Thorns of the Moonlit Throne
Volume 5 — Chapter 9: Fractures in the Architect's Design
Writer: Sabbir Ahmed
The sky over Arvandor was restless.
After Aryn's return, the stars flickered like hesitant pulses, caught between obedience and curiosity. Even the wind seemed unsure of which path to take. Lyriana stood atop the Moonspire, crown warm from her connection to Aryn, watching the horizon as if it might speak answers.
"They know we interfered," Eryon murmured, shadows shifting with tension. "The Architect will respond."
He did not have to wait long.
From the northern void, shards of fractured starlight descended like falling leaves, each one a miniature fragment testing boundaries. Entire villages were touched first—not destroyed, but frozen in half-decisions. Farmers paused mid-harvest, children halted mid-step, laughter silenced before it could bloom. Reality trembled under a pressure that was not force, but coercion.
Lyriana's chest tightened. "He's learning faster than we expected."
Aryn's Shadowmark flared in response, jagged pulses radiating from his wrist. He stepped forward, trembling but determined. "He's trying to force the outcome. He can't stop choice itself—but he can manipulate it. We need to move before more cities are… paused."
Eryon's shadows spread, forming a barrier between the approaching fragments and the citizens. "We delay, but only for so long. His network grows stronger with each hesitation."
Lyriana clenched her fists, eyes fixed on the northern horizon. "Then we attack the source directly. If we wait, the Architect will bend all of Arvandor into stillness before we even reach him."
Aryn placed a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "And we do it together. The fragments respond to me—but I can't do it alone. You, me, Eryon… we become a single point of choice, a resistance he cannot predict."
Above, the largest shard quivered, splitting into dozens of smaller ones, each one a living probe of Arvandor's decisions.
Eryon's voice was calm but deadly. "He tests our limits. We will show him the strength of mortality—the chaos he cannot erase."
Lyriana inhaled, the weight of the crown familiar and urgent. "Then let him come. We will prove that even perfection cannot outlast the will to live freely."
The fragments descended.
And the war for choice escalated into full motion.