The Crownless No More

The rain did not fall from the sky—it wept from it.

Grey sheets blanketed the capital, soaking banners, cobblestones, and bones alike. The storm had rolled in without warning, as if the sky itself had recoiled from what had been unearthed beneath the palace floor.

Kaelen stood at the mouth of the spiral descent beneath the royal archives, a torch in one hand and a shard of mirrored obsidian in the other—the artifact they had found in Arathien's temple. Elaine stood beside him, her face pale but set. Behind them, the masked woman's echo lingered like smoke: "Some bloodlines were never meant to be remembered."

"Are you ready?" Elaine asked.

"No," Kaelen answered. "But we go anyway."

They descended.

Each step down the spiral felt like a heartbeat, echoing into the deep. The walls grew colder, older. Torchlight flickered over murals worn smooth by time—some showing kings without crowns, others portraying beasts with eyes like men. There were names carved in forgotten scripts, and symbols—twins, ravens, broken oaths.

At the base of the staircase stood a door sealed in ironwood and prayer. The obsidian shard pulsed faintly in Kaelen's grip.

Elaine reached for the lock. "This place predates the throne."

Kaelen nodded. "Then maybe it remembers the truth the throne buried."

The door creaked open.

The chamber within was vast and circular, a library of stone tombs and empty thrones. In its center stood a dais—upon it, a single sword plunged into a cracked mirror. Around the dais lay skeletal remains in robes bearing faded house crests—none of which Kaelen recognized.

Elaine circled the dais, her fingers brushing ancient glyphs. "These aren't just tombs. They're seals."

Kaelen approached the sword. Something in him recoiled from it.

"Don't touch it," Elaine warned, voice sharp. "Not yet."

But the shard in Kaelen's hand pulsed again—and suddenly, visions overwhelmed him.

He stood in a throne room unlike any he had seen before. The ceiling was open to the stars. The throne itself was molten, shifting, alive. Before it knelt seven figures—cloaked in silver and shadows.

A voice rang out, ancient and terrible:

"By the First Oath, we bind the hunger. Let the throne serve the realm, not devour it."

One by one, the seven took blades to their palms, bleeding into a single chalice. The molten throne shuddered, then quieted.

Kaelen gasped as he snapped back into his body.

Elaine caught him. "What did you see?"

"The First Oath. It wasn't just a coronation rite. It was a seal—a pact to contain the throne's hunger. But it's breaking."

Elaine's face darkened. "Then someone is undoing the oath."

Kaelen turned toward the sword again. This time, he saw it clearly: forged from the same mirrored obsidian, etched with names no history had recorded. Names like Sereth. Miraeth. Kael-Tarion.

He felt the blood in his veins answer.

"This isn't just a weapon," he whispered. "It's a key."

Behind them, a faint breeze stirred. Then, a voice:

"You're not supposed to be here."

Kaelen spun around.

From the shadows emerged a man in dark robes, face hidden beneath a silver half-mask. But his eyes—Kaelen knew those eyes.

"Lord Vaeric," Elaine said, drawing her dagger. "We thought you were—"

"Dead?" Vaeric smiled coldly. "Many things buried beneath the palace are not so easily killed."

"What is this place?" Kaelen demanded.

Vaeric's gaze drifted to the dais. "A prison. A memory. A promise broken."

"You were part of this," Elaine hissed. "You served the royal court before the war. Before—"

"Before your father shattered the balance," Vaeric finished. "Yes. I served the old oath. Until the throne began to feed again."

Kaelen stepped forward. "You knew about the twin."

"I trained him," Vaeric said. "He was the vessel for memory. You were the vessel for power."

Kaelen's blood ran cold.

"You split us on purpose."

Vaeric nodded. "Because the throne cannot devour what it cannot unify."

Elaine's hand trembled on her blade. "Why now? Why awaken it again?"

Vaeric stepped aside, revealing a new seal glowing behind him.

"Because someone else already has."

The seal cracked open with a sound like thunder.

From the darkness beyond came footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

And then—the boy.

Kaelen's twin.

But something was wrong.

His eyes glowed now. Not violet, but gold.

His voice echoed with something deeper.

"The oath is broken, brother. The throne remembers. And so do I."

Kaelen backed away. "What have you done?"

The boy smiled—not cruelly, but mournfully. "What I had to. The crownless must rise before the kingdom falls."

Behind him, the seal erupted in violet fire. The bones in the chamber stirred, rising. Armored spirits, spectral kings, and silent knights.

Kaelen stared.

"A war is coming," the twin said. "Not for power. For memory."

Elaine grabbed Kaelen's arm. "We have to go. Now."

But Kaelen couldn't move.

Because in the firelit reflection of the cracked mirror—

He saw himself.

Crowned.

Alone.

And bleeding.