Pentober 2026 - Day 3: Throne

Ok so, what is Pentober? Promptober? It's a writing tradition that's been around the web for a while where you write up a short story every day in October based on prompts. Some go for pen and paper, some digital; everyone has their own style. I'll be posting here, and I'll be using the prompts from https://www.topinfiction.com/p/pentober-2026 

House rules are that I vomit-write the story; no planning, just taka taka taka on the keys. I get ONE edit at the end of the draft, then we post it. House rules also say that I get to play catch up and do multiple days separately on one day or combined if work gets wild and I can't write. Get it? Got it? Good! Here we go. I am home! And jetlagged! And querying agents! This is a quick one to get the cobwebs of travel off.

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The High Royal Obsequious New Empire, T.H.R.O.N.E, had sat empty for a fortnight. Both the seat itself, a resplendent, gilded, gem-encrusted Eames chair at at the top of a high stepped pyramid in the center of Hiveworld One, and the office of the Throne, the ruler of Hiveworld One, had been vacated.

The old Throne, Throne Davis, had been pulled down and discarded after it was revealed that they did not care for a new song surging in popularity across the brainwaves. They were cast down, rejected by the throne and forced to fall down the pyramid to their demise. A new Throne was needed. All across Hiveworld One, bodies were still, eyes fluttering rapidly beneath closed lids, mouths hung loose and drooling.

The mind-machine chips that connected all of Hiveworld One's residents to each other, and each of them to the Throne, and the Throne, through the high-technical powers of the chair's design, to the administration of every being, machine, and process of Hiveworld One, were working overtime. Outside of essential life-function, every scintilla of computing power was focused on one question: who would be the new Throne? Who would process and execute all decisions for the High Royal Obsequious New Empire? Who would find a way to obey and fawn and serve the disparate desires of a trillion souls and, in turn, control them all towards the whim of the whole?

Slowly, one person began to crawl up the steps of the pyramid. They agonized, weak from weeks of not eating or drinking, and pulled themselves up the towering edifice. Eventually, days later, they pulled themselves up and fell into the throne. Wires, needles, pumps, arms, and gears sprung to life, positioning them, injecting them, feeding them, keeping them eternally alive and awake. Below, the population began to stir. They were quiet, every thought and conversation passing through their mind-machine chips to the Throne and to the Right and Proper recipient. It was the Throne's will. It was everyone's will. Life began to resume in Hiveworld One; the reign of the 60,279th Throne began. If they lasted the year, they would mark the empire's 1000th anniversary.