Preview
When kings gather, kingdoms fall.
When prophecy divides, no throne survives the choosing.
The throne-room of obsidian was never meant to hold so many kings.
Selene stood at the head of the vast chamber, her crown a circlet of living flame, her robes trailing embers that hissed against the stone floor. The room had been carved by the ancients for war-councils, yet even in its enormity, the air felt close—choked by power, fear, and smoke. Torches burned, but shadows clung stubbornly to the walls, whispering secrets of ruin.
Before her stretched a table of blackened marble, split clean down its center, as though prophecy itself had struck it. Around it sat the rulers of Mars and beyond: desert-kings from the dunes, queens of shattered domes, envoys from the moons where no banner flew but pride. Seers cloaked in ash hovered behind them, their eyes bandaged, their tongues flicking restless prophecies into the stale air.
And all of them watched Selene as though she were a torch held too close to oil.
At her right stood the Beast—silent, a monument of iron and shadow. At her left rested her son's cradle, its silken curtains stirring though no wind dared move. The child slept, but his power pulsed faintly through the chamber, golden and immense. Even in slumber, he commanded attention. Even the flames bowed subtly toward him.
Selene waited. Silence pressed against every throat, stretching thin until it was nearly unbearable.
Then she spoke.
"You all know why you are here." Her voice was low, edged with fire. "The scar on Mars bleeds again. Velkar and Lyra walk still. And worse—Lyra has birthed a child."
A murmur rippled instantly—uneasy, disbelieving, alive.
"A child?" the Sand-King rasped, his crown of crystal glinting like bone. "You claim that venomous witch bore an heir?"
"I saw her," Selene said. Her fingers tightened against the fractured marble. "A girl. Barely older than my son. But her eyes burn with poison. The wolves already kneel to her."
The Envoy of the Outer Moons let out a short, bitter laugh. "Then prophecy mocks us again. Two heirs where only one was promised. Fire and shadow in yours—wolf and venom in hers. Tell me, Queen of Flame, which fate do we trust?"
The Beast's voice broke the rising unease—deep, gravel-edged, ancient. "Trust in blood freely chosen. Not in venom. Not in shadow."
But his words fell like stones into a storm.
The Queen of the Glass Domes slammed her hand against the table. The shatter of her jeweled crown echoed. "You ask us to choose between two cursed bloodlines. One born of venom—and one—" her eyes cut sharply toward the cradle, "—of shadow."
Selene's fire flared high before she could stop it. "My son is not cursed!"
The chamber fell silent. The flame's echo crackled across stone, then faded into the sound of uneasy breath.
High above, unseen by all, Velkar and Lyra watched from the vaulted shadows. Illusions veiled them—woven of smoke, of deception, of malice.
Lyra's lips curved into a venomous smile. "Look at them. Already they turn on her. Already they whisper that her son is tainted. We need not strike, my love. They will destroy themselves."
Velkar's grin gleamed sharp as glass. "The thrones of men have always been brittle. Fear will do what blades cannot."
Below, chaos was growing.
"We cannot trust flame or shadow!" cried the Desert-King. "The prophecy warned us—'to choose him is to lose all.' And yet you ask us to bend knee to a child who bears both!"
"And what would you prefer?" Selene's voice cracked like thunder. "To kneel to wolves? To let Lyra's venom spread across our lands until even your bones rot in her poison? My son was born of love, not cruelty!"
"Love does not rule kingdoms," sneered the Envoy. "Power does."
Selene's fire flickered, dimmed. For a moment, she faltered. The Beast's shadow loomed close, steady as a heartbeat, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her fear.
She could feel their faith unraveling.
Then, from the cradle, her son stirred.
The silks rustled. His small hand lifted.
His eyes opened—molten gold, brighter than every torch in the hall.
A hush fell over the council. The air grew heavy, thick with awe and dread. Golden flames danced at his fingertips—pure, balanced, touched with shadow but uncorrupted. For the first time, prophecy felt alive.
The Seer of Ash convulsed, his bandages bleeding. "Two heirs!" he screamed. "Two heirs, one throne! The worlds will burn!"
He collapsed, dead before his body hit the floor.
And the hall erupted.
Velkar's grin widened in the rafters. "Yes. Let them taste madness."
Lyra's voice was silk and poison. "The council fractures. Soon no throne will stand. And in the ashes, Nyla shall reign."
Below, kings shouted oaths and drew steel. The Queen of Domes demanded the boy's surrender for judgment. The Desert-King raised his blade and swore never to kneel to flame or shadow. The Envoy's guards began to flee, dragging their fearful master toward the doors.
Selene's flames exploded outward, barring their escape. "You will not touch him!" she roared. "Not while I draw breath!"
The Beast's twin blades sang free. His shadow stretched long and monstrous across the walls. "Any who reach for him will fall."
But it was already too late. The unity Selene had gathered cracked apart like glass under heat.
Oaths broke. Crowns fell askew. Trust dissolved into smoke.
The council of thrones had broken.
Selene clutched her son to her chest, his warmth fierce against her trembling hands. Two heirs. Two futures. One throne. And already the world had chosen division.
She looked up—sensing something in the rafters. But the shadows were empty.
Only whispers remained.
Outside, ash fell like snow. The skies dimmed. From the scar across Mars, the wolves began to howl—as if they already knew the thrones had fallen.
Next Chapter Preview
Far from the shattered council, beneath the red storms of Mars, Lyra's child awoke.
And in her cry, the first stars began to die.