The Crownless No More

The storm had passed, but the silence it left was worse than thunder.

In the stillness before dawn, a shadow knelt alone in the candlelit crypt beneath the palace. Cloaked in grey, faceless, nameless, the man pressed his palm to the altar stone. Blood seeped from the fresh cut on his wrist.

He whispered in a dead tongue.

The air shifted.

From the obsidian mirror in the center of the chamber, a faint voice answered. Male. Ancient. Hollow.

"The line still lives."

The man's voice shook. "It does."

"And the heir?"

A pause.

"He walks."

The mirror rippled like black water. Then—silence.

By midmorning, Kaelen sat hunched over a table of forgotten maps in the castle's lower archives. The dust choked him, but he didn't care. Not now. Not after what he'd seen.

The twin. The Throne's hunger. The memory that was not his.

He couldn't bury it again.

Among the brittle scrolls, Kaelen found something strange—an envelope sealed with wax. Royal blue, flecked with silver dust.

The seal of the King's Shadow Council. Supposedly abolished. Yet here it was.

He broke the seal.

Inside: a parchment map and a small, delicate chain.

The map was Valcarya—but not the version he knew. Faint runes shimmered into view: hidden roads beneath the capital. Escape tunnels. Ritual chambers.

The Hall of Names.

The chain held a tiny crystal prism.

When Kaelen touched it, it flared violet—then faded.

He pocketed both. He didn't know why.

But something whispered:

You will need this.

Elaine stood in his doorway before he returned to his chambers.

"You smell like old books and secrets," she said.

Kaelen blinked. "Good morning to you too."

"You've been... distant. Different."

"I've been learning."

"That's not what I mean." She stepped closer. "There's something you're not telling me."

"It's better if I don't."

Elaine frowned. "Since when do you decide what's better for both of us?"

"I'm trying to protect you."

"Then trust me enough not to lie."

Silence.

Kaelen looked away. "I found something. Someone."

Elaine's voice softened. "A threat?"

"A warning."

She exhaled. "You're starting to sound like the king."

"I'm starting to understand the king," Kaelen said quietly.

That was worse.

That night, Kaelen returned to the palace's oldest tower.

He followed instinct—to the hidden Alchemy Wing. Through forgotten halls to a room walled in black stone.

In the center: a Whispering Stone.

He cut his palm and let blood drip onto the stone.

For a moment—nothing.

Then:

"The throne remembers."

"You are not the first. Nor the last."

"Beware the woman in ash."

Kaelen leaned closer. "What is the throne?"

"A mouth. An eye. A hunger."

"It feeds."

The stone cracked.

Then shattered.

Kaelen stumbled back.

The woman in ash. The flowers on Cullings' doorsteps. She wasn't just mourning.

She was feeding something.

At midnight, the raven returned.

No ribbon this time.

Only a word carved into its leg-band:

"Below."

Kaelen followed—into the palace catacombs. Deeper than before.

Past the royal tombs. Past names he knew.

Into a corridor half-buried in dust and ancient runes.

He found a door. Pressed his hand to its center.

It opened.

Inside: a chamber. And a single sarcophagus.

Carved with a name.

KAELEN AVARETH.

His blood froze.

A whisper behind him: "You weren't supposed to find this yet."

He turned.

A figure in grey. Faceless. A presence older than fear.

"Who are you?"

"We are the ones who watch."

"Watch what?"

"The blood. And those who would twist it."

Kaelen clenched his fists. "What do you want from me?"

The figure pointed to the sarcophagus.

"Your oath."

Then vanished.

Kaelen stared at the stone.

At his name.

And whispered:

"I'm not ready."

The air trembled.

The sarcophagus creaked.

And from the silence, a voice answered—

"Then become."