The capital city of Eldryn glistened beneath a pale winter sun, its towers reaching skyward like ivory daggers. Banners fluttered half-mast. The bells tolled in grim procession. From the outside, it looked like mourning for a fallen monarch.
But within the citadel walls, the real battle was only beginning.
Marcus stood in the great hall of his ancestors, the crimson banners of House Valebourne above him. The throne—once a symbol of justice and strength—now loomed like a trap. The courtiers had gathered, nobles in velvet and steel, whispering rumors like venom in the air.
"They think I'm here to claim it," Marcus murmured to Erin beside him.
"Aren't you?" she asked, eyes scanning the room.
"I came to destroy what it's become."
At the far end of the chamber, Grand Vizier Althram stepped forward. A man of age and secrets, with robes heavy as guilt. "My lords and ladies," he announced, voice steady, "the lost heir of House Valebourne has returned."
Some applauded. Some hissed. One man spat on the marble floor.
Marcus stepped forward. "I did not return for a crown. I returned for truth. My blood has been used to curse this land. The creature who wears my face brings fire and ruin. He is not my kin—he is my shadow."
Whispers rose like smoke.
Then—
A slow clap.
The doors boomed open.
And there he was.
The Mirror King, dressed in ceremonial black and red. A perfect image of Marcus, save for the unnatural stillness in his eyes and the faint trace of dark veins along his neck. Behind him stood a dozen Crowborn knights—cloaked in ash-grey armor, faces hidden behind bone masks.
"Such drama," the doppelgänger said with a smirk. "And here I thought I'd be the one making the grand entrance."
The room erupted into chaos—guards drawing blades, nobles backing away.
Marcus raised his hand. "He wants the throne. Let him say it."
The Mirror King stepped forward casually, like a prince on a stroll. "Not just the throne. The kingdom. The people. The legacy. You were always the pretty lie, Marcus. I am the ugly truth that built all this from the ashes you were too soft to stand in."
"You slaughtered innocents," Erin snapped.
"They were weak," the Mirror King replied. "And weakness has no place in the empire I will build."
Althram stepped forward, uncertain. "We must have order. The Council—"
"Will kneel," the Mirror King interrupted, his voice echoing unnaturally. "Or burn."
And just like that, battle erupted.
Crowborn knights surged forward. Valebourne loyalists met them in steel and blood. Blades clashed. Spells cracked through the air. Nobles screamed, scattering like leaves in a storm.
Marcus turned to Erin. "We end this—now."
She nodded. "Together."
They pushed through the chaos, cutting through Crowborn soldiers, climbing the dais of the throne where the Mirror King waited, blade drawn and smile sharp as glass.
"So it ends," the shadow sneered.
Marcus raised his sword. "No. It begins."
The two collided.
Steel roared against steel. Magic rippled from every strike, warping the marble floor and shattering windows. Marcus fought with precision, rage, and something else—purpose. His blade sang not just with vengeance, but with truth.
But the Mirror King was fast. Unnaturally fast. He moved like wind, like thought. "You're slowing," he hissed. "Your heart holds you back."
"That's what makes it strong!" Marcus shouted, landing a blow that cracked the armor at his twin's ribs.
Erin joined the fray, flanking the doppelgänger, her dagger flashing like silver lightning. Together, they drove him to his knees.
But he smiled through the blood. "Kill me," he rasped. "And you seal your fate. We share a soul. My death will tear you apart."
Marcus stood over him, sword raised. "Maybe. But your life tears the world apart."
He looked at Erin.
And she nodded.
He plunged the blade through the Mirror King's chest.
The world screamed.
A pulse of dark energy exploded outward. Marcus dropped to his knees, clutching his chest as fire tore through his veins. He felt his twin's soul unravel—felt his own threaten to follow.
"Marcus!" Erin caught him as he collapsed. "Stay with me!"
Darkness clawed at his vision. But in the center of it, a warmth grew—her hand, wrapped in his. Her voice. Her belief.
He opened his eyes.
He was still here.
Alive.
But forever changed.
---
At dawn, the fires had died.
The throne stood empty.
And Marcus—no longer prince, no longer pawn—walked away from it.
Beside him, Erin.
No crown. No coronation.
Only the quiet resolve of someone who had faced the darkest version of himself… and chosen light.