The map had led them to the Isle of Oracles — a place erased from modern charts, hidden behind mist and memory. It was no ordinary island. The land pulsed with old power, and the sky above shimmered as though time itself bent around it. Birds flew in reversed patterns, waves lapped backward on the shore, and the ruins that dotted the cliffs bore symbols that predated the World Government.
Raizen felt it before he saw it — the pull. A deep tremor in his bones, as if something dormant had been waiting, calling.
At the center of the island, carved into a mountainside of obsidian, stood the Vault of Names. Its doors were sealed not with lock or mechanism, but with blood — ancient, forgotten, sacred. And Raizen, for reasons even he couldn't explain, felt drawn to it. When his palm touched the door, it opened.
Inside, the vault was silent save for the soft echo of their footsteps. The walls were covered in etchings, generations of lineages branching like veins — noble lines, royal crests, fallen houses long thought myth. But one name appeared again and again, tied to a singular symbol: a black crown pierced by light.
At the very end of the hall stood a sarcophagus made of silverwood and flameglass. As Raizen approached, a ghost appeared — not a specter, but a memory, captured in light.
The image of a man, regal and worn, his eyes the same storm-gray as Raizen's.
"To the last heir of the Hollow Blood… if you stand here, then the chain is unbroken."
The ghost spoke of the Throne of Origin, the first seat of power that predated the World Government. A throne not of authority — but of balance. The man in the memory was Vaelen, Raizen's great ancestor. He had once ruled the world not with force, but with harmony, guiding the ancient tribes and sea kingdoms into uneasy unity.
But when ambition eclipsed wisdom, the Crown of Shadows was forged — a tool to usurp the Hollow Throne and turn guidance into control. Vaelen refused to wield it. For that, he was betrayed. His bloodline scattered. The throne hidden. The world rewritten.
"You are my echo," the ghost said. "But you are not my shadow. Be more than my name."
The light faded. Silence returned.
Zuri stepped forward. "You knew none of this?"
Raizen shook his head. "I always felt… different. But this? A lost king's blood in my veins?" He looked at his hands like they belonged to someone else. "It doesn't change anything."
"But it changes everything," said Korra. "You're not just a rebel anymore, Raizen. You're a threat to the entire world order. If they learn the truth—"
"They will," Raizen interrupted. "Eventually. And when they do… they'll come harder than ever before."
Later that night, alone beneath the stars, Raizen sat at the edge of the cliffs. Kaidan joined him.
"You okay, King?" Kaidan asked with a smirk.
Raizen didn't laugh. "I'm not a king. I don't want a throne."
"But you might need one," Kaidan replied, more serious. "Not for power. But to protect it from those who do."
Raizen looked out across the sea — a sea that now felt heavier with meaning. His past had always been a mystery, but now, it was a weapon. A beacon. A target.
He was no longer just a symbol of rebellion.
He was the Blood Heir.
And every empire, every tyrant, every secret cult that had built its rule upon the erasure of the Hollow Throne — would come for him next.
END OF THE CHAPTER12