The death of Killian, the sovereign of the British Empire.
The news that the brightest star with the greatest influence in the world had fallen spread across the globe at terrifying speed.
There was not a single newspaper, radio station, or media outlet anywhere that did not cover his death.
The citizens of the British Empire, who had loved their sovereign more than any ruler in history, wept openly at the news.
"How can His Majesty be gone? This makes no sense!"
"Your Majesty, you cannot leave us like this! You were supposed to guide us into the twenty first century!"
"I heard he had recovered recently. How could this happen?"
"What were the doctors doing? They should have stayed by his side at all times!"
The celebratory mood of the new century collapsed instantly.
Yet Britain itself endured better than most.
Canada fell into deep mourning.
"The father of Canada, the light of Ireland, the great leader of the oppressed has passed on March 13."
"That cannot be true!"
"He cannot be gone!"
"Where is the body? What if he returns?"
Some even insisted that, just as Christ rose after three days, his body should not be buried immediately.
Others demanded a funeral unlike any before.
Not just a king, but the man who freed humanity from the Malthusian trap.
The citizens accepted this naturally.
His funeral became a global event.
Leaders, nobles, and industrial magnates gathered in London.
Those educated through his scholarship foundation had risen across society.
It was a gathering of the world's elite.
"I never thought he would leave like this."
"I was still working on inventions he would have admired."
"Then sell them to me," one man joked.
"Edison, even now you think of money?"
"Tesla, he would have wanted innovation to continue."
They even debated preserving his body.
But Victoria put an end to it.
"You will not turn my husband into a relic."
Instead, she chose another path.
Statues.
Golden statues across the Empire.
"Mother, are you serious?"
"People wish to remember him."
Even Edward hesitated.
Yet the plan moved forward.
Soon, monuments appeared.
The first in London drew crowds immediately.
People wept before it.
"Your Majesty!"
The same happened in Montreal and Toronto.
Each city competed.
Even Los Angeles made claims.
Eventually, statues were built everywhere.
Edward sighed.
"Is this normal?"
Requests continued.
Even Joseon proposed one.
A statue of Killian shaking hands with its emperor.
Edward gave in.
"…Do as they wish."
He closed his eyes.
'Father, the world loved you more than I expected.'
Killian would have hated such displays.
He preferred subtle influence.
But it no longer mattered.
History belongs to those who remain.
Edward resolved to live longer.
Time continued.
The world followed the path Killian had foreseen.
Victoria spent her remaining years preserving his legacy, then passed away quietly.
Edward ruled effectively as the next emperor.
Then turmoil returned.
Qing faced massive rebellion.
Revolutionaries advanced rapidly but failed near Beijing.
The empire split in two.
North and South.
Soon after, conflict erupted in America.
Another civil war.
Larger than before.
Millions died within a year.
New technologies turned warfare into devastation.
The world realized it could face destruction.
The British Empire strengthened the United Nations.
With its allies, it prevented a second global war.
Humanity moved forward.
Toward a new century.
A beeping sound filled a hospital room.
A patient stirred.
Doctors rushed in.
"What happened?"
"Vitals spiked suddenly."
The situation was tense.
The hospital was the best in the country.
Failure here meant failure everywhere.
But sometimes, reason meant nothing.
This patient had survived the impossible.
A plane struck by lightning more than ten times during landing.
Systems failed.
Even backup failed.
The aircraft crashed onto the runway.
"Why did this happen?"
"No one knows."
At that moment, the patient opened his eyes.
"…My head…"
"Can you hear me?"
He looked around.
"A hospital? I was in London…"
"You were in an accident."
"An accident?"
Confusion filled his mind.
'Was everything a dream?'
But something did not make sense.
If that life had been an illusion, why was he here?
Why a plane crash?
He steadied himself.
"Is this South Korea?"
The nurse hesitated.
"South Korea? Where is that?"
He froze.
"This is the Joseon Empire. Hanseong Special City. You are in an AL Group hospital."
"…The Joseon Empire?"
He turned to the mirror.
A young man stared back.
A face almost identical to Killian.
And for the first time, he truly understood.
This was not the end.