Crownless King: The Heir of the Forgotten Throne
Chapter 7 – Names in the Flame
The rain arrived unexpectedly, a sudden, gentle drumming that seemed to rise from the very bowels of the earth.
There were no ominous clouds swirling above, no gusts of wind warning of its approach. Instead, it fell softly from the heavens like a delicate veil, as if the world, burdened by unexpressed emotions, had decided to shed tears.
Kael found himself standing at the crumbling edge of a long-neglected shrine, where nature's grip had claimed back its territory. His shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin, now dampened by the unrelenting drizzle, while in his hands he held the crown—the symbol of power and burden—gripped loosely, as if it might slip away at any moment. The air was heavy with the scent of rusted metal mingling with the fresh, pungent aroma of soaked stone. Beside him, the remnants of what once might have been a sacred place whispered stories into the moisture-laden air. Seris had ventured out to gather supplies—leaving him alone in this hushed sanctuary for the first time in days, utterly enveloped in a profound stillness.
And with that silence came… the voice.
"You hesitate."
Kael did not flinch this time; the familiar echoes had morphed from shocking into unsettling, yet he remained resolute. The Crownless—an ancient entity broken by time yet resonating with an eternal echo—no longer startled him. But despite his growing familiarity with the voice, welcoming it still felt far beyond his grasp. Not yet, not at all.
"I nearly died today," Kael muttered under his breath, allowing the weight of his reality to hang in the air between him and the specter.
"You survived. That is the beginning of every throne," the voice countered, a persistent echo emphasizing the harsh truth.
"I didn't ask for a throne," Kael retorted defiantly, instinctively tightening his grip on the crown, the cold metal biting into his palms.
"Thrones do not wait for permission," came the responsive whisper, deep and resonant, reverberating around him and through him.
He lowered himself onto a fallen stone slab, one that had been part of a grand structure long since succumbed to the march of time. He sat there, absently tracing the faint runes still etched along his skin—markings that pulsed with a quiet intensity, a rhythm that seemed entangled with something much more profound than mere enchantment.
Not magic.
Not even the leyline, the network of magical energy that coursed beneath the earth.
No, it was something much older.
Blood memory.
As he contemplated the weight of the crown in his hands, it shimmered with an otherworldly light—just a flicker—but it was enough to unleash a barrage of haunting visions that surged behind his eyes.
He witnessed a sword, radiant and fierce, borne from the heart of a fallen star's violent descent. He glimpsed a war waged in wordless ferocity, tearing through the expansive skies like a tempest, each clash echoing with the cries of the forgotten. He saw a king, solitary and resolute, standing at the precipice of the world, the remnants of his shattered crown glinting in the dying light, the specter of his lost army trailing in the echoes of despair.
And behind him, as if conjured from the very shadows of his thoughts…
Twelve dark figures emerged, cloaked in mystery and treachery.
Twelve names.
Twelve betrayers.
Kael gasped sharply as the vision abruptly faded, reality crashing back into focus, leaving him breathless. He gripped the crown tighter, almost seeking reassurance from its cold embrace.
"Who were they?" he implored, his voice refined with an urgency that weighed upon him.
"The ones who feared what I had become. The ones who will come for you," the Crownless breathed ominously.
The sudden sound of footsteps shattered his trance.
Seris returned, soaked through, her hair clinging to her forehead, a handful of aromatic wrapped herbs in one hand and a freshly caught skyfin slung confidently over her shoulder.
"You're getting better at this," she remarked, her gaze flicking to the flickering ward that Kael had woven around the shrine. "It held. You did this."
Kael blinked, the realization washing over him in a wave of disbelief. It wasn't merely protection infused from the crown's magic; no, it had listened to him, molded itself through his very essence. The power resonated within, a warm embrace that both thrilled and terrified him.
A smile broke through his earlier tension, albeit faint. "Maybe I'm not totally useless after all," he responded, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and pride.
Seris tossed the fish toward him with an easy confidence. "Then cook something for us, my reluctant hero."
Later that evening, after the rain had waned and the vast expanse of the sky had stretched back into its vast, starry glory, they sat together by a modest flame, its flickering light encircled by ancient stones long weathered by time.
Kael stirred the fire absently, lost in thought. "What do you think it means? Those visions… the shadows lingering at the edges of my consciousness?"
Seris paused, contemplative. "Twelve?" she reiterated, her voice reflective as if mapping the contours of a long-held secret.
He nodded, an urgency in his gesture.
She averted her gaze, deep in thought. "There's a legend that's been buried beneath layers of records. The Twelve Thrones of the Sky. Not mere kings. Not just guildmasters. But beings who systematically unmade the old empire from the inside out."
Kael frowned, his brow furrowing deeper. "Why would they do something so treacherous?"
"Because they feared the Crownless—the very first one. He stood boldly against the gods, remember?" she replied, her tone unwavering.
Kael gazed into the flames, where shadows danced in the firelight, flickering and weaving tales only they could unravel.
"…What if I end up like him?" he whispered, a dread filling his heart.
Seris's eyes sharpened with intent, piercing through the fog of uncertainty. "Then make different choices."
A sound broke through the stillness, slicing through the air like a sharpened blade.
Not footsteps, nor the gently rustling wind.
A name.
It emerged like smoke curling from the tips of flames, whispered delicately yet resonating with unmistakable clarity.
"Kael…"
His head jerked to the side, instinctively drawn toward the source.
The flame shifted dramatically, transforming into something otherworldly—a shifting image swirled within it, ethereal and shimmering, resembling starlight wrapped in delicate wisps of smoke.
A face emerged, young and pale, achingly familiar.
His own.
And behind it grew the chaotic vision of a tower engulfed in flames, a city plummeting into chaos from the sky, its legacy crumbling. A tumultuous sea of silver-cloaked soldiers sank to their knees, bows low in submission.
"The stars remember the name. They remember the blood," the voice crooned, nostalgia weaving pain through its words.
The vision flickered fiercely—and just before it disappeared, a final whisper drifted into his mind:
"You will stand alone, Kael Ardyn. Just like he did."
Then came silence.
The fire returned to its normal state, flickering gently in the night air.
Kael found himself trembling, shaken to the core by the revelation.
Seris reached forward, steadying him with a firm grip on his wrist, grounding him in the present. "You're not alone," she assured him, her voice flowing with a tenderness he had not anticipated.
For the first time, her words didn't cut like a blade. Instead, they felt like a promise—a vow of camaraderie that wrapped around him like a protective cloak.
Far to the east, where stormbreaks clawed at the horizon and fortress gates barred passage, within the shadows of a darkened chamber, a quiet pulse of magic ebbed and flowed with rhythmic grace.
A robed woman knelt before a deep pool of inky black water, her eyes illuminated with an otherworldly white flame, her hands gracefully tracing sigils that hung shimmering in the air around her.
A smile graced her lips, a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation.
"The boy dreams," she declared softly, the words navigating the space between realms.
A figure emerged from the shadows, one of the Twelve, stepping forward to inquire further.
"What do you see?" he asked, curiosity etched across his features.
The woman leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper infused with portentous significance:
"I see the day he breaks the sky."
To be continued...