Chapter Thirteen: The City Without Kings
The journey took days.
Kain traveled through broken lands—fields scorched by war, rivers tainted with black veins, skies that never fully cleared.
The world felt sick. Or maybe it was just finally waking up.
His destination was a city spoken of in whispers: Noctera—a city without kings, without gods, without law.
A haven for outcasts. And, according to the scroll, the last known location of a descendant of the Fallen Thrones.
As he reached the blackened gates of the city, two guards stepped forward—faces hidden behind iron masks, weapons drawn.
"Name," one said flatly.
"Kain."
"No titles?"
"None that matter."
They looked at each other. One smirked. "Good. Titles get you killed here."
They let him in.
Noctera was chaos.
Fires burned in barrels beside glowing crystals. Merchants hawked relics that pulsed with forbidden power. Children danced in the shadows of beasts too large to name.
And above it all, looming like a scar on the sky, was the Hollow Spire—an ancient tower at the city's heart, said to house the secrets of every throne ever broken.
Kain didn't waste time.
He asked. He bribed. He fought.
Until he found her.
She was young—barely older than him—with silver hair braided in the style of the old royalty.
She lived above a library carved into the bones of a fallen giant.
Her name was Eira.
And when Kain told her what the scroll said, she didn't laugh.
She wept.
"They told me the bloodline was gone..."
He stepped closer. "It's not. And I need your help."
Eira looked into his eyes—and something ancient stirred behind hers.
"Then the second heart truly beats again."