The air shifted.
Every candle in the hall extinguished at once, plunging the chamber into darkness. The only light came from the floating shards of the shattered mirror, their glow twisting into a pale crown of molten silver that hovered above the ruined dais.
But it wasn't the crown that made Alexander tense. It was the voice.
Smooth. Ageless. Heavy with the weight of centuries buried in silence.
"You broke the seal. You tore the thread. And now…"
"…I walk free."
The sound didn't come from the crown or the fragments. It came from everywhere—from the stones, the air, the very marrow of their bones.
Alexander instinctively drew his blade, though what good was steel against something so intangible? His voice was iron when he spoke:
"Show yourself."
A low laugh followed, curling like smoke through the darkness.
"I already have."
The Shadow in the Room
The shards spun faster, humming as they completed their formation. And then… the crown stilled. Slowly, almost reverently, it descended—hovering at eye level between Alexander and Isabella, who was struggling to rise despite her pallor.
Isabella's breath caught. "It's not just a crown," she whispered. "It's a vessel."
The voice answered her thought.
"A vessel… and a promise. Take me, and I will make you more than kings and queens. I will make you what the old gods feared."
Alexander gritted his teeth. "And if we refuse?"
The darkness shifted.
For a heartbeat, the hall became something else—a scorched world of broken spires and seas of fire. Shadows stretched like chains around his throat. He smelled ash. Blood. Heard screams echoing from a time that wasn't his own.
Then it was gone.
But the voice lingered.
"Refuse… and watch your world burn without me."
The Pull
Isabella's eyes locked on the crown. Her fingers trembled—not with fear, but with temptation. She could feel it calling, its power slithering through her veins like liquid fire.
Alexander saw it. He moved closer, gripping her wrist.
"Don't," he said, his voice sharp enough to cut stone. "You don't know what it will cost."
Her lips parted. "And if this is the only way to stop what's coming?"
The crown pulsed, as if amused.
"What comes cannot be stopped. But it can be ruled."
The Choice
Alexander stared at the floating crown, every instinct screaming to destroy it. But deep in the marrow of the world, something older than the First Flame had woken—and its laughter promised one thing:
This was no longer about the throne.
This was about dominion.
And someone… would wear that crown.