Thorns of the Moonlit Throne
Volume 2 — Chapter 5: The Weight of the Crown
Writer: Sabbir Ahmed
Sleep no longer came easily to Lyriana Vael.
Long after the capital quieted, she stood within the Moonlit Sanctum, alone beneath the hovering Balanced Crown. Its light wavered like a restless star, reflecting her own unease. Power filled the chamber—but so did exhaustion.
"You're afraid," a voice whispered.
Lyriana did not turn. "So are you."
The darkness within the crown stirred, no longer hostile, but burdened. It carried centuries of pain, betrayal, and forgotten names. Balance had not erased history—it had inherited it.
Aryn entered softly, setting aside his sword. "The Vanguard is ready," he said. "But morale is… shaken."
Lyriana closed her eyes. "I asked them to believe in something the world taught them to fear."
Aryn stepped closer. "You showed them another path. That matters."
She met his gaze, and for a moment, the crown's glow softened. "What if belief isn't enough?" she asked quietly. "What if balance demands more than I can give?"
Before Aryn could answer, the sanctum trembled. Runes flared along the walls as an ancient seal awakened.
Eryon appeared, shadows tense. "The relics are reacting. Something is calling to the crown—from beyond Arvandor."
A vision tore through Lyriana's mind.
Flames over white stone. A throne forged of sunlight. A figure crowned in radiance—eyes hollow with conviction.
"The Sunfall Dominion's High Reliquary," Lyriana whispered. "They have an artifact… one that rejects balance itself."
The crown pulsed violently, resisting the call.
"If they activate it," Eryon said, "it could shatter the harmony you forged."
Aryn's jaw tightened. "Then we stop them."
Lyriana straightened, resolve hardening. "No. We understand them."
She approached the crown, placing her hand beneath its light. Pain surged—memories not her own, voices crying out beneath both shadow and flame.
"I will not rule by force alone," she said. "If balance is to survive, it must be chosen."
The crown steadied, responding to her will.
Outside, dawn approached, pale and uncertain.
Lyriana turned to Aryn and Eryon. "Prepare an envoy. Not soldiers."
Aryn frowned. "To Sunfall?"
"To their truth," she replied.
Far away, in a temple of burning gold, a relic awakened—screaming against the very idea of harmony.
And the world stood on the edge of a choice that would define its future.