The ground shook.Just a little.But they all felt it.
A low sound—Not thunder.Not stone.
A heartbeat.From under the city.
Vael looked toward the cracked tower.His brow furrowed.
"The tower isn't the end," he said."Just the door."
Reylen looked at him."A door to what?"
Nyra answered quietly."To what was buried."
They began walking.No one spoke much.The silence was thick.
They passed broken statues.Figures in pain.Eyes weeping black.
Reylen slowed."These… look like people."
Vael nodded."They were."
The crown pulsed faintly.It remembered.
Further ahead, they found stairs.Wide.Deep.Leading under the tower.
Vael went first.Cloak dragging in dust.His steps were light, but heavy in meaning.
Nyra followed, hand glowing faint.Reylen lit a torch.It flickered—blue flame.
The deeper they went,The colder it got.
They heard whispers.Soft.Calling Vael's name.
But he ignored them.
Then they reached it.A great hall underground.
Massive.Silent.Filled with chained thrones.
Seven of them.Empty.Except one.
A figure sat slumped on the center throne.Long dead.Or sleeping.
It wore a crown too.
But older.Cracked.Its face hidden behind a shattered mask.
Reylen whispered, "Who is that?"
Vael stepped forward.He didn't know.But the crown on his head trembled.
Then the throne creaked.The figure's head rose slightly.
Not dead.
Its mouth opened.
No sound came out—only a black wind.
Vael's body stiffened.He felt something enter him.A memory not his.
A battlefield.Screams.A crowned figure screaming the same way Vael once did.
"Let it end."
Vael gasped.
Reylen caught him."Vael!"
But Vael stood tall again.Eyes wide.
"I saw it," he whispered."The first one.The first to wear the crown."
Nyra looked at the thrones."Then where are the others?"
Before anyone answered—Chains rattled.
Not from the throne.From the walls.
And the black wind began to rise.