Stone collapsed.Dust rose.The world cracked.
Vael fell.
Darkness swallowed him.Endless.Cold.Weightless.
Then—impact.
He gasped.Alive.
Somehow.
Around him… silence.But not empty.A silence that listened.
He stood slowly.Black mist floated above shattered glass.Each shard showed a flicker.A memory.But none were his.
One shard—A child crying in snow.
Another—A man kneeling in blood.
Then—
A throne, alone, on a battlefield.The figure sitting looked like him.But older.Hollow-eyed.
Vael turned away.His head ached.The crown pulsed.
"You see what was left behind," a voice said.
He spun.
Nyra stood behind him.Barely glowing.
"I followed your fall," she whispered."I don't think we're in the same world anymore."
Reylen dropped beside them, coughing."How the hell—"He stopped.Eyes wide.
They weren't alone.
Figures stood in the mist.Dozens.
Some half-formed.Some watching.All broken.
Echoes.But not like before.
"These were kings," Nyra murmured."Every one of them."
Vael stepped forward."Failed kings."
A tall, cracked statue loomed ahead.Bigger than the rest.
Words burned at its feet:
"HE WHO TRIED TO FIX THE WORLD."
Reylen scoffed."Didn't go well, huh."
The crown on Vael's head burned hotter.He stumbled.
A voice rang inside him—Deeper than before.
"You wear me, yet do not remember.""Let me show you."
Pain.
A rush of visions.Fire.Screams.A ruined castle.And hands—his own—pushing someone into the flames.
Vael fell to his knees.
Nyra knelt beside him."What did it show you?"
He couldn't answer.
Because a figure now stood ahead.Walking slowly through the fog.
Eyes glowing.Face hidden.
The others in the mist stepped back.
Reylen tensed."Who is that?"
The figure stopped.
And smiled.
"I am the last king who wore your crown."