The palace bells did not ring.
Instead, they shuddered.
A sound like hollow bronze echoing through the capital city—subtle, almost imperceptible. But those who knew how to listen… heard.
And those who feared it—moved.
Far above the chamber where Lyrielle had claimed the black crown, a hidden room within the Sanctum of Light flickered to life.
Seven figures stood in a circle.
Faces hidden behind white masks, each carved with a different animal—wolf, serpent, falcon, stag, moth, lion, and a faceless blank.
They were not the ruling council.
Not the Royal Guard.
They were older.
Darker.
The Order of Hollow Thrones.
And the return of the Uncrowned Flame had activated their oldest protocol:
Extinction of the line that remembers.
"She has awakened the pact," said the Lion-mask, voice cold as iron.
"She touched the shard," murmured the Serpent.
"She must not reach the vault beneath Seravelle," added the Moth. "If she opens that tomb—"
"Then the true history returns," finished the Blank.
No names were spoken. Only the order's law remained.
"Erase the heirs. Burn the record. Silence the crownless."
The Falcon-mask turned.
"There is one among them we cannot erase. Not by blade. Not by fire."
The others stiffened.
"You mean the boy?"
"Yes. Kaelen. His name… was once ours."
Meanwhile – Below
Kaelen stood at the edge of the broken chamber.
Lyrielle was silent. The black crown still burned in her palm, now fused to her like a second heartbeat.
Elaine stood watch at the entrance, blade drawn.
No soldiers. No alarms.
Too quiet.
"They're not coming," Lyrielle whispered. "They don't need to. They've already seen."
"Seen what?" Kaelen asked.
She looked at him, pain in her gaze. "You. Me. Us. The next link in a chain they thought they broke a thousand years ago."
He clenched his fists. "Then let's break it for real."
But before they could leave, something shifted in the shadows.
A figure stepped forward, cloaked in storm-grey, face masked in silver, the emblem of a hollow crown burned into his cloak.
"I was sent to erase you," the figure said. "But I remember who you were."
Kaelen froze.
"Who I was?"
"You were one of us."
The figure lowered his hood.
A scar crossed his eye. His voice cracked with memory.
"We trained together, Kaelen. Before your bloodline was burned."
Kaelen's mind reeled.
He saw flashes—fire, swords, voices in the dark.
He had lived another life. And it wasn't just royal—it was warborn.