The map to the Hollow Throne was incomplete — a jagged spiral torn in ink and age. But Raizen, seated in the strategy room aboard The Ashen Gale, traced the line that cut through myth and nightmare: the Void Vortex.
Legends called it a storm with no center, a whirlpool that howled with the voices of the damned. Somewhere within, the Lost Armada had vanished — a fleet of warships said to have been carrying the Key of Dominion, the final piece required to unlock the Hollow Throne.
Raizen's hand hovered over the faded emblem on the map: a crowned helm surrounded by black waves.
He had no choice.
To reach the Hollow Throne, they would have to find the fleet lost to time.
The sea changed as they neared the Vortex. The sky cracked without thunder. The water was no longer water — it shimmered like black glass, reflecting not clouds but memories. The closer they sailed, the more the crew began to see things: lost family, old enemies, even themselves — twisted, drowned versions peering back from the sea.
"It's not a storm," whispered Rourke, the crew's helmsman. "It's a wound in time."
They passed shattered masts rising from the ocean like tombstones. Sails hung like skin on bone. And then, from the fog, the Lost Armada emerged.
Dozens of ships, still afloat — but dead. No crew. No sound. Cannons crusted with coral. Decks coated in a frost that steamed in the sun. Raizen boarded the largest ship, The Sovereign Dagger, its hull lined with carvings in an ancient dialect even their linguist couldn't fully decipher.
Deep within the vessel, they found it: a sealed chamber of obsidian and brass. Inside, a single preserved body — seated on a throne of salt. Its eyes still open.
Etched into the walls were words from over a century ago, written by Admiral Caelum Varn, the armada's last commander:
"We found it. The Hollow Throne exists. But it is not a seat — it is a mirror. It shows not who rules, but what they will become. We fled… because none of us could face what we saw."
Raizen stepped forward — and the chamber reacted. The walls pulsed. The corpse's mouth opened, releasing a breath of ancient air. And with it… a whisper:
"The throne is waiting."
As the crew searched the wreckage for clues, Zuri found a hidden vault containing a shattered compass — its needle still spinning.
Rourke repaired it with trembling hands, and when it stilled, it pointed… straight into the heart of the Vortex.
But time was running out. The Vortex was collapsing inward, a closing maw that devoured everything it touched. The Armada began to drift, drawn toward the spiral center by unseen currents.
They had minutes.
Raizen gave the order.
They escaped with barely their lives — and a single scroll clutched in Raizen's hand: a navigational riddle engraved in starlight, designed to bypass the final barrier to the Hollow Throne.
As the Ashen Gale breached the Vortex's edge, a terrible cry followed them — a fleet of phantom ships giving chase, black sails burning without flame. The ghosts of those who tried to claim power… and lost their souls in return.
From the crow's nest, Kato whispered: "This isn't a journey anymore. This is a reckoning."
Raizen turned to his crew.
"The Hollow Throne isn't just hidden," he said grimly. "It was buried for a reason."
And as the stars shifted above them, he knew: the next step wouldn't just test their strength — it would test their very right to exist.
End of chapter4