Crownless King: The Heir of the Forgotten Throne
Chapter 8 – The City Above All
Vel'Therin rose like a ghostly apparition upon the horizon, a mythical silhouette defying the very fabric of reality.
Perched majestically above a swirling bed of ethereal clouds, the legendary fortress-city shimmered under the sun, its crystalline towers piercing the heavens like ancient spears of ice. Cascading shields of light danced across its surface, constantly changing hues as though the city itself breathed with a life force of its own. Dozens of skyships gracefully circled its upper docks, their forms blending into the picturesque skyline, while potent wards flickered in and out of sight—tiny lights twinkling like distant stars caught in a gentle cosmic rhythm, all strictly ensuring that none dared approach without permission.
Kael's mind raced as memories of his childhood resurfaced—he had seen paintings of this majestic city long ago, back when the tales felt like whimsical flights of fancy, illustrations plucked from the pages of an enchanting storybook. But now, as he stood before the immense and foreboding presence of Vel'Therin, it was undeniably tangible. It was no longer a mere myth. This was a profound reality, one full of myriad secrets and dangers.
And it was utterly terrifying, a slick predator lying in wait.
"The heart of the Guild," Seris murmured quietly from beside him, her voice barely rising above the sound of the bustling market atmosphere.
"And the mouth of the machine that breaks kings," she added, her tone laced with a gravity that sent a shiver down Kael's spine.
As they approached on foot from the outer rim isle—a sprawling trading platform anchored to Vel'Therin's main structure by enormous leyline stabilizers—Kael could sense a palpable tension in the air. The vibrant marketplace was alive around them, teeming with a diverse throng of souls: merchants haggling over exotic wares, mercenaries exchanging guarded glances, diplomats engaged in whispered negotiations, and priests quietly chanting prayers for protection… all adorned with expressions of forced calm, maintaining an appearance of serenity even amidst the heavy watchful eyes of the city's security forces.
Chaos was anathema to Vel'Therin.
Chaos and curiosity alike would not be tolerated here.
Kael shifted nervously, adjusting the strap securing his burden on his back. The crown, a weighty artifact of untold power, lay tightly wrapped and concealed beneath his cloak. Yet he could still feel its presence, a pulsing energy that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the city as if it were aware of their proximity. Each heartbeat echoed a reminder of the peril he faced.
Seris nodded toward a discreet entrance hidden beneath the towering figure of a statue depicting the First Skybinder, the city's mythical founder. "We're not entering through the main channel," she whispered urgently, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "Too many magical detections in that area. This way—through an old access vault that's tethered to the city's very bones."
"Won't that path be well-guarded?" Kael inquired, his anxiety creeping into his voice.
"Oh, absolutely," Seris replied with a brief, wry smile.
"Uh… you do know how to disable the wards, right?" Kael's heart raced at the implications of their route.
"I know how to distract the guards," she clarified with a glint in her eye.
Kael blinked, uncertainty coursing through him. "That's… comforting," he muttered, sarcasm slipping into his tone.
As they slipped into the shadowy confines of a narrow maintenance corridor, they ducked beneath the sweeping gaze of rotating surveillance totems and navigated carefully past crystal-powered alarms that buzzed ominously. The air was thick with humidity, electric with the tension of palpable magical pressure, a constant reminder of the city's immense power.
Then—
A voice emerged from the shadows, smooth and nonchalant, as if in direct contrast to the tension in the air.
"You're late."
A figure emerged, stepping fluidly from the penumbra. A young man dressed in charcoal robes leaned casually against the wall, a soft grin playing across his lips. His strikingly short white hair framed his face, and his pale amber eyes glinted with mischief. Although no weapon was visible on his person, Kael could sense an undercurrent of magic radiating off him in gentle waves, a feeling that made his skin prickle.
Seris stiffened beside him. "Tarin," she said, a note of wariness in her tone.
Tarin inclined his head slightly, a playful bow with hand over chest. "Still not dead, I see. I was beginning to think you might actually have developed an aversion to mortality."
"Shut up," Seris snapped back, her voice carrying both irritation and the weight of their situation.
Kael blinked and turned his gaze toward Seris. "Is he a friend of yours?" he asked, curiosity piqued.
"Oh, more like a resilient cockroach I haven't been able to squash," Seris muttered under her breath, clearly exasperated.
"Charming," Tarin retorted with an exaggerated flourish before directing his attention back to Kael. "And you must be the one wearing the crown, then."
Caught off guard, Kael took a step back. "How do you know?" he challenged, defensively.
"I felt its resonance," Tarin explained, his expression shifting to one of seriousness. "Every mage in the upper city has felt it. The magnitude of that kind of magical energy cannot be concealed. The Guild hasn't identified you yet, but they're acutely aware that someone has brought it back into their midst."
Tarin's demeanor shifted as he tilted his head, his smile fading. "And you're boldly walking into the heart of their empire with a death mark imprinted upon your soul."
Kael's gaze fixed on Tarin, his mind swirling with the implications.
"You seem unnervingly calm about it," he said, incredulity lacing his words.
Tarin shrugged dismissively, a hint of excitement dancing in his eyes. "I relish danger. I thrive on prophecy. And I live to vex the Twelve."
"The Twelve?" Kael echoed, confusion flickering in his chest.
Tarin's expression darkened considerably. "They are the ones who govern from the shadows, masquerading as benign advisors," he explained, a chilling intensity lurking in his voice. "But they're the ones who condemned the last Crownless to the flames."
Seris cast a quick glance at Kael, urgency radiating from her. "We need to keep moving," she urged, gravely.
"Where exactly are we headed?" Kael asked, uncertainty washing over him.
Tarin pointed upward, his finger indicating a path shrouded in shadow. "The lower vault—there's a ley-channel beneath the library spire. If you can navigate it, you can reach the inner chamber. But be warned, the very moment you step foot inside, the Vault will recognize your presence."
Kael frowned, confusion knitting his brow. "And what does that mean for me?"
With a devilish grin, Tarin replied, "It means that if you're not the rightful heir, the Vault will erase your very existence from this realm."
A heavy silence hung in the air, laden with the weight of the revelation.
Seris turned her gaze toward Kael, her expression unyielding. "It's your decision."
Kael looked skyward at the opulent city that hovered perilously above the world, a structure designed to entomb souls like his. The echoes of the Crownless resonated in his thoughts, a mantra that thrummed in time with his heartbeat:
"You do not rise by waiting for permission."
With newfound determination, Kael tightened his grip around his cloak, clutching the crown hidden beneath it with resolve.
"Let's go," he declared, his voice steady, as he stepped forward into the swirling uncertainty.
Far above them, in a high, opalescent tower entwined with crackling lightning and shimmering crystal, the Twelve convened in a somber assembly.
A masked woman, her features obscured but her voice firm, spoke into the charged atmosphere:
"He enters the Vault. He carries the fire. Shall we strike?"
Another figure, cloaked and shadowed, replied with measured caution: "Not yet. Let the Vault determine his worth. If he survives… only then, we will ignite the sky with his demise."
To be continued...