Crown of shadows and sin

The sky bled gray over Dravenfall.

Alera stood at the top of the Hollow Hall, staring at the horizon as if it could offer answers. But all she saw were clouds gathering. Black. Heavy. Pressing.

The Bone Heir had crossed the southern pass.

His army did not ride horses or carry banners.

It walked on broken limbs and broken vows souls pulled from the graves of the old kings, reanimated by a force older than magic.

At their head marched the Choir of the Dead thirteen beings who had once ruled empires and now sang only death.

Kieran stood in the chamber below, staring at his reflection in the mirror of obsidian.

His left eye glowed violet.

His veins darkened when his pulse rose.

The Rite had marked him, not only to save Kael, but to unbind the prophecy's hold. But it hadn't let go of him. It had made room inside him… for something else.

"Alera will never trust you again," he whispered to himself.

The mirror didn't answer. But his reflection smirked.

Kael prepared spells in silence.

Runes glowed across the floor of the vault. Frost swirled in his hands, dancing between ancient sigils and protective glyphs. But his movements were less steady now. Ever since he touched the throne with Alera, a piece of his control had begun to fracture.

He wasn't just afraid of the Bone Heir.

He was afraid of himself.

"Prophecy is breaking," he said under his breath. "So what happens to those born from it?"

Alera met with Cayle in the strategy room.

"We can't hold the Hollow Hall," he told her bluntly. "Not with our numbers."

"We're not holding it," she replied. "We're baiting them."

Cayle blinked. "You want to lure the Choir into the Hall?"

She nodded. "If we can trap them beneath the vault, near the throne's old seal, we might sever their tether."

He paced. "That means opening the vault again."

"I know."

"And putting yourself near the throne again."

"I know."

He stopped pacing. "Then we'll all die together."

The Choir came at dusk.

Thirteen white-cloaked corpses. Their armor was black and gold. Their faces were gone erased by time, wrapped in chains of light. Each one carried a weapon forged before the First Age: blades made from dragonbone, soulsteel, and shadowfire.

As they approached the Hollow Hall, they sang.

No words.

Just sound.

A haunting, choking melody that made the birds fall from the sky and the ground weep blood.

Inside, Alera gritted her teeth against it. Her baby kicked once in protest. She pressed a hand to her stomach.

"Not yet," she whispered. "We haven't lost yet."

Kael opened the vault.

The air inside had changed.

The Ember Throne no longer glowed, but its presence was stronger now. Like it was waiting.

Kieran descended behind him, sword drawn.

"Do you hear it?" Kael asked without turning.

Kieran listened.

The throne wasn't speaking in words. It was pulsing.

Like a heartbeat.

"Whatever it's doing," Kieran said, "we stop it here."

Kael glanced back. "And if it's already awake?"

"Then we kill it again."

The trap was laid.

Alera stood in the throne chamber, alone.

Her cloak was torn to reveal the mark that had appeared on her stomach after touching the throne, it had branded her skin with a sigil of fire and frost. A crown made of ash.

Outside, the Choir approached in silence.

Cayle stood with a small force at the eastern wall, waiting to trigger the collapse once the last of them entered.

Kieran and Kael waited just beyond the chamber, ready to seal the trap.

Alera had one job.

Draw them in.

The Choir entered the vault.

One by one.

Their hollow eyes turned toward her.

The first one to speak sounded like a rusted bell: "Throne-bearer."

Another: "Blood of rebirth."

Another: "Womb of gods."

They surrounded her, blades drawn, humming their death-song.

Alera stood still.

"I am none of those," she said.

They paused.

"I am the storm that will undo your king."

The Choir hissed as one.

And attacked.

The trap sprung.

Kael raised the frost barrier behind them. Kieran ignited the shadow wards. Cayle collapsed the rear tunnel.

The Choir was trapped with Alera inside the chamber.

She didn't run.

She fought.

Flames burst from her fingertips. The child inside her lent her power now wild, raw, ancient. One of the Choir screamed as her fire turned his bones to dust.

Another lunged, sword aimed at her chest only to be frozen mid-air by Kael's magic as he broke through the northern wall.

Kieran moved like smoke his blades dancing through two more of them, his body flickering between solid and shade.

The throne pulsed faster.

The chamber cracked.

The Choir screamed.

And then… the Bone Heir arrived.

He didn't walk.

He descended as if dropped from the heavens. No one saw where he came from. He was simply there.

The Choir fell to their knees.

Even Kael gasped.

The Bone Heir wore a crown made of ribs and gold. His skin was pale and cracked like old parchment. His eyes were nothing just void.

Alera stepped forward.

"I've seen you before."

He smiled. "And I've waited for you, Mother of the End."

Kieran raised his sword. "Stay back."

But the Bone Heir didn't move.

He only raised a single hand and every blade in the chamber shattered into dust.

Kael's magic flickered.

Kieran fell to one knee, coughing blood.

Only Alera remained standing.

The Bone Heir pointed to her belly.

"You carry my mirror."

And Alera whispered, "Then pray you don't see his face."