Chapter Twelve: Message from the Fallen Thrones
Kain collapsed among the ruins, his body broken, his vision dim.
The tower was gone—the Stone King vanished, the Black Hunters scattered into dust.
Only Kain remained, pulsing with a strange, ancient energy he could barely contain.
Then came the sound.
Not wind.
Not the cries of beasts.
Music.
A single, soft note—plucked from an invisible string, echoing like memory in the dust.
Kain followed it.
It led him to a crumbled hall, where a lone figure sat atop a shattered statue.
Tall, draped in silver, a porcelain mask hiding his face.
The music stopped.
"You survived," the figure said, voice calm and measured. "I suppose that makes you worthy."
Kain said nothing. His hand inched toward his weapon.
The masked man chuckled.
"If I wanted you dead, I'd have left you in the tower."
From beneath his cloak, he pulled a scroll, bound with red thread.
"This is yours. From the bloodline of the Fallen Thrones."
"I don't know what that means," Kain muttered.
"Not yet," the man said. "But you will."
He dropped the scroll at Kain's feet—and vanished.
His body dissolved into white feathers... that turned to ash before they touched the ground.
Kain opened the scroll.
Inside was a single sentence, written in dark, flowing ink:
"When both hearts beat as one, the world will split again."
Below it, a symbol:
A cracked crown... and beneath it, two burning eyes.
The fire within Kain flared in recognition.
Another path had opened.
And to walk it, he'd need to find the others—
—the heirs of thrones long buried beneath ash.