Kairo didn't sleep that night.
He sat at the edge of the broken temple ruins, staring at the weeping statue as the wind howled through the canyons below. The bone shard in his hand pulsed faintly, its glow the only warmth in the biting night air. Smoke from burning villages still clung to the skies like old ghosts.
He rolled the shard between his fingers. It felt heavier tonight.
Not in weight.
In meaning.
Something had shifted when that boy died.
It wasn't just a warning.
It was a message.
The Order wasn't hunting them.
They were marching toward war.
Solin had disappeared hours ago, off somewhere in the dark without a word. Lira was sharpening her sword by the fire, her face cold and distant. Even Iri had gone quiet, curled under her cloak with her rabbit clutched to her chest, whispering to it like it could protect her from the world.
Kairo rose slowly.
The bones beneath the ground called to him more now. Every cursed whisper he had heard since the day of the Rite was louder here.
Clearer.
"You chose me," he muttered to the darkness. "So now what?"
No answer came.
Just the wind.
And far off…
A horn.
Low.
Distant.
But unmistakable.
Lira stood instantly. "You hear that?"
Kairo nodded.
"It's them," Solin's voice echoed as he emerged from the shadows, his face pale. "The Golden Saints."
"How close?" Kairo asked.
"By tomorrow night, they'll be on us."
Lira looked between them. "Then we need to move."
Solin shook his head. "They're not tracking us."
"They're not?"
"They're announcing themselves."
Kairo stared down at the shard again. "They want us to come to them."
"Exactly," Solin said. "They're pulling us in. Playing their game."
Lira's jaw clenched. "Then let's break it."
They left the temple before sunrise.
The sky was bleeding pink and gold by the time they reached the first dead tree — the marker Solin said would lead them toward the battlefield the Saints had claimed.
It used to be a holy place. A sanctuary.
Now it was ash and smoke.
Skulls tied to stakes.
Ritual markings carved in the ground like warnings.
The Golden Saints didn't just kill.
They made statements.
By midday, they reached a ridge overlooking what was once a town—now flattened, burned to bone.
Dozens of figures in white-gold armor moved below, setting fire to the last buildings. Their helmets were shaped like animal skulls. Wolves. Falcons. Lions. Symbols of divine punishment.
And at the center…
Six riders.
Still.
Silent.
Each sitting atop pale war beasts with golden eyes and blood-painted reins. Cloaks made of sunlit feathers. Weapons carved from light and steel.
Even from this far, Kairo could feel them watching.
"They know we're here," he said.
Solin nodded grimly. "That's the point."
They made camp inside the hollow shell of a burned church that night. Iri drew strange shapes in the dust with her finger. Lira cleaned her blade in silence. Solin sat with his back against a crumbling wall, staring at nothing.
Kairo paced.
He couldn't stop thinking about what Solin had said earlier.
The Saints weren't chasing them.
They were waiting.
Inviting.
Testing.
And he knew why.
They didn't want to kill him from afar.
They wanted to judge him.
See if he was truly the Heir of the Bone Throne—or just another mistake.
Midnight.
Solin finally spoke.
"There's a ritual," he said, breaking the silence.
Kairo looked up. "What kind?"
"One meant for cursed heirs. It's old. Dangerous. But if you survive it… the Saints might recognize your claim."
"You think they'll stop hunting me?"
"No," Solin said. "But they'll start fearing you."
Lira snorted. "We're really still pretending this throne thing is a good idea?"
Kairo ignored her. "What's the ritual?"
Solin hesitated. "You have to walk through the Sunlight Gate."
"Sounds peaceful," Lira muttered.
"It's not," Solin said. "It's a relic of the old world. Built to destroy any cursed being who tries to cross it."
"So I die," Kairo said.
"No. You either burn… or you change."
They reached the gate by dawn.
It wasn't a gate in the traditional sense.
It was a broken archway made of gold-veined stone, standing in the center of a field blackened by time. No grass. No life. Just ash and bones scattered like offerings.
Above it, glowing symbols burned in midair.
Judgment.
Sacrifice.
Rebirth.
Solin stood beside Kairo, his expression blank. "The Saints built it from the bones of the first cursed king. Every heir since then either passed through or died trying."
Lira folded her arms. "And if he passes through?"
Solin looked at Kairo.
"Then he won't be the heir anymore."
Kairo raised an eyebrow. "What will I be?"
Solin shrugged. "Something worse."
Kairo stepped toward the gate.
The ground cracked under his boots.
The bone shard pulsed violently in his pocket. His marks lit up across his arms and back, crawling up his neck in jagged, smoking lines.
Lira called out, "You sure about this?"
"No," Kairo said. "But when has that ever stopped me?"
He stepped through.
And everything went white.
It was like falling through light.
Not warm, comforting light.
But searing, merciless radiance that peeled everything away—skin, thought, memory. The curse inside him screamed. His bones burned from the inside out.
He saw things—visions not his own.
Wars from before history.
A king laughing as cities crumbled beneath his feet.
A throne rising from corpses.
Children with cursed marks begging to be killed before they lost control.
And always… that voice.
"You were not chosen to rule."
"You were chosen to break what cannot be ruled."
The light faded.
Kairo collapsed on the other side of the gate.
Breathing.
Alive.
Changed.
His eyes had changed.
No longer just violet.
Now laced with gold.
The mark on his chest—once a whisper—now glowed like a crown etched into his skin.
Lira helped him to his feet, eyes wide.
"You don't look like you," she said.
Kairo smirked. "That's probably a good thing."
They didn't wait.
The Saints were no longer camped.
They stood waiting in formation, blades drawn, their six golden helms gleaming beneath the morning sun.
One stepped forward—taller than the others, with a jagged spear twice the length of his body.
He removed his helmet.
His face was ageless.
Eyes hollow.
A mark of the gods carved into his brow.
"You crossed the gate," he said.
"I did."
"Then kneel. Accept judgment."
Kairo stepped forward.
"I didn't cross to be judged."
The Saint smiled slowly. "Then die as a fool."
The battle started with no signal.
Just movement.
Kairo shot forward, faster than he'd ever moved before.
The curse responded instantly, wrapping around his limbs like a second body, cracking the earth beneath his feet.
He slammed into the first Saint with enough force to send them flying backward into the remains of an old tower.
Solin moved next—flames erupting around his fists, punching through gold armor like paper.
Lira danced between blades, carving through one Saint's legs before twisting her dagger into their throat.
But it wasn't easy.
Each Saint was like a legend in motion. Stronger. Smarter. Trained to fight cursed kings. And they fought without fear.
Kairo faced the leader alone.
Their blades clashed, sparks flying. Magic burned the air.
"I see it now," the Saint said, grinning. "You're not the heir."
Kairo blocked a strike, twisting away. "You're right."
"I was wrong to call you a fool."
They clashed again.
"You're something worse."
By the end, the ground was littered with shattered weapons and broken armor.
Only three Saints remained standing.
The others lay still.
The leader bled from a deep gash across his side.
He dropped his weapon, stepped back, and bowed his head.
Kairo didn't move.
"You passed," the Saint said. "The gate. The trial. This battle."
Kairo narrowed his eyes. "So what now?"
The Saint met his gaze.
"Now the world will fear your name."
He turned.
And walked away.
The remaining Saints followed him—silently.
No curses.
No threats.
Just retreat.
Kairo stood in the silence that followed.
Breathing hard.
Burning.
Alive.
Lira walked up beside him, blade dripping gold.
Solin limped over, his cloak torn, eyes dark.
Even Iri stepped forward, her rabbit peeking from under her arm.
"What happens now?" Lira asked.
Kairo looked at the sky.
Gold.
Red.
Cracked.
Breaking.
He smiled faintly.
"Now?" he said.
"Now the real war begins."