He walked across the empty hall, contemplating how his life was about to change at the snap of a finger. He ran his fingers across the battle worn armor his father once wore. He stared at his distorted reflection in the visor of the helmet, wondering if he could fill his father’s place. He ran his fingers carefully across the twisted metal that bordered the gaping hole in the chest plate. The damage and wound that finalized his father’s reign.  His reverie ended as he heard angry chatter through the double doors leading outside. He walked to the extravagant chair that centered the back of the hall. “A throne” his father had called it, in reality it was a burden. He turned his back to the throne, and towards the door leading to the apoplectic crowd. He stopped before opening the doors and said to himself. “This burden is mine.”