"What is signed in blood cannot be erased with ink."
The wind clawed at the towers of Elsareth, whistling through the stained glass of the sealed royal library. At the top of the Citadel, hours passed in a silence thick with omens. A solitary torch flickered in the hand of Lady Althea, High Archivist of the Realm and one of the few allowed into the Codex Interdictum.
In her trembling hands lay an ancient parchment, sealed with the king's black wax. She had found it hidden behind a false panel in the late king's private study, the day after his burial. Though yellowed and partially decayed, the document bore the personal emblem of King Halvar: a broken crown veiled in shadow.
She dared not read it alone. Some words, it was said, bled those who spoke them aloud.
In the shadowed halls of the Watchers, Kael faced Master Sareth. The old mage had summoned an emergency meeting. Around the stone table, flickering torches threw long, shivering shadows across the hooded faces of the gathered. Kael had been warned: "What you are about to hear will change everything."
Sareth placed a sealed scroll before him. Though its wax was intact, a dark stain had begun to seep from the lower edge, as if the ink inside resisted confinement. Kael's throat tightened.
"What is it?" he asked.
"A truth the king hid from everyone. Including his children."
Sareth broke the seal with a rune-etched finger and began reading in the old tongue. The words seemed to make the stones themselves shudder.
"By the will of the Throne and the necessity to preserve the bloodline, I, King Halvar of Elsareth, offer the Kingdom and its heirs to the Pact of the Deep, in exchange for—"
Kael recoiled, breath stolen.
"He sold the royal bloodline… to an entity?" he asked, horrified.
"Not an entity. The Entity. The one the ancients named Nharak, the Hungering Throne. He sought eternal power. He signed it in his blood. And every descendant now carries the mark."
Kael's hands burned. He removed his gloves. Faintly glowing symbols had appeared on his palms—living ink etched into his skin.
In the palace's map room, Princess Ysara combed through the royal archives, frustrated. Something had felt wrong since the king's death. The Council whispered too much. And she had seen Duke Aramon enter the forbidden wing of the fortress, escorted by robed priests of the old faith.
Her eyes fell on a half-buried tome behind the royal hagiographies: The Lost Chronicles of the Order. She opened it, and a passage, underlined in crimson, leapt out:
"When the Crown binds itself to the Abyss, royal blood becomes the key—and the heir, the vessel."
A chill slid down her spine. The king hadn't prepared a succession. He had offered up a legacy.
A secret council convened in the Onyx Crypt. The Watchers, Ysara, Kael, Althea, and Master Sareth gathered. The parchment was placed upon the obsidian altar.
"If this becomes public, the kingdom will fall into chaos," Althea said.
"And if it stays hidden," Ysara countered, "Aramon will use it to justify his claim. He'll say only one versed in the dark arts can withstand the Entity."
Kael rose to his feet.
"Then I must destroy it."
"You can't," Sareth said grimly. "The parchment… is linked to you. If you burn it, you burn. It was signed in your blood."
Kael cursed. Once again, his fate was not his own. He had not been born to be king—he had been forged to be a vessel.
Ysara stepped close.
"We must go to the Temple of Ash. The ancients once knew how to break blood-bound pacts."
Sareth hesitated, then nodded.
"It's a legend. But it's all we have."
Meanwhile, in the Grand Council Hall, Duke Aramon laid a black book upon the table: The Concord of the Void. Within it, a copy of the ancient pact.
"King Halvar made a deal with darkness. The royal bloodline is corrupted. Only a purge can save Elsareth."
"You're suggesting Kael is a threat?" asked Lord Varn.
"Not a threat. A gateway. And the girl—Ysara—is the final key."
Silence fell.
"I propose a Royal Inquisition. Let us cleanse the blood. Control the heirs. And crown me as regent… until the line is purified."
That night, couriers were found dead. Towers burned. The Northern Palace fell into shadow. Whispers of doom spread through the streets.
At the Temple of Ash, Kael, Ysara, and Sareth descended into the crypt of the Pactbreakers. A ghostly blue light shimmered through cursed crystals. There, they encountered the Dead Archivist—a bound spirit of a former king who once tried to undo such a pact.
"You are inked in blood," the spirit rasped. "To break the pact, you must spill the blood of the one who signed it—or the heir's."
Ysara paled. Kael went still.
"I must die… or kill my father. But he's already dead."
"Then the pact is sealed forever," the spirit said. "Unless… you replace him."
"Replace him?" Kael asked.
"With a new pact. An equal offering. Your humanity in exchange for your bloodline's freedom."
When they emerged from the temple, Kael was changed. His eyes pierced shadow. The ink on his skin shimmered with cursed flame. He understood now—the Throne was not a seat, but a sentience. And it was waiting for him.
Upon returning to the palace, they found the gates barred. Aramon had taken control. A witch hunt had begun. Posters covered the streets:
KAEL: BLOOD-TRAITOR AND DARKBORN. PRINCESS YSARA: ENCHANTRESS AND CO-CONSPIRATOR.
The people were turning. Fear was stronger than truth.
In a final secret meeting, Ysara took Kael's hand.
"There's no turning back now. But if you must sacrifice your soul to free this kingdom… I will walk beside you."
Kael, his gaze glowing with ancient fire, whispered:
"Ink and blood have sealed our fate. But love… will write our legend."
To be continued in Chapter 6: Crowns Do Not Forgive
The past returns. Heads will fall. The Throne demands justice.
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