Crown of shadows and sin

Kieran lay still.

His skin was no longer entirely human veins glowing faintly with black light, shadows crawling slowly beneath his flesh like liquid fire. His eyes were closed, lips parted in shallow breath. But he was alive.

Barely.

Alera knelt at his side, cradling his head on her lap. Her fingers brushed back sweat-matted hair from his forehead. She couldn't stop trembling.

"He gave up everything," she whispered.

Kael stood nearby, silent. The frost in his veins had settled, the wild energy within him now calm. Balanced.

Because Kieran had taken the chaos.

"He shouldn't have done it," Alera said. "That wasn't his choice."

Kael looked at her. "He chose you. And your child."

They moved him back through the shadow path, carried on Cayle's back with Valdrik guiding from the rear, whispering old chants to keep the darkness from fully consuming Kieran's mind.

The deeper they walked, the more Alera could feel it the Throne's pull.

Even shattered and silent, it felt them. The prophecy might have been broken, but the throne remained.

Waiting.

Hungry.

And something else waited with it.

They returned to the Hollow Hall, only to find it changed.

Something had passed through it during their absence. The walls were scorched with blue fire. The underground sanctum once hidden was wide open. And carved across the stone floor, in blood and ancient runes, was a message:

 He is not the only heir who awakens.

Kael froze when he saw it.

"This is not from the Syndicate," he said. "It's older than them. Older than us."

Alera helped Cayle lay Kieran down.

Valdrik traced a finger along the rune symbols. "These weren't meant to warn. They were meant to summon."

"To summon what?" Cayle asked.

Valdrik looked up, pale. "The first heir. The one they buried beneath the throne."

Alera stared at him. "I thought Kael was the first heir."

Valdrik shook his head. "There was one before him. Born of shadow and blood before the first war. The world buried him. Thought prophecy needed no more monsters."

Kael whispered, "But monsters always return."

Later that night, Alera sat beside Kieran, who hadn't woken once.

His breathing was shallow. His heartbeat faint. His skin felt like smoke and winter.

"I need you," she whispered. "Not because you saved me. Because you see me."

Her fingers closed over his.

"I can't raise him alone."

From behind her, Kael stepped into the room. Quiet. Hesitant.

"You won't," he said.

Alera looked up.

He didn't smile. He never smiled.

But there was something human in his voice this time.

"You're not alone anymore."

The next day, the fires rose in the south.

Not from the Syndicate. Not from the Order.

From the dead lands.

And in the ashes walked a figure draped in gold and bone taller than any man, eyes hollow, mouth stitched shut by iron thread.

The first heir had returned.

And he wanted his throne.

At the Hollow Hall, Kieran stirred.

His eyes opened.

But they were no longer entirely his.

 Reader's Note:

Who is the first heir and why was he buried? And what's happening to Kieran? Drop your theories below 

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Chapter Eight soon!