The Monarch’s Ashes

The weight of the revelation clung to Cassian like a cloak of embers, each step out of the Shadow Sanctum feeling heavier than the last. The priests had given him no further guidance—only the chilling prophecy that had burned itself into his mind.

A god must die.

The wind cut through the ruined streets of Varethis as he emerged from the temple's depths, his breath escaping in slow, measured exhales. He needed time to process what he had learned, but time was a luxury he could not afford. The Inquisition would not rest. Draven would not rest. The throne itself seemed to whisper to him, an unseen force watching his every move, waiting for him to make the choice that would either shatter or solidify its grip upon the empire.

Cassian exhaled sharply and adjusted his tattered cloak. The city stretched before him, vast and labyrinthine, cloaked in the shadows of the ever-burning pyres. Somewhere beneath all of it, the Hollow Throne waited. And beneath that—

He clenched his fists. A god that must die.

He moved swiftly through the alleys, slipping past patrols of Inquisition soldiers who prowled the streets like carrion birds. Their torches flickered, their whispers barely audible over the howling wind.

"The Burned King lives," one murmured. "Draven says the throne stirs again. He cannot be allowed to reach it."

"What if he does?" another voice asked. "What if the throne chooses him?"

A harsh laugh. "The throne chooses nothing. It consumes."

Cassian didn't wait to hear more. He slipped into the shadows, his mind racing. If the throne was truly nothing more than a prison, then its power was a façade—a veil concealing the true entity locked beneath it.

The throne does not serve. It devours.

The words from the Black Archive haunted him. Whatever force was trapped below, the throne had been constructed to contain it. And if it had remained sealed all this time, the cycle of rulers being sacrificed must have been the only thing keeping it from breaking free.

Cassian grimaced. And now I've broken that cycle.

The Descent

The path to the Hollow Throne was buried beneath the ruins of the first empire, a forgotten crypt swallowed by the passage of time. The entrance lay beneath the Emperor's Sepulcher, an ancient tomb no one dared approach. Cassian had only been there once before—when he was still mortal, when he had believed the throne was the seat of divinity rather than a cage for something far older.

It had been a pilgrimage site once. Now it was abandoned, save for the dead.

Cassian moved cautiously through the decayed remains of the crypt, his footfalls echoing against the stone. The air grew thick, heavy with the weight of history and something else—something watching.

The stone doors at the heart of the sepulcher loomed before him, towering and unmarked. No inscriptions, no sigils, only smooth, ancient stone. But as he drew closer, he felt it—the faint hum beneath his fingertips as he pressed his palm against the cold surface.

Something stirred.

A voice, deep and unfathomable, whispered from the depths beyond the door.

You return.

Cassian's breath hitched. The embers beneath his skin flared in warning, but he did not pull away.

You are not the first.

His fingers curled into a fist. "But I will be the last."

The doors shuddered, dust cascading from their ancient seams. A tremor rippled through the crypt as the weight of centuries was lifted, and with a groaning moan, the stone doors began to part.

Beyond them lay darkness.

Cassian stepped forward.

The Hollow Throne

The descent was endless. The stairway coiled like the spine of some long-dead beast, its bones forming the path beneath his feet. Torches lit themselves as he passed, revealing carvings along the walls—depictions of emperors long forgotten, their faces worn away as though time itself sought to erase them.

The whispers grew louder.

The throne does not grant. It takes.

His hands ached with the weight of their unseen presence. The deeper he went, the colder the air became, as if the fire within him was being smothered by something far older.

And then, finally, he reached it.

The chamber stretched into infinity, its ceiling lost to the darkness above. At its center, the Hollow Throne stood—massive, skeletal, constructed from the fused remains of those who had come before him. It pulsed with a faint glow, veins of something ancient running through its frame.

And before it, bound in chains of liquid shadow, a god.

The entity knelt, its form shifting, its face indistinct. Its voice slithered into his mind like a thousand whispers merging into one.

You are the last.

Cassian stared, fists clenching. "Then you know why I'm here."

The god chuckled. To end what was begun.

The throne pulsed, the air around it warping. The very foundation of the empire trembled beneath its presence. Cassian took another step forward, fire coiling in his palm.

"Tell me what you are."

The god tilted its head. I am the first.

A pause. The flames around Cassian's hand flickered, uncertain.

The whispers converged into a single truth.

The first emperor.

His breath caught. The entity—this god—had not always been divine. Once, long ago, it had been the first to claim the throne. And in doing so, it had become something else entirely.

A sacrifice.

A warning.

And now, a prisoner.

Cassian's grip on his fire tightened. "If you were the first, then tell me—how do I break this cycle?"

The god did not answer.

Instead, it lunged.

Chains snapped, the throne flaring with an unnatural light. Cassian barely had time to react before the entity was upon him, its form shifting between man and monster. He raised his arm, and fire erupted from his veins, meeting the darkness head-on.

The throne screamed.

The god struck.

And the world shattered.

The War for the Throne Begins.

Cassian tumbled backward, landing hard against the stone. The god loomed over him, its form warping, tendrils of darkness weaving through the cracks in reality. It had been bound for millennia, but now—

Now it was free.

Cassian forced himself up, his breath ragged. The embers within him flared brighter than ever, his fire coiling around him like armor. If this entity had once been the first emperor, then it had long since ceased being human. It was a force of nature now, raw and unshackled.

And it would consume everything if he did not stop it.

You are not the first. The god's voice slithered into his mind. But you will be the last.

Cassian gritted his teeth. "We'll see about that."

The flames surged, and he launched himself forward, meeting the darkness with fire.

The war for the throne had begun.