"Kings do not die. They scatter into the wings of birds, waiting for war."
---
Three days passed in silence.
Asma-Ra wandered the black marshes beyond the Throne Hollow, his talisman faint and twitching. With each step, the ground whispered names he no longer remembered. The skies above were never still—crows circled endlessly, screaming not hunger, but judgment.
At dusk on the fourth day, he found the altar.
It was not made of stone.
It was made of spines—human and beast, woven together and painted with ancient sap. There, perched upon it, sat a woman clad in crow feathers. Her skin was ash-pale, her eyes black as obsidian pits.
She spoke without looking at him.
"You reek of broken oaths."
Asma-Ra remained silent. The talisman pulsed once—afraid.
"You do not bow?" she asked.
"I bow to no one but the Tree," he said.
"Then you bow to death," she smiled.
A single feather fell from her cloak. When it touched the ground, it became a dagger made of bone and wind.
"I am Kaaki," she said, voice like thunder filtered through silk. "First Daughter of the Dread Wing. Keeper of the fallen king's voice. And you, oathbreaker, wear his ash on your skin."
Asma-Ra clenched his fists.
"I ended him. Not for power. For truth."
Kaaki laughed—a sound that made the trees around them wilt.
"There is no truth in mercy. You killed a king. You severed a root. But the tree still stands. Do you think you've unbound your soul? The pact is deeper than life. Deeper than flesh."
She stood, and the crows followed her. Thousands, forming wings of shadow behind her back.
"You wear three names now," she said. "Do you even know what that means?"
Asma-Ra hesitated. "Three names for three roots."
Kaaki nodded. "And each root remembers. You cannot simply burn the past. You must feed it. That is the law of the Ashvattha."
She pointed at the altar.
"Crown yourself," she whispered. "Take the memory. Wear it. Or you will wander nameless forever."
A sudden wind cut through the marsh. The feather-dagger lifted from the soil, hovering before Asma-Ra.
He took it.
And then he saw her memories.
Visions spilled into him:
A palace of wings where Kaaki was once a princess—born to the Sky King, offered to the Ashvattha as an oracle-child.
Her beak carved into her face by a priest who believed the voice of the Tree must never be silent.
Her escape, her rebellion, and her crow-cloak woven from the eyes of her former masters.
The pact she made with the Dread Wing: to serve Death, not the Tree.
Asma-Ra fell to one knee. Not from reverence—but from the weight of it all.
Kaaki approached.
"Kill me," she said softly. "Take my name. You'll need it to reach the fourth root."
"I don't kill the innocent," Asma-Ra said.
"I am not innocent," she whispered. "I fed the Tree the bones of children. I laughed when the rains drowned the sky temples. I burned cities in the name of silence. Kill me, fire-born. Or carry my sins."
Asma-Ra stared into her black eyes.
And turned the dagger on himself.
The blade pierced his chest—not with pain, but understanding. Kaaki screamed—not from agony, but from release. Her body shattered into feathers, flying upward like smoke.
The crows scattered.
But one remained.
It landed on his shoulder, whispering in a language only the Tree remembered:
> "You chose the burden. The Tree will bloom through your skin."
And with that, the sky turned red.
Another name seared into his blood: Kaaki.
The fourth name.
And the roots of the Ashvattha shivered.
---
END OF CHAPTER IV
Next: Chapter V – "The Path of Seven Tongues"