The wind carried the scent of blood.
Vael walked, his steps slow but steady, the weight of the crown pressing against his skull. The whispers had grown quiet for now, but he could still feel them—watching, waiting.
The creature's last words lingered in his mind.
"You are like us… and you do not even know it."
What did it mean?
His fingers curled, the dried blood on his hands cracking. He didn't care. Questions were a burden, and he had no use for them. The only thing that mattered was moving forward.
The road twisted through the forest, the trees stretching taller, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The deeper he went, the less the world felt real.
Then, he felt it.
A presence.
Not human. Not like the creature from before. This was… different.
Cold. Ancient. Watching.
Vael stopped. His breath was steady, but his body tensed. The crown pulsed against his skull, as if sensing something familiar.
And then—
A voice.
"You walk a cursed path."
It was not a whisper. It did not slither into his mind like the crown's voice. This one was clear. Strong.
Vael turned.
A figure stood in the mist.
Tall, draped in ragged robes that shifted like smoke. A hood covered their face, but he could see their eyes—two dim, silver flames burning in the darkness.
Vael's grip on his sword tightened. "Who are you?"
The figure took a slow step forward. "A messenger."
He didn't like the way they said that. Like they were delivering something inevitable.
"What do you want?" he asked.
The figure did not blink. Did not breathe. "To warn you."
Vael's jaw clenched. "I don't need warnings."
A pause. Then, the figure spoke again.
"The crown you wear is no gift. It is a wound upon this world. And it will not stop bleeding."
The air around them seemed to grow heavier. Vael felt something stir inside him, but he ignored it.
He had already accepted what the crown was. Power always came with a price.
The figure tilted their head. "You think you understand. But you do not."
Vael took a step forward. "Then tell me."
Silence.
Then—
A sharp, ringing sound.
Pain.
Vael's head snapped down. His chest burned.
A mark had appeared on his skin—black, twisting, spreading from beneath the crown like cracks in glass.
He staggered.
The whispers in his mind screamed.
The figure's voice was distant now, fading. "The Hollow has claimed you."
Vael gritted his teeth, his vision blurring. The mark pulsed, and for the first time since donning the crown—
He felt fear.
Then the world turned to darkness.