He stood tall.Wearing no armor.Only black robes torn with age.
The crown on his head—Cracked in the same place as Vael's.But older.Colder.
His voice echoed softly,Yet it filled the void.
"I remember the weight.""And now, you carry it."
Vael gritted his teeth.The man felt familiar.Not in body—In pain.
"Who are you?" Vael asked.
The man smiled faintly."Your ending… or your beginning."
Nyra stepped forward."This place. These echoes. Are we trapped?"
The crowned man looked at her."You are visitors in the grave of kings."He turned to Vael."But he… is heir."
Reylen shook his head."This is insane. We're leaving."
The man didn't move."You think the path out is straight?"He raised a hand.
The ground cracked again.
A ring of statues rose around them.All of kings.All of rulers who had once worn the crown.
Some wept.Some bled.Some screamed silently.
Vael's chest tightened.He could feel it—Their despair.Their hunger.Their madness.
"Why show me this?" Vael asked."I didn't ask for this power."
"But you took it," the man said."And it woke what sleeps."
The mist turned red.Like blood in water.
"The crown doesn't give," the man whispered."It remembers. It binds. It feeds."
Suddenly—The man grabbed Vael's shoulder.
Vael's body convulsed.Memories not his flooded him.Burning cities.Cursed lands.A voice screaming—
"I had to do it!"
The man pulled back.Breathing heavy.
"You think you're strong?" he said."Then break the cycle. Kill me."
A black sword appeared in his hand.He tossed it at Vael's feet.
"You must kill me to leave."
Reylen reached for his blade.But it vanished.
Nyra gasped—Their weapons were gone.
"Only the crown chooses," the man said."And it chose blood."
Vael stared at the sword.His reflection in its blade twisted.He didn't look like himself.Not anymore.
"I don't want to become like you," Vael said.
The man's smile faded."You already are."
The ground shook.
The echoes began to chant.
"Crown-bearer.""Crown-breaker.""Crown-thief."
Vael picked up the sword.
The air turned sharp.Time slowed.
One swing would decide everything.