipment, Halvorsen at his side. ”I was wrong. Unity requires trust, and trust cannot exist where certainty is the only thing permitted to be visible. I am not withdrawing from my responsibilities to Instance-9. But I am telling you, clearly, for the first time - I do not have every answer. I have not always had every answer. And going forward, I would rather govern honestly, with all of you seeing exactly how uncertain I sometimes am, than continue pretending a strength I’ve clearly, finally, exhausted.”

The transmission’s return feed showed something Ethan hadn’t expected - not disappointment, not the collapse of authority Malachar had spent a decade fearing, but a wave of visible relief rippling through the officers and civilians watching from home, several of them, judging by the muffled audio, openly emotional at finally hearing their king admit to being human.

”That’s not what I expected,” Malachar admitted quietly, once the transmission ended, watching the feed’s aftermath with something like disbelief.

”Yeah,” Ethan said. ”Turns out people generally trust honesty more than performance, even when the performance is really, really good.”

The Coalition’s own response arrived shortly after, considerably more formal, delivered through the usual channels but carrying a weight Ethan hadn’t seen in any prior communication.

[NOTICE: THE COALITION OF INSTANCE-FRAMEWORKS FORMALLY WITHDRAWS ITS MOTION REGARDING PROVISIONAL CUSTODY OF THE SUCCESSION SEAT.]

[NOTICE: HAVING WITNESSED THE FOURTH TRIAL IN FULL, ACROSS EVERY REGISTERED INSTANCE, THE COALITION UNANIMOUSLY AGREES THAT ANY ATTEMPT TO CLAIM JURISDICTIONAL AUTHORITY OVER OUTCOMES OF THIS NATURE WOULD REPRESENT A FUNDAMENTAL MISUNDERSTANDING OF WHAT HAS ACTUALLY UNFOLDED.]

[FURTHER NOTICE: SEVERAL DELEGATIONS HAVE INDEPENDENTLY REQUESTED THAT THE COALITION FORMALLY RECOGNIZE THIS OUTCOME AS PRECEDENT - THAT UNRESOLVABLE-CLASS CANDIDATES BE PERMITTED TO PROGRESS THROUGH FUTURE TRIALS WITHOUT EXTERNAL POLITICAL INTERFERENCE, GIVEN THE DEMONSTRATED VALUE OF ALLOWING THE PROCESS TO UNFOLD ON ITS OWN TERMS.]

Ethan read the message twice, feeling something genuinely surprising settle in its wake - not relief exactly, but something adjacent to it, the sense of an institution finally, belatedly, learning a lesson it should’ve internalized weeks ago.

[NOTICE: The system would like to note that this represents the second time in as many weeks that a governing body has voluntarily withdrawn a motion targeting the subject after direct observation of his conduct. It considers this a meaningfully positive trend.]

”Yeah,” Ethan agreed, tired but genuinely lighter than he’d felt in days. ”Turns out the way to convince a bunch of scared institutions you’re not a threat isn’t fighting them. It’s just - being honest enough, consistently enough, that eventually they run out of reasons to be scared.”

That evening, with the courtyard finally settled into something resembling calm and Malachar spending time privately with Halvorsen, working through whatever needed working through after such a public reckoning, Ethan sat with Sundari near the excavation site, the same spot that had become, over the past several weeks, his preferred place to sit with everything this story kept handing him.

”One trial left,” he said quietly.

”One trial left,” Sundari agreed.

”You okay? After what you said down there. About Arjun.”

Sundari was quiet for a long moment, her weathered, ancient composure carrying something considerably softer than Ethan had seen from her before. ”I think so,” she said finally. ”It’s strange. I spent eight years telling myself I’d made peace with letting him stay dormant. Saying it out loud, in front of an entire multiverse, forced me to actually feel it instead of just repeating the story I’d built around it.”

Ethan nodded slowly, understanding that particular weight better than he might have a few weeks ago. ”The final trial. Any idea what’s coming?”

[NOTICE: The system would like to interject, having spent the last several hours quietly monitoring the terminal’s archive for any fragment relating to the fifth trial.]

Ethan glanced up. ”Find anything?”

[NOTICE: The system found exactly one entry, buried deep in the archive’s oldest, most corrupted layer — the same section that produced the ”the King is still-” fragment weeks ago. It is brief, and unlike every prior trial designation, it carries no clinical, procedural name at all.]

[It is simply labeled: ”THE LAST QUESTION.”]

Ethan felt the weight of that settle uneasily, the vague, ominous simplicity of the name carrying more dread than any of the previous trials’ clean, structured descriptions had managed.

”That’s not reassuring,” he said quietly.

[NOTICE: The system would agree. It would also like to note that the fragment includes one additional detail it has been holding until this exact moment, uncertain of how to raise it gently.]

[The final trial’s countdown has already begun.]

[It does not follow the same accelerating pattern as the prior four trials.]

[It is scheduled to commence at the exact same moment as the Coalition’s rescheduled Grand Concord session - the massive, multi-Instance gathering originally meant to formally address the subject’s status, now set to convene in his own courtyard in less than twenty-four hours.]