The ruins of the palace were a haunting silence, broken only by the soft crackle of fire eating at shattered beams. Smoke rose in lazy tendrils into the night sky, curling past the jagged remains of towers that had once touched the stars. The throne room itself was a graveyard of stone and ash. The throne—the heart of the kingdom—lay fractured in pieces across the marble floor, the cracks glowing faintly as if something deep inside still pulsed with life.
Selene stood at the center of it all, her white gown stained with soot, her golden hair matted to her face with sweat. Her chest heaved, her hands trembling as she cradled Heart against her. The little girl pressed her face into her mother's neck, still shaken by the horror of what had just unfolded. Selene fought her tears. She had seen kingdoms rise and fall, but nothing compared to the fear of losing her children to the darkness they had faced.
Storm leaned on his spear, his shoulders hunched, every muscle aching. The weapon's crackling glow had dimmed to faint sparks, but his eyes still burned with restless fury. "He's gone," he muttered, his voice low, though there was no joy in his tone. His gaze roamed the shattered chamber as if expecting Veyron to step out of the shadows at any moment.
Shadow stood apart, his body still bleeding faint wisps of darkness where the crimson mist had pierced him. His expression was hard, his violet eyes reflecting the faint glow of the cracked throne. "Don't fool yourself, Storm. That wasn't the end. I felt it—the core of his essence wasn't destroyed. We were fighting a shadow of him, nothing more."
Soul crouched by the remains of the throne, golden veins fading but still pulsing with faint light. His hand pressed against the fractured stone, his expression grave. "He was tethered to it. Even now… the throne breathes. Can't you feel it?"
The siblings fell silent, their breaths echoing in the cavernous room. And then, faintly, the throne pulsed—once, like a dying heartbeat refusing to fade.
Heart's soft, fearful voice broke the silence. "If the throne remembers him… does that mean he'll come back?"
Selene's arms tightened around her daughter. She forced her voice steady though her throat ached with dread. "If he does, then we will be ready. We must become stronger—stronger than the throne itself."
But her words were not conviction alone—they were a prayer.
Outside the palace, the city stirred uneasily. The people had watched the sky crack with crimson lightning, had felt the ground quake beneath them, and though the storm had passed, its memory lingered like a scar. Whispers filled the streets. Some claimed they had seen shadows moving atop the palace. Others swore they had heard a voice in the wind, promising fire and ruin.
The High Council met in secret in what remained of the eastern wing. Candles flickered, casting their faces in ghostly hues.
"The throne has awakened," one elder whispered, his voice quaking. "The prophecy is upon us."
Another struck the table with his fist. "The children… Selene's children. They are tied to this. But tell me, are they saviors—or the very doom the prophecy warned us of?"
A third, older than the rest, leaned forward, eyes sharp beneath his hood. "If they are the key, then we must decide who holds it. Selene's bloodline cannot be allowed to gamble with the fate of the world."
The debate grew heated, voices clashing like swords. In the shadows of the council chamber, doubt and fear began to bloom like poison.
Far beyond the city, across desolate mountains where no bird dared fly, an ancient cavern stirred with light. Crimson sparks flared across jagged stone, illuminating carvings older than the kingdom itself. In the deepest chamber, something vast and formless pulsed with power.
A voice whispered from the abyss, smooth and venomous.
"Soon."
The sound reverberated through the mountain, carrying on the wind like a curse.
Back in the ruined throne room, Soul rose to his feet. His golden glow dimmed, but his eyes held fierce determination. "We can't wait for him to return stronger. We must learn the truth of this throne—why it exists, why it remembers. If we don't, the next battle will be our last."
Storm straightened, gripping his spear tighter. "Then we hunt answers. If Veyron's core still exists, we'll find it before it finds us."
Shadow's gaze lingered on the glowing cracks in the throne. His voice was soft, almost unreadable. "And if the truth destroys us?"
Selene met his eyes, her voice unwavering. "Then we will fall together. But we will not run."
The siblings stood in the ruins of their legacy, battered yet unbroken, unaware that their fight was no longer just for a throne, but for the very future of the world itself.
And somewhere, unseen, the crimson cracks of the throne pulsed again, brighter this time, like a heart awakening.
The night after the battle brought no peace. The palace was in shambles, and though the fires had been doused, the air still smelled of smoke and ash. Guards moved nervously through the halls, their armor clinking as they tried to restore order, but their eyes betrayed the same fear that gripped the rest of the city. Every man, woman, and child knew something greater than war was looming.
Inside one of the surviving wings, Selene sat with her children around a long oak table. The room was dim, lit only by a lantern that cast trembling shadows across their tired faces. Heart sat closest to her, fingers wrapped tightly around her mother's sleeve, as if letting go would mean being swept away into the chaos outside.
Storm was restless, pacing the floor with his spear in hand, lightning flickering faintly with each step. Shadow leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-hidden but glowing faintly in the gloom. Soul sat quietly, his hands folded before him, golden veins pulsing beneath his skin in soft rhythm, like a lantern against the dark.
Selene's voice broke the silence. "We can't stay here. The palace is no longer safe. The throne is fractured but not destroyed. And as long as it exists, Veyron's presence lingers."
Storm stopped pacing, slamming the spear butt against the stone floor. "Then let's destroy it completely. End it before it brings him back."
Shadow's eyes flicked open, his tone cutting. "And what if destroying it destroys us too? The throne is tied to us, Storm. Don't you feel it? Every time it pulses, it's as if it's calling to our blood."
Storm gritted his teeth but didn't argue. Deep down, he knew Shadow was right.
Soul leaned forward, his calm voice steady against the storm of tension. "We need knowledge. Answers. Fighting blindly will only make us puppets to a game we don't understand. The throne's origin… Veyron's connection… the prophecy. Someone, somewhere, must know."
Selene nodded slowly. "There are ruins older than this kingdom, places hidden even from kings. The monks of Altheris, far in the northern mountains, are said to guard records of the first thrones. If anyone can guide us, it is them."
Heart lifted her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what if Veyron comes back before we reach them?"
Selene placed her hand over her daughter's. "Then we face him. Together."
The room fell into silence again, but this time it was filled with a fragile determination.
Outside, the city seethed. The High Council, in their secret chamber, continued their debates. One elder, draped in crimson robes, slammed his palm against the table. "The children must be seized. They are too dangerous. Already, the people whisper their names as saviors. But saviors can become tyrants."
Another rose, voice sharp as a blade. "And if we turn against them, we'll be crushed by their power. No. We must control them through guidance. Bind them with promises, shape their destiny in our favor."
The old hooded councilor spoke at last, his voice a chilling rasp. "Neither chains nor praise will save us. The children are not the enemy. Veyron is. And if we destroy them, he will only rise stronger, unchallenged. Our choice is simple: protect them—or prepare for annihilation."
But whispers of betrayal were already spilling beyond the council walls. Spies carried word to mercenaries, to rival lords, and even across the sea to kingdoms who saw opportunity in the kingdom's weakness.
Far away, beneath the mountain cavern, the crimson sparks grew brighter. The shadows thickened into the shape of wings, vast and terrible, pressing against the earth as though ready to burst free. Veyron's voice rippled like thunder through the stone:
"The throne awakens. And when I rise, they will all kneel."
Back in the ruined palace, Selene and her children began their preparations to leave.
The fight for survival had ended.
The journey for truth had begun.
The dawn was gray, heavy clouds veiling the sky as if the heavens themselves feared what was stirring below. The city still smoked from the battle, its streets littered with broken stone, shattered steel, and whispers of dread. People moved like shadows—silent, uncertain, clinging to the hope that their protectors had not yet abandoned them.
Selene stood at the balcony of the ruined eastern wing, her cloak rippling in the cold wind. Her gaze swept across the horizon, but her mind was far from the ruined skyline. She thought of the throne—the cursed seat that had bound their kingdom for centuries, the same throne that had once given her husband strength but ultimately consumed him. Now it pulsed like a living heart somewhere in the dark, drawing closer with every beat.
Behind her, the children prepared.
Storm strapped leather bracers to his arms, his spear resting against his shoulder, sparks jumping along the steel tip as if alive. He was restless, his muscles coiled, jaw tight. He wanted war—wanted to strike before the enemy could rise again.
Shadow sat quietly on the edge of a stone pillar, hood drawn, twin daggers glinting at his side. Unlike Storm, he said little, but his silence was sharp, like a blade waiting for the perfect moment to cut. His eyes, when they flickered open, burned faintly violet in the dim light.
Soul moved carefully, wrapping scrolls and maps into a satchel. His golden veins pulsed beneath his skin, steady, like a candle refusing to go out in the wind. He was thinking ten steps ahead, planning routes, anticipating dangers, weighing choices.
Heart stood with her hands pressed together, whispering words only she could hear. A soft glow shimmered around her, faint but undeniable—a fragile warmth in the midst of gathering darkness. Her eyes were red from sleepless nights, but her spirit refused to break.
Selene turned from the balcony and faced them. "The path north is long, and the mountains will not welcome us. But we cannot delay. The throne is waking, and if Veyron rises before we reach the monks of Altheris, this kingdom will fall."
Storm clenched his fist. "Then let's not crawl. We ride. We cut through anything in our way."
Soul shook his head calmly. "And ride straight into ambushes? The throne's corruption spreads faster than fire. Every lord and mercenary with greed in their hearts will want us captured or dead. We must move quietly, unseen."
Shadow smirked faintly, his voice low. "Stealth will only get us so far. They're already watching us. The question is: who will strike first—the council, the mercenaries, or Veyron himself?"
Selene's jaw tightened. "Then we prepare for all three. We move tonight, under the cover of darkness. Once the people see us leave, the council will stir. We cannot give them time."
The children exchanged glances, no words needed. Their bond—born of fire, trial, and blood—spoke louder than speech.
---
Meanwhile, deep beneath the mountain cavern where the crimson sparks writhed, Veyron's form grew clearer. His wings, vast and jagged, stretched like storm clouds pressing against the ceiling of the earth. His eyes opened slowly—two burning coals that cut through the void.
Chains of ancient light still bound him, but cracks had begun to spread across them. His laughter rumbled through the cavern, shaking loose stones from the ceiling.
"They prepare to run," he whispered, his voice both distant and near, carried on currents unseen. "But they cannot hide. Their blood sings to me. Their fear feeds me. And when they come searching for answers…"
The crimson sparks swirled tighter around him, forming a storm of fire and shadow.
"…they will find only death."
---
In the council chamber, unrest spread like disease. The elder in crimson robes pounded his fist again. "If we allow Selene and her children to leave unchecked, we forfeit our kingdom. The people already whisper that they are destined rulers. If they gain more power, we lose our throne forever."
Another councilor leaned forward, voice sly. "Then let them leave. Let them wander into the north, into the ruins, into the wild. Few return from those mountains. Their deaths will not be by our hand—but they will be certain."
The hooded elder's voice rasped through the chamber. "And if they return alive?"
The room fell silent. No one answered.
The crimson-robed elder's lips curled into a cold smile. "Then we will be ready. With blades sharper than words."
---
That night, Selene and her children left the palace through the hidden eastern gate. The city lay in uneasy slumber, but eyes watched them from shadows—some fearful, some hateful, some filled with hope.
They did not speak as they rode out into the darkness, only the sound of hooves striking stone echoing through the night.
Behind them, the kingdom trembled. Ahead of them, the unknown awaited.
And beneath it all, the throne pulsed.
Alive.
Awakening.
The mountains rose before them like jagged teeth, their peaks lost in storms that never ceased. The wind cut sharp and cold, carrying with it the howl of wolves and whispers of old spirits that once ruled these lands. The further they rode, the more the air seemed to thicken, as though the very world resisted their passage.
Selene guided her horse at the front, her hood drawn low against the biting wind. She glanced back at her children, each riding in silence, their expressions hardened. They were strong, but she knew strength alone would not save them.
"Stay close," she said over the roar of the wind. "These mountains are alive. They listen. They watch."
Storm gripped his spear tighter, lightning flickering faintly along the shaft. "Let them watch. If anything comes near, it dies."
Heart looked up at the storming skies, her voice softer, uneasy. "Sometimes killing isn't enough. There are things out here that don't die."
Shadow's lips curved into a faint, grim smile. "Then we make them wish they could."
Soul rode quietly, but his eyes never rested. He scanned the cliffs, the passes, the shadowed treelines. Every echo, every movement, every shifting cloud felt like a threat.
---
By nightfall, they reached the first mountain pass—a narrow path carved between two cliffs, the rocks towering above them like walls of a prison. Selene slowed her horse, her instincts sharp.
"Something's wrong," she whispered.
Before anyone could answer, the silence broke. A rain of arrows hissed down from the cliffs, their tips glowing faint red.
"AMBUSH!" Storm roared, vaulting from his horse, his spear spinning in a crack of lightning. He struck the ground, and a shockwave shattered the first wave of arrows midair.
Shadow disappeared in a blur, scaling the cliffside like a phantom, daggers drawn, eyes glowing violet as he melted into the darkness.
Soul raised a hand, golden veins flaring as a dome of shimmering light formed above them, deflecting the arrows that slipped past Storm's strike. Sweat beaded his forehead instantly—he was strong, but the enemy's fire was endless.
Heart dismounted quickly, her hands glowing with pale light. She touched the ground, and vines burst from the cracks of the stone, curling upward to shield the horses and push back enemy archers.
Selene's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Hold the line! Find their leader!"
From the cliff, a figure emerged—a warlord draped in black iron, his armor pulsing faintly with crimson veins. His helmet's visor glowed like a furnace, and in his hand he held a sword wreathed in fire.
"You should have stayed in your ruined palace," the warlord thundered, his voice echoing against the cliffs. "The throne does not belong to you. It belongs to him!"
The crimson fire along his blade surged, and the mountain itself seemed to shudder.
Selene's eyes widened, her heart twisting at the familiar presence behind that fire. Veyron's essence. His reach was spreading faster than she feared.
"Children," she said sharply, drawing her blade, "this is no simple ambush. It is a message."
Storm growled. "Then let's send one back."
Lightning split the sky as the battle erupted, their powers colliding with crimson fire that sought to engulf the pass.
The war had followed them into the mountains.
And it would not let them go.
The clash shook the mountain pass. Sparks and flames lit the night like a second storm, every strike of blade and power carving pieces out of the world itself.
Storm was the first to charge the crimson warlord, lightning coursing along his spear until it glowed white-hot. He hurled it with a roar, the weapon streaking through the air like a bolt torn straight from the heavens.
The warlord raised his flaming sword, cleaving the spear aside. The impact shattered the rock beneath his feet, fire and lightning exploding in a shockwave that nearly threw Selene from her horse.
Shadow appeared behind him in a blur, his dagger sinking deep into the joint of the armor. But instead of blood, a surge of crimson fire burst outward, burning Shadow's arm and forcing him to retreat in a flicker of darkness.
"Not human," Shadow hissed, his voice low but sharp. "That's no man under the armor. That's something else."
Soul clenched his fists, golden veins glowing brighter, and thrust both hands forward. A radiant wave of pure force blasted into the warlord, pushing him several steps back. The crimson flames fought against the light, sparks scattering, but the armor did not yield.
Selene leapt into the fray, her sword igniting with silver fire. She struck in fluid arcs, each swing fueled by desperation and fury. Sparks of silver and crimson clashed, the sound of it like steel screaming.
The warlord laughed—a sound twisted and hollow. "You cannot fight the inevitable. The Crimson King rises, and his blood burns in every stone, every sky, every breath you take!"
Heart clenched her fists, her power surging. "You talk too much!"
She slammed her palms against the ground, and the earth itself roared. A forest of vines and thorns shot upward, wrapping around the warlord's legs, pulling him down.
Storm seized the opening, lightning flashing as he lunged, his fists crackling. He hammered blow after blow into the armor, each strike echoing like thunder across the cliffs.
For a heartbeat, it seemed the tide turned. The crimson fire dimmed. The warlord staggered.
But then his sword flared, brighter and hotter than before. With one sweep, he burned through the vines, the ground exploding in molten fire. Storm was hurled backward, crashing into the rocks with a grunt of pain.
Shadow darted in again, slashing at the glowing cracks in the armor. Soul strengthened his shield, catching a blast of fire meant for Selene. Heart rushed to her brother, vines cocooning him to heal his battered body.
Selene pressed forward, her eyes locked on the warlord's. She could feel it now—deep beneath the armor, the fire was not his own. It was borrowed. It was Veyron's.
"You're nothing but a puppet," she spat, her silver fire burning hotter. "And every puppet has strings."
She thrust her sword forward, silver flame colliding with crimson, the impact tearing a hole through the storming sky above them. The mountains trembled.
The warlord faltered, crimson cracks spreading wider across his armor. For the first time, he looked unstable.
And Selene knew: if they pressed now, if they fought together, they could break him.
"Children!" she shouted. "With me!"
The four siblings rose, battered but burning with fury, their powers uniting in a storm of lightning, light, earth, and shadow.
The mountain pass became a battlefield of gods.
And the warlord of crimson fire was about to learn what it meant to face not just heirs, but a family bound by blood and destiny.