The fire still clung to the edges of the Ash Garden. It crackled gently, alive in the pages of the Book of Flame, but made no move to consume it further. The symbol Elias's blood had carved into the fire now hovered midair — a twisting emblem of thorn and flame, the mark of a ruler bound by sacrifice, not lineage.
Elias turned from the dais. His steps were slower now, not because of pain, but because of weight. The crown sat perfectly on his brow, yet he felt it in his chest, his spine, his silence. It didn't scream. It whispered.
And every whisper sounded like doubt.
Behind him, the priests began their chants. Lucien whispered rites under his breath, barely audible. Courtiers bowed their heads. Kael remained at the edge of the circle, unmoving, watching Elias like he might vanish again.
Because he had, in a way. The boy Kael knew — the one who smiled quietly in moonlit halls, who argued about nothing just to hear laughter — that boy was gone.
Or buried beneath velvet and gold.
Then he placed his palm against the seal.
The door split open with a hiss.
***
The Emperor's Hall was nothing like Elias expected.
It wasn't grand. It wasn't gilded or bathed in light. It was a circle of black stone, empty except for one throne and one mirror. The throne was not meant for comfort — it was carved from bone and laced with cold iron. Thorns curled up its legs. Its arms were scorched.
The mirror stood opposite. Full length. Impossibly clean. Waiting.
Elias stepped inside. The door shut behind him, sealing the world away.
He approached the mirror.
But this time, it didn't show the crowned heir.
It showed the boy.
Himself at thirteen, barefoot in the servant halls. Bruised. Eyes hollow. Holding a sword too heavy for his hand. The first time he killed. The first time he lied.
He reached for the mirror and it shifted.
Now he was sixteen — standing before the priest who told him he was more than blood. That he was designed for power.
He pressed his hand to the glass. The reflection didn't follow.
"You're not me anymore," Elias whispered. "You're what I left behind."
The boy in the mirror stared. Then turned away.
Elias stepped back.
The throne called to him next. He didn't want to sit.
He did anyway.
Elias walked until the crowd fell behind, until he reached the silent corridor that led to the Emperor's Hall — the final place where power passed hands. The door was made of dragonbone and voidsteel, marked by the last emperor's blood.
Kael caught up just before Elias crossed the threshold.
"You don't have to go in alone," he said softly.
Elias stopped. "Don't I?"
"You think it makes you stronger. Carrying this alone."
"It does."
Kael stepped in front of him, blocking the door. "No, Elias. It just makes you quieter. And silence breaks people."
For a moment, Elias didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the seal on the door, pulsing with faint red light. He could feel it calling to the crown.
"I'm not breaking," Elias said. "I'm becoming."
Kael's voice dropped to a whisper. "Just don't become something I have to stop."
The silence between them stretched. Elias looked down, then up again. The boy beneath the crown surfaced just for a second.
"I don't know who I'm supposed to be, Kael," Elias confessed. "Everyone wants something from me. Lucien wants order. The court wants fear. The Empire wants obedience. And you…"
Kael didn't blink. "I want you."
Elias's breath caught. But he couldn't say it back. Not now. Not yet.
So instead, he said: "Wait for me."
The moment he touched it, a rush of memories not his own flooded his mind — emperors who burned cities, who kissed death on the mouth, who ruled with mercy and fire alike. Visions of rebellions crushed, of lovers betrayed, of loyalty bought in blood.
He screamed once — quietly, but enough.
When he opened his eyes, the throne pulsed beneath him. The crown burned brighter. The boy was gone.
And a ruler had been born.
***
When he returned to the hall, Kael was waiting.
Elias didn't speak.
Kael didn't ask.
But as Elias passed, their shoulders brushed — and for just a breath, Elias leaned into him. Just for a moment.
Then he walked forward, where the Empire waited.
And the throne behind him whispered:
> "Every crown has its cost. And every thorn, a secret name."