Crown of shadows and sin

The vault felt colder than before.

Not from Kael's frost or the cracked stones beneath the Ember Throne but from something older, heavier. As if time itself held its breath.

Alera stood tall in the center of the room, her pulse echoing louder than the distant thrum of the throne. Her palms itched with the need to summon fire, but her hands remained empty. She could not show weakness, not now not before him.

Across the room, the Bone Heir stood as if carved from ivory and void. Tall, pale, adorned in robes spun from starlight and ash. His skin bore the same golden cracks that once haunted Alera's vision. His eyes, though eyeless, saw everything.

Around him stood the Choir of the Dead. Thirteen beings in armor stitched with bone and cloaked in silence. Their presence alone was enough to bend the air. And yet they did not move. Not until he gave the command.

Kieran struggled to rise. He pressed a shaking hand against the ground, blood dripping from his mouth. His broken blade lay beside him. The shadows that once answered his will now flickered erratically, like they too were afraid.

Kael, hunched against the wall, muttered ancient words under his breath. The frost creeping up his forearms glowed blue, swirling with unfamiliar energy. But his magic had limits. So did his body.

Only Alera stood firm.

The Bone Heir took a step forward, his boots soundless on the blackened stone.

"You carry my mirror," he said again. "The child in your womb is mine."

"No," she snapped. "He is mine. Mine alone."

"You are mistaken," he said. His voice was not loud, yet it filled every space, curling through bone and blood. "That child is born of legacy mine. Of prophecy mine. Of power that I alone sowed centuries ago when I was still made of flesh and fire."

"You're lying."

"I do not lie. I do not need to."

He moved another step closer. The Choir did not follow. They remained at the chamber's edge, heads bowed, as if in worship or mourning.

"You've felt it, haven't you?" he said, gently, almost kindly. "When the throne marked you. When it sang to you in your sleep. When the child kicked beneath moonless nights."

Alera's heart clenched. The child had changed. She could feel it. He was more than mortal. More than Kael's magic. More than her blood.

"You made me carry this?" she asked through clenched teeth. "You cursed me from the beginning?"

"No," he said. "I chose you. As the world once chose me."

Kael coughed blood and pushed himself up. "She is not yours," he spat. "She never was. You are a relic, a mistake buried for a reason."

The Bone Heir turned to him with such slow grace it made the hairs on Alera's arms rise.

"You are frost given form, boy," he murmured. "A living wound from the Last Age. I remember your line. Weak. Honorable. And easily broken."

Kael raised his hands, blue light blooming like icefire.

"Then try and break me."

The frost leapt from Kael's palms, crashing against the Bone Heir's chest like a tidal wave. The vault screamed under the strain. Runes flared across the walls. The ground shook.

But the Bone Heir did not move.

The ice shattered against his skin like glass on steel.

He raised a single hand.

Kael's spell collapsed, and Kael himself was thrown backward, slamming into the throne's base with a sickening crack.

"Kael!" Alera screamed, turning slightly.

That hesitation was all the Bone Heir needed.

He raised his arm toward her.

Kieran moved before he could think. Shadows enveloped him, propelling him forward with inhuman speed. His shattered blade now a whip of darkness, aimed for the Bone Heir's neck.

The Bone Heir turned his wrist.

Kieran's shadow weapon disintegrated mid-air. His body flew across the chamber and struck the far wall, leaving a spiderweb of cracks in the stone.

The Choir stepped forward now.

Silent. Deadly.

Alera held up her hand.

"WAIT!"

The Bone Heir paused. So did the Choir.

Kieran groaned on the floor.

Kael remained unmoving.

The Bone Heir tilted his head again, like a curious creature watching its prey speak.

"You want the child," Alera said, breathless. "Then bargain."

Kieran lifted his head weakly. "Alera… don't."

She didn't meet his gaze.

Her eyes stayed locked on the Bone Heir.

"Let my people go. Leave this realm. Call off the Choir. End the siege. And I will go with you willingly."

Kael stirred. "No… don't…"

"You have my blood's oath," she continued, louder now. "In exchange for peace for a ceasefire you get me."

The Bone Heir's silence deepened.

Then slowly, impossibly, he bowed.

Low. With reverence.

"We have a pact."

Kieran's fists clenched. "You can't trust him. He'll destroy you he'll take the child."

"I know," she whispered.

But it was already done.

The Choir turned, one by one, and vanished into the darkness.

The vault dimmed.

The air calmed.

The Bone Heir lingered. He walked up to Alera slowly, like a man approaching something sacred.

He looked at her stomach.

He whispered words in a language no one else could understand.

Then he turned to Kieran.

"To follow her is to follow ruin."

He turned to Kael.

"To protect her is to betray your purpose."

And then to Alera.

"To love the throne… is to become it."

With that, he stepped back into the darkness.

Gone.

Alera collapsed to her knees.

Silence reigned.

Kieran crawled to her side, ignoring his injuries.

Kael, half-conscious, watched with a haunted look.

"What have I done…" Alera whispered.

Kieran touched her hand.

"What you had to."

"No," she said. "What I chose to."

Her child kicked again.

This time, she didn't feel fear.

She felt fury.