The tunnel swallowed them in shadow.
Unlike before, the darkness here pulsed—alive, aware. Kaen could feel it brushing against his skin like invisible tendrils, curious and hostile. Every step forward felt like walking through a memory not his own.
Lira kept close. Her blade was drawn, its surface faintly glowing with runes Kaen hadn't noticed before. She hadn't said a word since the chamber—since he returned changed.
Kaen could feel it, too. The mark on his arm throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat. The remnants of the Forsaken Blade, now fused with him, whispered in a language he didn't understand. Not yet.
"What is this place?" Kaen finally asked, his voice no longer shaking but edged with a new weight.
Lira's eyes flicked toward him. "If the legends are true… we're beneath the Crown Vault. Where the first kings locked away what they couldn't destroy."
"Like that shadow?"
She hesitated. "That wasn't just a shadow, Kaen. That was a memory given form. A curse... maybe even a test."
Kaen looked ahead. The path curved downward, narrowing. Strange symbols lined the walls—etched in blood, or something darker.
"I saw something," he said slowly. "A battlefield. A broken throne. That blade—my blade—it killed a king."
Lira stopped walking. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Then it's true."
"What is?"
She looked at him, eyes filled with something between awe and fear. "The Hollow Crown isn't just a myth. It's a mantle. A chain passed from soul to soul. And now... it chose you."
Before Kaen could respond, a shriek tore through the tunnel. Not human. Not beast. Something old.
A wall ahead cracked open, revealing a chamber glowing with sickly green light. Inside: twisted trees made of bone, roots writhing through the stone. At the center stood a creature—half-knight, half-wraith—its eyes burning with malice.
Kaen instinctively raised his hand. The flicker of crimson and ash-gray flame danced in his palm.
The creature hissed, recoiling for a moment. But then it roared, charging forward with inhuman speed.
Lira lunged, meeting it mid-strike with her blade.
Kaen stood frozen, torn between terror and instinct. Then the brand on his arm pulsed—and suddenly, he understood.
Not words. Not instructions. Just purpose.
He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and unleashed the fire.
The creature screamed as the flame engulfed it—not just burning, but unraveling its form. Memories bled from its scream—of betrayal, of agony, of a forgotten oath.
And when it was done, only ashes remained.
Kaen fell to one knee, breathing hard. The fire receded, leaving his arm scorched but intact.
Lira rushed to his side. "Are you alright?"
He nodded. "I think… I can feel them now. The ones who came before."
She helped him stand again, eyes wide. "You're becoming something else."
Kaen looked at the mark on his arm.
"No," he said quietly. "I already am."
And somewhere, far above, the sealed vaults of the ancient kings groaned—echoing with the awakening of something long buried.