Crownless King: The Heir of the Forgotten Throne
Chapter 4 – Skyhunters and Secrets
The first arrow whizzed past Kael's head, narrowly missing him by mere inches, its sharp tip slicing through the air like a deadly whisper.
The second arrow, however, was far less forgiving; it grazed his shoulder with a cruel precision, forcing him to stumble backward and take cover behind an ancient, half-collapsed relic chest. The chest, covered in timeworn engravings and moss, had once been a treasure of ages past, but now served as a desperate shield.
"Well, that answers the question!" Kael shouted, wincing as he gripped his injured arm tightly with white knuckles, a mixture of pain and adrenaline coursing through his veins. "We're definitely being hunted!"
Beside him, Seris didn't waste her breath on a reply. Her movements were swift and practiced; she was already in motion, her blades drawn, muscles coiling with tension as her keen eyes scanned the treeline that bordered the crumbling courtyard. Each motion of hers was sharp and flowing, every step precise as if choreographed for a grand performance. A glimmer of ice spiraled around her boots, tracing delicate patterns on the ground with each calculated stride, a stark contrast to the chaos erupting around them.
The ambush had come without warning and with alarming speed.
Too fast for comfort.
It was evident that whoever was attacking them had not waited for dawn to break—to bask in the glimmers of sunlight or for the Skybrand to finish spreading its chaotic influence across the land. They were already there, lurking in the shadows, unseen eyes trained intently on their prey.
At that moment, a jagged figure plummeted from the branches of an ancient tree, descending like a shadow torn from the fabric of the sky itself. Kael turned sharply, just in time to glimpse the fearsome mask adorning the intruder's face—carved skillfully to resemble a bird's skull, menacing and void of humanity—before the attacker lunged forward, twin blades glinting ominously in the ambient light.
Instinctively, Kael raised the crown in front of him—not as a weapon poised to strike, but rather as a desperate shield between him and violent death.
And then, with a fierce crackle, the runes embedded within the crown ignited, surging with energy.
BOOM.
The masked assassin was hurled backward by a radiant explosion of golden light, the sheer force sending him sprawling away in a chaotic tumble. Runes erupted into the air, swirling and shimmering, resembling a cascade of flaming stardust against the dim, gray sky.
Kael stared at the glowing crown, his breath quickening, each exhale heavy with disbelief. "Okay… that was new," he gasped, still processing the peculiar power that lay dormant within the relic he wore.
Seris surged into action, leaping high into the air behind him, a silver streak with an icy trail. Her blade struck with blinding precision—an elegant slice that cut through another masked figure without so much as a moment's hesitation. She landed gracefully beside him, her eyes darting nervously, scanning the vast expanse of twisted trees that circled their clearing like looming giants.
"Skyhunters," she uttered, her voice resolute, yet laced with urgency. "They're elite scouts. Hired assassins of unparalleled skill. Someone is determined to see you dead—quickly."
"Great!" Kael hissed, his heart racing. "Can we maybe delay the interrogation for the 'why' and focus instead on, you know, the part where we don't die?"
With no time for deliberation, they sprinted through the crumbling remnants of the lower isle, their footfalls echoing against the chaotic blend of shattered stones and tormented vegetation. Behind them, branches splintered and magical energies flared like wildfires as the relentless hunters pursued them, the sound reminiscent of a predator closing in on its prey.
Kael spotted at least five figures, maybe more, their movements shrouded in skilled stealth; they were not mere brigands but professionals—the kind who moved with deadly coordination. In that frantic moment, a chilling realization settled deep in his gut: someone had invested a significant amount of resources to ensure that Kael Ardyn breathed his last before the break of dawn.
Yet, as he dashed through the tangled undergrowth, something peculiar caught his attention. With each footfall—be it against rubble, twisted roots, or cold stone—the runes etched into his arm radiated a soft shimmer of light. The ley-energy coursing through the ground seemed to flow toward him, vibrant and alive, as if it was drawn into him, responding to an unspoken call.
Or… perhaps it was more accurate to say it was obeying him?
"What in the world is this thing?" he muttered breathlessly, clutching the crown tighter as if it might ground him against the encroaching chaos.
Seris shot him a look as they ducked under the jagged remains of a broken archway, the walls whispering secrets of a time long gone.
"That crown is not merely a symbol of status. It binds you to the ancient ley-lines of this land," she explained urgently. "You don't walk this path alone anymore. You are tethered to the very essence of this realm."
Kael's frown deepened, processing the implications of her words. "So, it's like... a magical internet connection for an old, magical kingdom?"
"More accurately, it's a magical curse," she snapped back, her urgency growing. "A network of power weaving through centuries, connecting you to the fallen thrones, their ancient magic, their enemies… and their restless ghosts."
"...Ghosts?" he echoed, a shiver coursing down his spine at the disturbing idea.
"Not all kings die quietly," she replied, her voice grim.
Just then, a whisper—cold, heavy, and foreboding—brushed against the edges of his consciousness, wrapping around his thoughts with a chilling caress.
Kael stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance.
It was that voice again—the one he had encountered in the ruins, an echo from times forgotten that spoke with authority and an unsettling familiarity. The Crownless.
Just as he tried to push the invasive thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on the present threat—the living danger before him—a sharp whistling slice through the air like a fatal promise.
A net—crafted not from mere rope, but rather forged from glimmering crystal fibers—shot toward them, pulsing with ominously glowing red sigils pulsating like malevolent eyes watching their every move.
A trap—one they hadn't anticipated.
Seris pivoted, her blade poised to slice through the net's glowing web, but the moment stretched agonizingly long, and she was too late.
In a desperate reaction, Kael turned, raising the crown once more as if it were a beacon of hope.
A surge of energy pulsed through him.
With a blinding flash, the air crackled and hummed.
FLASH.
This time, the explosion wasn't just a brilliant burst of golden light. It was white-hot—a radiant flare like a star collapsing into itself. Instead of merely knocking the net backward, the overwhelming force shattered it into sparkling shards, scattering the remains into the air like fragments of shattered dreams.
For a brief moment, silence enveloped the scene, wrapping around them like a shroud. Even the trees, ancient sentinels of this forgotten place, seemed to hold their breath, waiting.
The hunters hesitated, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of the crown's unleashed power.
Seris turned to Kael, her gaze piercing and tinged with an emotion he couldn't quite decipher. Gone was her calculation; replaced now with a glimmer of something far deeper. Recognition.
"…You're not merely a vessel," she murmured, her words hanging heavy in the stillness. "The crown is syncing with you."
Kael blinked, confusion intermingling with uncertainty. "Is that… supposed to be good or bad?"
"No," she replied softly, a gravity in her tone that hinted at an impending storm. "That's very bad."
They managed to escape.
Barely.
As the dawn broke over the sprawling skylands, casting gentle rays of golden light on the horizon, they found themselves on the edge of a desolate isle—much smaller and long abandoned. The remnants of what was once a thriving settlement were now crumbling ruins, overtaken by wild vegetation. Exhausted, bloodied from their harrowing escape, and surrounded by an eerie silence, they took in their surroundings.
Kael stood at the precipice, gazing out into the boundless expanse of open air, where the sky seemed to stretch into infinity, a canvas of crisp blues interspersed with wispy clouds. His gaze was distant, lost in thought, as he concentrated on the dim glow emanating from his arm—a faint shimmer marked by intricate, glowing runes that traced along his skin like living tattoos. Beside him, the crown pulsed rhythmically, its surface thrumming with an energy of its own, a constant reminder of the monumental weight of the legacy it bore.
"So, what now?" he finally broke the silence, his voice a mix of exhaustion and determination.
Seris, standing a few paces behind him, hesitated momentarily, her thoughts swirling in a tempest of uncertainty. A frown creased her brow as she scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of hope among the ruins of their past life. Then, with a measured breath, she raised her arm and pointed decisively toward the east, where faint wisps of smoke could be seen rising in the distance against the backdrop of the morning sky.
"There's a person who might have the answers we need—a former outcaster, someone who once served the royal seers. If anybody knows the truth behind the Crownless and its mysteries, it's him," she explained, her tone tinged with urgency and an undercurrent of fear.
Kael nodded, his expression hardening as he took in her words. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, where the scarlet flashes of lightning—known as the Skybrand—streaked across the sky, igniting the clouds with crimson fire. It loomed like a dire warning for the world to behold, a vivid reminder of the chaos that had recently unfolded. Deep down, he felt a stirring sense of dread, but more than that, he felt an unyielding resolve build within him.
He clutched the crown tightly in his hand, feeling its weight anchor him to his destiny. "I didn't ask for this," he muttered, almost to himself, the words laden with resignation and a touch of defiance. "But I'm not running anymore." His voice carried conviction, echoing against the ruins, as if to challenge the forces that hunted them.
Far above them, in an imposing tower shrouded in silver chains and floating glass, twelve archmages gathered, their eyes fixed intensely on the shifting colors of the sky.Each one was cloaked in robes of deep hues, their expressions a tapestry of ancient wisdom and cunning ambition. Among them, one archmage—a figure with piercing eyes and a subtle smirk—allowed a moment of amusement to break through their stoic demeanor.
"So… the Crownless rises again," he remarked, the light of dawn catching the edge of his lips as a smile crept across his face, revealing the sharpness of his intentions.
At his words, a murmur swept through the assembled figures, anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. They leaned in closer, excitement simmering just beneath the surface.
"Let the hunt begin," he declared, his voice dropping to a deliberate whisper, infused with dark promise and an insatiable hunger for power, as they all turned their gazes toward the horizon, ready to set in motion a chase that would alter the fate of their world.
To be continued...