The Heart Engine pulsed.
Once… twice…
Each beat was a tolling bell in Ael's chest—an echo not of life, but of rule. Of cold law. Of the old self he'd left behind. The spherical core of Vorthar hovered above the cracked dais, fed by threads of soulbound crystal that pulsed with memories no man should own.
The voice that followed was not Kiria's.
It was his own.
"You abandoned the throne.You were built to rule.Reclaim what is yours."
Ael staggered back a step. The words hadn't come from his mouth—but from the Heart Engine. A recording of his past self, spoken like prophecy, etched into the core of Vorthar.
Vel stepped between him and the throne. "Don't listen."
Kiria stood unmoved, her hands at her sides, her eyes wide with devotion. "This machine still remembers your truest self. The one who forged empires and banished weakness."
"That man is dead," Nirra said, stepping forward, her voice sharp. "We watched him die. Twice."
Kiria tilted her head.
"Did he? Or did he simply hide behind warmth?"
—
The Engine began to descend, vines of soulglass extending toward Ael like fingers seeking flesh.
"Your mind is reawakened.Your will is rebuilt.Step forward, Ael of Vorthar.Ascend."
Ael's sword trembled in his grip.
He remembered the man he had been—the one who never flinched, never wept, never loved. The king who ruled because he believed feeling was the root of failure.
The machine wanted that man back.
Kiria's voice softened. "You once told me emotions were weaknesses to be excised like rot. I never forgot those words."
"I did," Ael said quietly.
She looked almost heartbroken.
And that was the most frightening part.
—
The child stepped forward then, barefoot, silent.
The boy of silence.
No longer hollow.
He looked up at the Heart Engine.
And he wept.
But his tears didn't fall from sorrow—they fell from recognition.
"This thing…" he whispered, "…it's a machine version of what I used to be."
Vel knelt beside him. "Then you know how to stop it?"
He nodded slowly.
"But it means cutting away what he once was. All of it. Even the pieces that built you," he said, glancing up at Ael.
Ael swallowed hard. "So to destroy it… I'd have to destroy my origin."
Nirra clenched her fists. "That's a choice only you can make."
—
Kiria stepped to the base of the throne, raising her arms. "We've already linked it to you. The Engine is calling. You only have to accept."
Ael's sword fell silent at his side.
The room trembled.
He closed his eyes.
In that moment, he saw two futures:
One where he sat once again on a throne, unfeeling and worshipped, ruling an empire of absolute law.
The other where he walked among people—messy, flawed, warm people—without a throne, but with a heart.
He opened his eyes.
And said, "No."
—
He turned the blade inward—not to stab, but to channel.
He poured everything he was into it—every pain, every love, every tear shed and friend lost. Every emotion that the old Ael had buried.
The sword burned gold.
Then white.
Then soul-deep blue.
He raised it high—and struck the throne.
—
The Heart Engine screamed.
It wasn't a sound.
It was a memory, torn from the bones of history.
The sphere cracked. A storm of soullight erupted, shattering the obsidian around them. Vines of memory recoiled as the room trembled violently.
Kiria screamed. "You betray your own blood!"
"No," Ael said, his voice steady. "I finally accept it."
The Engine pulsed one final time—then shattered into shards of silent glass.
—
Silence.
True, blessed silence.
Then…
The boy collapsed into Vel's arms, unconscious but breathing.
Nirra stumbled, gripping Ael's shoulder. "It's done."
Kiria stood frozen in disbelief. "He was… perfect…"
Ael stepped toward her.
"He was hollow."
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes—not of sorrow, but of disillusionment.
Then, without a word, she turned and walked into the shadows.
She didn't fight.
She simply left.
—
Hours later, the ruin crumbled behind them, the final breath of Vorthar turning to dust.
They stood beneath an open sky, wind rushing through grass that was finally green.
Nirra exhaled. "You could've ruled a continent."
"I'd rather protect one," Ael replied.
Vel took his hand.
And in that simple gesture, Ael knew:
The past no longer held him.
It only shaped him.