The silence in the shattered throne hall was a living thing. Thick. Hungry. Even the flames in the sconces dared not flicker, as if they, too, were holding their breath.
The crown hovered between them, spinning slowly, whispering without words. Its glow kissed the edges of Isabella's face, painting her features in silver and shadow—a queen carved from temptation.
She stood inches away now. One step. One breath. One heartbeat from everything changing.
Alexander's grip tightened on her arm like iron bands, his jaw locked, his storm-dark eyes locked on hers.
> "Isabella," he said, voice low and raw. "Look at me. Not at it. Me."
She looked. Gods, she looked—and for a moment, he saw her. The woman who had fought beside him through blood and ash, who had carved a throne from ruin, who had held him when kingdoms burned.
But behind her eyes, something moved.
A flicker of silver.
A shadow with teeth.
> "He will never understand," the whisper slid like venom in her veins. "Not like I do. Not like the power waiting in your hands."
Her lips parted, trembling. "Alexander… what if this is the only way?"
---
The Breaking Point
He stepped closer, so close his breath mingled with hers, so close his words were thunder and prayer.
> "There is always another way. We've carved them before."
But the crown pulsed—once, twice—its shards humming like a choir of broken angels. A storm of whispers poured through her skull, curling like serpents, drowning reason in promises sweeter than life.
> "Seven gates… seven storms… You could end them before they rise."
"Wear me. And the Endless King will kneel."
Her fingers lifted. Slow. Unthinking.
Alexander saw it—felt it—and his pulse slammed like war drums.
"No." His voice shattered the silence. He seized her wrist, yanking her back, spinning her to face him. His hands gripped her shoulders, his eyes blazing. "I will burn the world before I let it take you."
The crown flared white-hot. For an instant, Alexander felt something lash at his mind—a strike of raw hunger, trying to unmake him from the inside. He gritted his teeth and shoved it out with sheer will.
---
The Shard's Wrath
The floor cracked. Runes bled light. The mirror shards screamed—a shrill, ear-splitting sound as they shot outward, embedding into the walls like jagged teeth. The crown trembled in the air, spinning faster, its glow searing like molten silver.
Then the voice returned. Louder. Stronger. Triumphant.
> "You refuse the gift? Then you will taste the storm."
The hall convulsed. Pillars split as darkness gushed from the crown like smoke made flesh, swirling into a towering shape—faceless, boneless, a silhouette of hunger given form.
The first gate had opened.
---
Alexander shoved Isabella behind him, raising his sword as the black tide surged toward them.
"Stay behind me!"
But Isabella's voice rose like fire: "Alexander—this isn't just an attack. It's a summoning."
And in the roar of that truth, the creature's hollow eyes turned to her—because it wasn't here for blood.
It was here for the one who broke the seal.