The King Of All Things Gone

Light cascades down the mountain tops, and lands upon a clearing in the trees. Once, a great castle had stood, but now, reduced to ashes and rubble, it's lost to time. An old man stands, bony fingers entwined with vines trailing up a crumbling wall. His face holds a withered smile, like a fading memory, and his eyes look cold and dead. 

No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the tragedy that flashes behind his eyelids, the images haunting him, chasing him, like a rabid animal chasing him through a forest of what once was. 

The man slowly moves away and sits, with a sigh of exhaustion, on a large rock. The light around him begins to dim, and the trees cover the sun as it sets. Orange is what he sees now - just orange, no reds, no blacks... just orange. As the sun falls, he begs it one last time to take him with it. And it does, pulling him under, away from all he has lost. He cannot gain, but he cannot lose. 

The unmoving time he sits in becomes bliss.

He closes his eyes, and smiles, the smile withered, like a fading memory, his eyes look alight and happy. Content. 

There, he goes. The king of all things is gone.