The dream came like a storm.
Kairo stood in a throne room made of ash and glass. The windows bled black light. Shadows lined the walls, whispering his name, chanting it in twisted voices.
He walked toward the Bone Throne.
But this time, it was not empty.
Someone sat there.
Someone who looked just like him—same eyes, same cursed marks, same smirk.
But older.
Colder.
The figure leaned forward, grinning.
"You made it this far," the other Kairo said.
"But you're not the only one walking toward the throne."
Suddenly, the sky above them split open.
And a dozen golden spears rained down, impaling the walls.
A voice thundered across the dream.
"The heir must die."
Kairo woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. The sky above was still dark, early dawn pushing gray light through the clouds.
He sat up, his hand still gripping the bone shard.
His heart was racing.
Not from fear.
From warning.
Someone was coming.
By midday, they reached the edge of the Cracked Steppes — a maze of canyons and jagged cliffs. The ground was brittle. The air buzzed with magic.
Solin led the way now. Since returning from the pit, he was… quieter.
Not broken.
Just changed.
Kairo didn't ask questions.
Yet.
Lira walked beside him, arms crossed.
"You keep looking over your shoulder," she said.
"I saw something," Kairo replied. "In the dream."
"Good or bad?"
"Both."
She didn't press. But her hand rested near her blade the rest of the walk.
They made camp beneath an overhang.
Iri played with the fire, her rabbit curled in her lap. Solin sat nearby, staring at the sky like he expected something to fall from it.
And Kairo? He sat alone, listening to the whispers in the wind.
"They come."
"Blades of fate."
"Killers of the marked."
The first attack came just after sunset.
No sound.
Just a flash of silver through the dark.
Lira moved like lightning, deflecting the arrow with her blade. It spun into the fire and burst into cursed flame.
Solin jumped up. "We're surrounded!"
From the cliffs above, figures dropped.
Tall. Armored. Masked.
Each one wore a golden sigil on their chest.
The Order of Purity.
Hunters of the cursed.
Lira's eyes narrowed. "They found us."
Kairo stood, marks glowing.
The leader stepped forward — a woman with a cloak made of white feathers and a blade shaped like a fang.
She pointed at Kairo.
"You are the Heir of the Bone Throne."
Kairo didn't answer.
"You carry the mark that broke the seal."
Still, he said nothing.
Her voice sharpened. "You are the reason the world bleeds again."
"I'm the reason it still breathes," Kairo replied.
She raised her sword.
"Then I'll be the reason it sleeps."
The fight was chaos.
Lira danced between enemies, her blade flashing like light through smoke. Iri threw up weak barriers, just enough to block the arrows. Solin summoned cursed flames, burning paths through the attackers.
Kairo moved with instinct.
The curse flowed through him now like water.
He caught a blade in his bare hand — and shattered it with a pulse of magic.
He spun, shadow rising around him like a storm, and struck the ground.
A shockwave burst outward, sending half the Order flying.
But the leader remained.
She rushed him, her movements faster than anything he'd seen before.
Her blade met his cursed arm — and sliced it open.
Kairo fell back, hissing in pain.
She raised her sword again.
"You're not a king."
"You're a mistake."
She lunged.
But before her blade struck—
A black bolt of energy shot from behind Kairo, slamming into her side and sending her crashing into the canyon wall.
Kairo looked back.
Solin stood with both arms raised, eyes burning.
"No one kills him," he said.
"Not unless I say so."
The Order retreated after that.
Vanished into the rocks like ghosts.
But they'd be back.
Kairo sat by the fire, clutching his wounded arm. The mark on it glowed faintly — but weaker now.
Lira stitched the cut while muttering curses under her breath.
Solin stood nearby, arms folded.
"They'll send more," he said. "Stronger ones."
Kairo nodded. "Let them come."
Solin looked at him.
"You sure you want this?"
"No."
Kairo looked up at the sky.
"But I'm not running from it."
Far away, the Order's leader knelt before a massive golden door. Behind it, a voice echoed — cold, ancient, cruel.
"He has touched the throne?"
She nodded. "He has."
"Then the gods will awaken."
"And the war begins again."