The wind howled across the crumbled towers of Ashspire, carrying the scent of burnt stone and old blood. Damien stood at the edge of the fortress ruins, his black coat billowing like the wings of a crow. Behind him, the last echoes of battle faded into silence. The corrupted defenders had been vanquished—but the price had been high.
Elara knelt beside the broken form of Kaelen, one of the loyal warriors they'd saved from the Hollow Citadel. His blood soaked the grey stones, his breaths shallow. Damien's fists clenched.
"He fought for you," Elara whispered, voice cracked. "Believed in you."
Damien's voice was a cold echo. "He didn't die for nothing."
From the ruins, Sierra approached, holding the second Legacy Relic—The Crest of Binding Flames. It pulsed in her hands like a sleeping heart, glowing with restrained power. But her eyes were not on the relic. They were fixed on Damien.
"You saw it, didn't you?" she asked. "The vision from the relic?"
Damien nodded. "A kingdom drowning in fire. A woman in chains. And… me, standing above corpses, with the same crown as the Sleeper."
Sierra's expression darkened. "The relic doesn't show the future—it shows what might be, should your path go unchecked."
He turned away, eyes narrowing at the horizon. "Then I'll make damn sure it doesn't come true."
But that resolve would soon be tested.
—
The survivors gathered around the Heartforge chamber, deep beneath Ashspire. Here, the second legacy revealed its true purpose: a crucible of power. Etched in runes and inscribed with blood-forged iron, the Heartforge was said to burn away weakness and awaken truths. Only those who passed its trial could wield the Crown's second seal.
Damien stepped into the chamber, and the door slammed shut behind him.
Inside, there was no light—only memories.
—
He stood again at the Black Citadel gates, watching his parents murdered. Only this time, he didn't scream. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The shadows held him still.
"You could've saved them," a voice whispered—his own voice, warped and venomous. "You were always too slow. Too weak."
Suddenly, he saw a version of himself—cloaked in regal black, a crown of thorns on his head. "Give in," the other Damien said. "Let go of guilt. Let rage guide you."
"No," Damien whispered. "I fight because of them. Not in spite of them."
The ground cracked. Chains lashed out from the darkness, trying to bind him. He didn't run. Instead, he reached into the core of his soul—and unleashed the Shadow System.
Shadowflame Resonance Activated.
A massive wave of dark energy burst forth, shattering the illusion. The Heartforge chamber returned, quiet and glowing. A new rune had been etched on his arm—The Mark of Sovereign Will.
He had passed the trial.
—
Outside, the group waited. When the chamber opened, Damien stepped out—changed. The shadows no longer clung to him. They followed him.
Elara blinked. "You… you have control now?"
Damien nodded. "Some. Enough."
Sierra smiled faintly. "You've earned the second piece. But there's more you must know."
She revealed what she'd discovered while Damien was inside. In one of the vaults beneath Ashspire, she found an old tome—written by Ardyn, the founder of the System of Shadows.
"It speaks of three Legacies," she said. "And the final one lies in a place untouched by light—The Forsaken Hollow."
Damien frowned. "Is that where the Sleeper waits?"
"No," she said. "But it's where he was born."
—
Later that night, Damien stood at Kaelen's grave.
"I promised no one else would fall," he murmured. "But I keep losing people. I don't know if I'm fit to lead."
Behind him, a voice replied—gravelly and grim.
"Leadership isn't about being perfect. It's about walking through hell so others don't have to."
It was Lucan—the scarred mercenary who'd once betrayed Damien, now fighting beside him again. He tossed a sword into the dirt beside the grave.
"We lost more than one today. But we gained something too. Fear. That thing the Sleeper felt when he sensed you awaken your power."
Damien looked up, the wind carrying the scent of ash. "Then let's give him more to fear."
—
The next morning, the army gathered. Survivors, outcasts, and new recruits who'd seen Damien's power at Ashspire. They called him Shadow King. He hated the title, but knew he needed it.
They were going to war.
—
Far away, in a ruined cathedral swallowed by night, a figure stirred. Cloaked in rags and shadows, with eyes like frozen suns.
"The boy awakens," the Sleeper whispered. "Good. Let the pieces move."
He turned to a bound prisoner—a woman with silver hair and a broken crown.
"Let's see how your son handles the next trial, Queen Selene."
The woman didn't scream. She only smiled. "He'll destroy you."
The Sleeper chuckled. "Let him try."
---