The crown hovered like a fragment of midnight, shards circling it in a halo of molten silver. Its glow was soft—too soft, like the flicker of a predator's eyes in tall grass. The throne hall, once a place of victory, felt suffocating, every breath laced with power that was not theirs.
And the voice… oh, the voice was patient now.
Coiling through the silence like silk, it spoke not to both of them, but to her.
> "He cannot bear this weight alone."
"He is strong, yes—but not enough. Not for what comes."
Isabella froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The whisper wasn't sound; it was inside her—sliding between her thoughts like smoke curling through cracks.
She tried to push it away. Tried to anchor herself in the steady rhythm of her pulse, the warmth of her blood. But the whisper pressed deeper.
> "Seven gates. Seven kings that will rise. He will break before the fourth."
"But you… you could break them all."
Her fingers twitched at her side. Not toward the crown—yet—but the urge burned like wildfire under her skin.
---
The Choice That Lurks
Alexander was speaking—she saw his lips move, the harsh set of his jaw, the storm in his eyes—but his voice was distant. She caught only fragments:
"…we destroy it… no one touches…"
Destroy it.
The words cut her like a blade.
Because the whispers had shown her things—cities burning under skies that bled black, children torn from their mother's arms, a world drowning in screams. And above it all, the Endless King, vast and unstoppable.
> "Would you let them die because of pride?" the voice hissed sweetly.
"Would you watch him fall… when you could make him kneel beside you?"
Isabella swallowed hard, her throat dry as ash.
☆☆☆
The Crack Inside
"Isabella?" Alexander's voice broke through, sharp now. His hand gripped her arm—warm, grounding—but it didn't quiet the whispers. If anything, they roared louder, laced with something dark and sweet.
She looked at him then, truly looked—and saw not the man she loved, but the weight he carried, heavier than any crown. His armor bore scars. His soul bore more.
Could he withstand what was coming? Could anyone?
> "No," the whispers breathed.
"But you could. You were never meant to serve. You were meant to rule."
☆☆☆
The Pull of Midnight
The crown pulsed, silver glow spilling like moonlight across the cracked floor. It wasn't just an object anymore—it was alive, humming in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Isabella took a step forward.
Just one.
Alexander's grip tightened instantly. "Isabella." His voice was low, dangerous. "Don't."
She met his gaze, eyes burning with something fierce and fractured. "And if this is the only way to save you? To save all of them?"
The voice laughed—a sound like broken bells and fire.
> "Choose, little queen."