Thorns of the Moonlit Throne
Volume 2 — Chapter 1: Fractures Beneath the Crown
Writer: Sabbir Ahmed
The moon still ruled Arvandor's skies, but its light no longer felt unquestioned.
Lyriana Vael stood alone in the High Balcony, gazing over the capital she had sworn to protect. Lanterns glimmered along rebuilt streets, and laughter echoed faintly from taverns once reduced to ash. Peace had returned—but it rested on fragile stone.
Behind her, the Balanced Crown pulsed softly, its light weaving with shadow like a steady heartbeat. It obeyed her now. Yet power, Lyriana had learned, never truly rested.
"They're afraid," Aryn said quietly as he joined her. His armor bore the sigil of unity—moonlight etched with shadowsteel. "Not the people. The nobles."
Lyriana nodded. "Fear is easier than understanding."
Reports filled her days: border lords refusing shadow envoys, priests preaching that darkness was a sin reborn, and whispers that the Queen herself had been corrupted by ancient power. Every accusation struck deeper than any blade.
Eryon emerged from the shadows near the pillar, his presence calm yet watchful. "The darkness is restless tonight," he said. "Not hostile—but disturbed. Something is stirring far beyond the Shadowlands."
Lyriana's fingers tightened around the balcony rail. "The prophecy warned us," she murmured. "Union was never the end."
That night, the warning came.
A horn echoed from the eastern watchtower—low, urgent, wrong. Moments later, a messenger burst into the throne chamber, blood streaking his cloak.
"Your Majesty," he gasped. "An envoy from the Sunfall Dominion has arrived. They bring a decree… and an army."
Silence fell.
Aryn stepped forward, eyes sharp. "An ultimatum?"
The messenger nodded. "They demand the dissolution of shadow magic. They call your crown an abomination."
Lyriana closed her eyes for a heartbeat. When she opened them, moonlight and shadow burned together in her gaze.
"Then they have chosen fear over balance," she said.
The crown responded, its pulse deepening—alive, aware.
Lyriana rose from the throne.
"Prepare the council," she commanded. "If the world refuses harmony… then Arvandor will stand as its proof."
Outside, the moon darkened briefly—as if the night itself was holding its breath.
The reckoning had begun.