Chapter Twelve: Message from the Fallen
Kain lay among the shattered ruins, his body aching, vision blurred.
The tower was gone—only a column of smoke marked where it had once stood.
The Stone King had vanished.
So had the Black Hunters.
Only Kain remained, barely alive, his veins humming with something ancient and unfamiliar.
As he struggled to his feet, a soft sound reached his ears.
Not the wind.
Not the rumble of distant monsters.
It was... music.
A single note, plucked from a stringed instrument, echoing through the dust like a memory.
Kain followed the sound.
It led him to a collapsed hall, where a lone figure sat upon a fallen statue—tall, cloaked in silver, face hidden beneath a porcelain mask.
The music stopped.
"You survived," the stranger said, voice calm, neither friendly nor cruel. "I suppose that makes you worthy."
Kain didn't respond. His hand hovered near his weapon.
The masked man chuckled.
"Don't bother. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you in the tower."
From within his cloak, he pulled a scroll bound in red thread.
"This is for you. From the bloodline of the Fallen Thrones."
Kain frowned. "I don't know what that means."
"Not yet. But you will."
He dropped the scroll at Kain's feet and vanished—dissolving into feathers that turned to ash.
Kain unrolled the parchment.
Inside was a single phrase, written in ancient ink:
"When both hearts beat as one, the world will split again."
And beneath that, a symbol—
—a crown, cracked down the center, with two burning eyes beneath it.
Kain felt the fire inside him stir in response.
Another path had opened.
But to walk it, he would need to find the others—
—those who had inherited the blood of thrones long buried beneath ash.