The air inside the Crowned Chamber twisted.
Not in a metaphorical way. Not poetic. No—it actually twisted, warping the space like a mirage boiling off sun-scorched stone. The world bent, the light itself shimmered unnaturally, and something underneath reality hummed to life with a pulse Kael felt not in his ears, but in his bones.
A tremor slid beneath his boots—silent, yet undeniable. Cracks slithered out like glass shattering beneath pressure, and from them leaked that same cursed light he'd seen before. Ethereal. Ancient. Wrong.
The Seal in the center of the chamber pulsed like a heart that had just remembered how to beat.
The Crown, resting atop its obsidian pedestal, reacted with each tremor. It didn't just glow—it breathed. Flickers of ghostly energy coiled around it, leaking upward in spirals, like it was waking from a dream thousands of years old.
And at the center of it all—her.
Elira.
She stood before the Seal, arms outstretched, fingers curled in arcane formation. Her voice rose and fell in a chant not meant for mortal tongues. But this wasn't just Elira speaking anymore—Kael could feel it. Each syllable twisted in the air, layered and alien, like a choir of forgotten gods was speaking through her throat.
He took a step forward, hand reaching out instinctively.
"Elira—"
But his voice vanished. Not echoed. Not muffled.
It was devoured.
A second pulse erupted, this one stronger. Kael stumbled as a pressure wave rippled through the room, enough to knock air from lungs and reason from thought.
And then…
A voice.
Not hers.
Not his.
Not even real, perhaps.
"You see now, don't you?"
It came from everywhere. Nowhere. Behind him, above him, inside him. It slithered through the cracks of his mind like smoke through a broken door. Familiar, in that way nightmares sometimes feel nostalgic.
The Shattered King.
"You are the heir, Kael Solhart. The throne is yours. The world has always waited for you. You need only claim it."
"No…"
Kael clutched his skull as pain burst behind his eyes. The whispers sank into his mind like hooks, and for a terrifying moment, he saw through time itself.
He saw the throne.
He saw himself, seated upon it.
Bloodied. Crowned. Unrecognizable.
The Crown pulsed again, shape flickering like it couldn't decide what it wanted to become. Kael turned his head—only a fraction—but even then, he could see its allure: power. Resolve. Purpose.
But he also saw what it had done to Elira.
The woman he had once walked beside—his closest ally, the one who shared his oaths and stood against kingdoms with nothing but will—was gone.
What remained was a vessel.
A conduit for ambition dressed in her skin.
Her chanting ended with a final, soul-wrenching note. The Seal surged, threads of raw energy shooting outward like veins across the chamber.
And then she turned.
"I warned you, Kael."
Her voice wasn't cold.
It was dead.
Her eyes had no whites anymore. Just rings of burning crimson, like something had carved into her soul and replaced it with fire. Her form wavered—half-flesh, half-energy. A phantom given structure by belief.
"You were never meant to wield it," she said. "You hesitate. You cling to false ideals. That's why I will succeed where you never could. I will restore the Empire."
Kael's heart clenched, not from fear—but from grief.
She meant every word.
"Elira…" His voice cracked. "You don't have to do this."
She smiled, but there was no kindness in it—only contempt.
"Power is not given, Kael. It is taken."
Then, from the walls… they emerged.
The Remnants.
They slithered out from the blackness like memories returning to life. Some took the form of warriors—imperial soldiers draped in rusted armor etched with sigils from the First Empire. Others were little more than cloaked shadows with eyes like dying stars. They didn't speak.
They encircled the Seal. Forming a ring of silence. Of fate.
A towering figure stepped from their ranks.
Clad in blackened plate, his armor cracked and ancient, yet untouched by rust. His presence was thunder held in a cage. His helm bore the insignia of the First Age—the era before language, before light.
"The Empire fell not from weakness," the Remnant spoke, voice heavy with forgotten gravity, "but because of the Crown's truth."
"Elira is a pawn. As you soon will be."
"The world will be remade in our image."
Kael froze.
This wasn't about Elira. It never had been.
The Remnants… they weren't guardians of the Crown.
They were its prisoners. Or perhaps its disciples.
They were waiting. For centuries. For him.
A trap, centuries in the making.
Everything had led to this. The messages. The ruins. The omens.
The Seal didn't protect the world from the Crown.
It protected the world from what the Crown would awaken.
And now… it was breaking.
Kael's hands trembled. His blade felt light. Useless. The Crown's presence grew stronger—its warmth seeping into his skin like wildfire, begging to be wielded.
He could end this.
He could crush the Remnants.
He could even bring Elira back.
All he had to do was… reach out.
But then…
A memory surged.
A voice—not the whisper of the Shattered King. Not a lie.
But his own voice. From a life past.
From Theron Caylus, Captain of the Arcblade Vanguard.
"Power means nothing if it costs you yourself."
His grip tightened.
Kael inhaled sharply.
Then, he made his choice.
"…No."
He turned his blade—not toward the Crown.
But toward the Seal.
And with a scream that echoed through both time and stone, Kael plunged the blade into the center.
The Seal shattered.
Not cracked. Not broke.
Shattered.
A scream—not of sound, but of pressure—exploded outward. The chamber convulsed. The Crown shrieked in protest. The Remnants howled, their bodies dissolving into fractal patterns of starlight. Elira was flung backward mid-air, her energy spiraling wildly out of control.
Kael was lifted off his feet by the force and slammed into a column. Stone fractured. Blood filled his mouth. His bones screamed.
The ceiling gave way.
The chamber began to collapse.
Everything was dying.
His vision swam. Darkness clawed at the edges of his thoughts. Through the dust and ruin, he saw her—Elira, suspended in the air like a goddess torn in half. Half-beautiful. Half-monstrous.
She looked at him.
No words were spoken.
But he heard her.
"It's too late for me, Kael. It's always been too late."
And then—
Darkness.
"The worst betrayal is not the one that breaks your heart.
It's the one that makes you question whether it ever beat for them at all."