The wind that swept across the Dustplain carried no birdsong, no sound of life — only the low sigh of a world holding its breath. Beneath it marched Kaelen.
They were less than a week from the Vale of Kings.
Around him, the remnants of their company moved like ghosts in armor — Lys, quiet and sharp-eyed beside him; Aelric walking with a noticeable limp, never far from a sarcastic word; and behind them, a motley host of survivors, mercenaries, and wardens who had pledged themselves to Kaelen after Iskaran. Each bore the mark of battle. Each had seen what rose beneath the sea.
The Fifth Crown pulsed beneath Kaelen's cloak, heavy as a buried truth. With five of the Nine Crowns reclaimed, the ember-blood in his veins burned hotter by the day. His dreams had shifted from visions to voices — echoes from the Nine Kings of old, whispering of war, judgment, and the broken oaths of men.
Still, he marched.
The Vale of Kings awaited. And with it, answers — or annihilation.
Far to the North – The Hollow King's Citadel
From the highest spire of the Ebon Throne, the Hollow King watched.
His shape was not fixed — a blur of bones and robes that shifted like ink in water — but his crown gleamed with an unholy light. The sixth had awakened. He had felt it the moment Kaelen grasped it: a jolt through the skein of the world.
"Five now," he murmured. His voice scratched the air like claws across stone. "The chain is mending."
Around him, Hollowborn priests knelt in silent rows, eyes weeping black ash. At their feet burned braziers filled with the remnants of vanquished spirits — fuel for the last war.
He turned toward his war-tactician — a twisted shape called Thern, with three mouths and a body of twisted armor. "Bring the Maw. Let them choke the Vale in silence."
"And the child?" Thern asked.
The Hollow King's fingers curled. "Let him come. Let him see what the crowns have bought him."
South of the Vale – Lys
Lys stood watch as the camp settled for the night. Kaelen was asleep, or pretending to be. She knew the signs of haunted rest — twitching fingers, a brow damp with sweat. She had them too.
Her gaze wandered to the horizon, where faint lights danced like stars fallen to earth. The Vale of Kings lay beyond that ridge, a place of buried monarchs and vanished truths.
She touched her chest, where her own mark still throbbed faintly. The Crown of Halvyr had left something behind in her too — a cold clarity. She didn't trust it.
"A war to end all others," she whispered. "And we're marching straight into it."
She looked back at Kaelen and wondered — not for the first time — if the boy she met beneath the shattered tower still remained within the man carrying five Crowns.
East Ridge – Aelric
Aelric sat sharpening his sword by firelight, boots off, leg bound tight. Pain still shot through his thigh where the Hollowborn spear had grazed bone. He bore it with a grimace and the occasional curse.
He missed dice games. Cheap ale. Women who didn't want him dead.
And yet… he wouldn't leave.
Kaelen had changed — not just in power, but in presence. He walked like a storm wrapped in a man's skin now. And people followed him. Aelric wasn't sure if that terrified him or made him proud.
He glanced at the stone Kaelen always kept nearby when he slept — the ember shard. It glowed faintly, casting flickering light.
"Please don't turn out to be a tyrant," Aelric muttered. "I really don't want to stab another one."
The Vale of Kings – Three Days Later
The first sign they had arrived was the silence.
No birds. No insects. No wind. Just a stillness so deep it pressed against their ears like water.
The Vale stretched before them — a basin of white stone and broken monuments. Obelisks rose like jagged teeth, etched with the names of kings long dead. And in the heart of the valley stood the Monolith — a black spire taller than any tower Kaelen had ever seen.
Its surface was alive with shadow. It called to the Crowns.
Kaelen stepped forward. The moment his boots touched the white earth, the sky cracked open with thunder.
And the Hollow King's voice filled the world.
"You return to the bones of your forebears, little spark. But these graves are mine now."
All across the Vale, Hollowborn began to rise — crawling from crypts, emerging from fractured stone. Thousands.
Kaelen drew his sword. The ember in his chest blazed.
"We hold the line," he said, his voice steady.
Lys came to his side. "No retreat."
Aelric, limping forward, chuckled. "Worst vacation ever."
Then the battle began — and with it, the last war of the Nine Crowns.