Thorns of the Moonlit Throne
Volume 2 — Chapter 6: The Envoy of Balance
Writer: Sabbir Ahmed
The eastern road shimmered beneath the rising sun as Lyriana's envoy departed the capital.
At its head rode Aryn Vale, armor polished but unadorned, carrying neither banner nor blade of command—only the sigil of unity etched into his cloak. Beside him walked Eryon, his shadows restrained, barely visible in the daylight. This was not a march of war.
It was a test of belief.
From the city walls, Lyriana watched until they vanished beyond the horizon. The Balanced Crown hovered close, its glow subdued, as if wary of what lay ahead.
"Return safely," she whispered—not as a queen, but as a woman who had already lost too much to fate.
Three days later, the sky darkened unnaturally.
A Sunfall messenger arrived at dusk, his white robes scorched at the edges. He collapsed at the foot of the throne, breath ragged.
"They refused," he gasped. "The High Reliquary has been awakened."
Silence gripped the chamber.
Eryon's shadow flared briefly. "Then they have chosen domination."
Lyriana felt the crown surge violently, a sharp pain blooming behind her eyes. Visions flooded her mind—Sunfall priests chanting, radiant chains descending from a blazing altar, shadow and light alike screaming as they were torn apart.
"That relic doesn't seek purity," Lyriana said, steady despite the pain. "It seeks control."
Trumpets blared from the western towers.
A captain rushed in. "Your Majesty! Sunfall forces advance—but something's wrong. The land itself is… breaking."
Outside, the ground trembled. Cracks of blinding light split the earth beyond the walls, scorching fields to ash. Even the sky recoiled, clouds tearing apart under radiant pressure.
Lyriana stepped forward, lifting her chin. Fear threatened to take hold—but balance answered.
The crown stabilized, its pulse deep and resonant.
"They will burn the world to prove they are right," she said. "I will not let Arvandor become their altar."
She turned to her commanders. "Evacuate the outer districts. Shield the Shadowlanders first. No retaliation unless necessary."
A lord cried out, "They'll see this as weakness!"
Lyriana's eyes glowed—moonlight and shadow in perfect harmony. "They will see restraint. And learn its cost."
As the first wave of radiant fire struck the distant plains, Lyriana raised her hand.
A barrier of balanced energy surged outward—absorbing flame, grounding devastation, protecting her people.
For the first time, the crown did not feel heavy.
It felt right.
And far across the battlefield, as Aryn stood captive before the High Reliquary, he realized the truth—
This war would not be won by armies.
It would be won by who defined the meaning of light.