The map they found was burned at the edges, ink smeared by time and blood. But the message carved into its corner was clear:
"The throne lies beyond the Ruined Spine."
Kairo traced his fingers along the path. It cut through cursed ground, dead kingdoms, and places that weren't even supposed to exist anymore. Places erased from history.
Behind him, Lira patched the strap of her boot while watching Solin like a hawk. Iri hummed softly, combing the ash out of her rabbit's fur with her fingers. The girl had been unusually quiet since they left the Fields of Dusk.
Maybe she felt it too—the shift in the world.
Like something ancient had turned its gaze toward them.
By dawn, they were moving again.
The ground became harsher. Cracked earth gave way to twisted rocks and black stone that bled smoke when touched.
Kairo's boots crunched with every step. His curse pulsed in his arms, humming low and slow like a warning drum.
Solin walked beside him.
"I wasn't lying," Solin said. "About the Ruined Spine. That's where it all begins."
Kairo gave a short nod. "What's there?"
Solin's expression darkened. "A graveyard. For cursed blood."
They reached the edge by sundown.
The Ruined Spine was not a mountain range. Not anymore.
It was a scar—split earth stretching across the land like the spine of a broken god. Giant stone ribs jutted from the ground at strange angles. At the center, a black pit yawned open, bottomless and breathing.
And in the air… silence.
Not quiet.
Silence.
No birds. No wind. No insects. Just the low hum of power pressing against their skulls.
Kairo stepped forward.
The moment his boot touched the edge of the pit, the cursed marks on his arms ignited—black and violet runes glowing like hot coal.
Lira flinched. "Kairo—"
"I'm fine," he said.
But he wasn't. The curse was reacting wildly, clawing at him from the inside.
Calling downward.
Calling home.
They camped just outside the pit.
Nobody slept.
Not really.
Even Iri, wrapped in layers and curled beside the fire, kept glancing toward the pit.
"They're watching," she whispered at one point.
Kairo looked up. "Who?"
"The ones we forgot."
At midnight, the whispers returned.
But this time… they weren't only in Kairo's head.
They filled the air.
They touched the stone.
They made the fire flicker.
Lira stood, dagger in hand. Solin summoned a ring of cursed flame around the camp.
Kairo stood at the edge of the pit, staring into it.
And then—he jumped.
Lira shouted, lunging toward the pit too late.
Solin grabbed her. "Wait. Don't."
She struggled in his grip. "He just threw himself into a cursed abyss!"
Solin's eyes didn't leave the pit.
"He was called."
Kairo fell.
But not fast.
The pit caught him—held him—slowed him.
He floated through blackness. Cold air brushed against his skin. The further he dropped, the brighter his marks glowed.
And far below, something breathed.
A city of bones.
Massive. Ancient. Forgotten.
Temples made of skulls.
Statues of cursed kings.
And at the center, buried in chains and silence, the real Bone Throne.
Kairo's feet touched the stone steps leading to it.
He looked up.
The throne was massive. Wrapped in cursed energy so thick it distorted the air.
Voices swirled around him.
"The heir has arrived."
"The boy of ruin."
"The one who broke fate."
Kairo took one step forward.
The throne opened its eyes.
Not a person sitting in it.
The throne itself was alive.
A heartbeat echoed through the entire pit.
BOOM.
BOOM.
And then—it spoke.
"Welcome, Kairo Vale."
"Come take your place."
"Or turn back… and let the world burn."