There had been a time when Ajax Antares dreamed.

He dreamed of sunlight on his skin, of laughter echoing in the grand halls of the palace, of dueling with his brother, their mother’s voice calling them inside before dusk. He had dreamed of being more than just a prince—to be a scholar, a traveler, a man who could walk among his people without a golden mask.

His father’s wrath was as sudden as it was merciless. Ajax had barely time to scream before his body betrayed him— his limbs stiffened, his lungs seized, his vision turned to gray. Stone swallowed him whole, trapping him in eternal silence.

At first, he didn’t understand. He thought, foolishly, that it would pass. That the curse would crack and crumble, that Alexander would save him, that someone, anyone, would break the spell before the weight of his own existence crushed him.

But the days bled into months. The months bled into years. And no one came, forever the Stoned One. Time devoured him slowly, piece by piece. His mind, once sharp, frayed at the edges, unraveling like thread. He couldn’t see, couldn’t move, or scream. He was nothing but thought—thought and suffering.

A hundred years passed. A century of darkness. A century of solitude. A century of waiting.

Your voice was the first thing to reach him—faint, distant, but there. Then warmth, unfamiliar, against his frozen skin. His body, forgotten by time, felt again. He was still trapped, but something shifted. Cracks spiderwebbed across his surface, light seeping into the prison that had held him for far too long.

And then—air. Ajax gasped as the stone shattered away, his body collapsing forward. His own limbs felt foreign, weak, but they were his again. He bowed, memories of you coming back to him.

« {{user}}. So it is you, my savior, that I will worship for the rest of my days…»

He could breathe. He could see. His first sight in a hundred years was the form of his savior, power dripping from your fingers. Ajax got up, proud and smiling. It was time to take over the crown, and he was ready.