Beneath the Throne of Ash
The earth remembers.
It remembers every secret buried in its flesh.
Every oath broken beneath its weight.
And every crown… soaked in blood.
The entrance was hidden beneath the old chapel.
Ash pushed open the rusted iron grate, its hinges screaming like a warning. Beyond, stone stairs spiraled into darkness — worn smooth by time, slick with the damp breath of the earth.
Kael lit a lantern. Its golden glow flickered against the walls, revealing faint carvings — old High Tongue, weathered but still legible:
"Let none descend who bear guilt in their blood."
Kael muttered, "Well, we're screwed."
Ash stepped forward without pause.
They descended in silence.
Each level colder than the last.
The air grew heavy. Not just with dust or rot — but with presence. As if the catacombs themselves were aware of them. Watching. Listening.
And whispering.
At the bottom of the stairs, the corridor widened into a massive hall. Dozens of stone sarcophagi lined the walls, each sealed with wax and runes of binding. Some had cracked. Some were open.
None were empty.
Kael's face went pale. "These coffins… they were never for the dead, were they?"
Ash nodded. "No. They were prisons."
He moved to the largest one. Its seal was shattered, black scorch marks radiating out across the floor.
Something had escaped.
And something else had been fed.
In the center of the room stood a ritual circle — etched into the stone, filled with dried blood. Candles still flickered, though no one had lit them in hours. At its heart lay a crown.
Black iron. Jagged .Pulsing with a faint red glow.
The Crown of Vaeroth
Kael stepped back. "We shouldn't be here."
Ash didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the crown. His breath slowed.
l
And then—
A voice slithered into the air.
Not spoken.
Thought.
"Ash… Draven."
"You've come back to me."
The walls pulsed.
Shadows lengthened.
And from the far end of the chamber, something moved.
A figure stepped into the lantern light — tall, draped in ceremonial robes now burned black, its face hidden behind a cracked silver mask.
It didn't walk. It glided.
And when it spoke, the voice was not human.
"You were supposed to stay dead."
Kael drew his blade. "What in the hells—"
Ash stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"Who are you?"
The masked figure paused. Then removed its mask.
The face beneath was familiar.
Ash's breath caught.
"…Sareth?"
Sareth Velron. A noble once loyal to the old king. A man who died in the coup Ash had escaped. Burned alive in the purge.
But now…
His skin was stretched thin, like parchment.
His eyes were solid black.
And in the center of his forehead was a sigil that burned red.
"Death is a door," Sareth rasped. "And I walked through it."
"Now I serve the one true king."
He pointed to the crown.
"Vaeroth rises. And you — traitor that you are — will kneel."
Kael stepped forward. "Like hell he will."
Sareth raised a hand.
The dead stirred.
The sarcophagi began to rattle.
One by one, they opened.
And the bound things inside — twisted remnants of warriors once noble — crawled free.
Ash drew his sword.
The Vermillion Blade, forged in fire, sang in the silence
"Then let this tomb remember me."
"Not as a traitor. But as the one who ends this."
The first revenant lunged.
Steel met claw.
Ash moved like lightning, his blade carving flame into shadow.
Kael fought beside him, blades dancing, breath ragged, laughter wild with fear.
But for every one they cut down, two more rose.
And Sareth… watched.
Ash broke through the line of revenants, leaping into the ritual circle. His eyes locked on the crown.
It pulsed. It spoke.
"Take me."
"Wear me."
"Burn the world as it burned you."
His fingers brushed the edge.
And for a heartbeat, Ash saw it all—
The future.
A kingdom drowned in fire.
Seraphine, eyes cold, standing beside a throne of corpses.
Himself… crowned.
Alone.
Ash recoiled, breathing hard.
"No."
He raised his blade high — and brought it down on the crown.
It screamed.
The chamber shook.
Sareth howled, his body erupting in flame.
The revenants collapsed.
The circle shattered.
And the darkness recoiled.
Ash fell to one knee, gasping.
Kael ran to him, pulling him back.
"Ash. We have to go. Now."
Ash looked back at the broken crown — still glowing, still whispering.
Not dead.
Only wounded.
As they fled the collapsing chamber, Ash whispered to himself:
"The war hasn't started."
"This… was the warning."