Over the Wailing Wastes, the break of day spread across rust-hued dunes, dyeing the world with rust and shadow. Otoku knelt over a half-buried crown—a cruel circlet of blackened gold, scored with runes worn by centuries. It throbbed with quiet promise.
Noctis padded alongside, hackles bristling. "That is his throne," the beast whispered in Otoku's mind. "The First Star-Eater's legacy."
He put a shaking hand on the crown's scorching metal. Memories flooded through him—images of a boy crowned in fire, armies bowing, skies breaking. The weight of centuries bore down on Otoku's breast. He could take that power… become a god.
And as the horizon shook, he recalled Lirael's last words: "To master the loop is not to end it, but to choose its meaning."
He shut his fist upon the crown and, with a hard breath, broke it upon a dune. Metal scraps trilled in the air, falling into sand like extinguishing sparks. The runes perished with empty rings.
The earth shook, baring a hidden crevice. Otoku stared into the dark—an iron door bound by void-chains. Beyond, there was a road downward, where ancient mysteries abided.
Noctis rubbed against his leg. "This path goes deeper," he told him.
Otoku rose, brushing ash from his robes. "Then that is where we will have to go."
Above, the first bird song was heard through shattered sky—an uncertain promise of what was to come.