The sword felt cold.But not like ice—Like death left behind.
Vael gripped it tighter.
The crowned man stood still.Waiting.Welcoming the strike.
"Do it," he said."Free yourself."
Vael raised the blade—But stopped halfway.
His hands trembled.His heart didn't.
"I don't want this," he said."But it follows me anyway."
The statues around them watched.Eyes empty, yet full of judgment.
"Why?" Vael asked."Why must I become you?"
The man stepped forward.His crown cracked a little more.
"Because the crown doesn't take.""It reflects."
Vael looked into the sword again.
He saw Nyra—Alone and crying.Reylen—Broken, screaming at shadows.
And himself—Sitting on a throne of bones.Alone.
"No," Vael said."I won't follow that path."
He dropped the sword.
It vanished before hitting the ground.
The crowned man stared."Then you will suffer. Without power. Without throne."
"Then I suffer," Vael replied."But I'll walk with my own feet."
Silence.
Then—The man smiled.A real one.
"Good."
The statues crumbled.The ground split.
Light pierced through the red mist.
Nyra reached out to Vael.Reylen pulled him back just in time.
They fell through the crack.Darkness swallowed them whole.
They landed hard.Dirt. Rock. Cold air.
Vael groaned.He was back—In the real world.
The Echo realm was gone.Vanished like smoke.
Reylen sat nearby, clutching his head.Nyra was breathing fast, pale.
"Did we make it?" she whispered.
Vael didn't answer.
The crown was still on his head.But it felt lighter.
Not because it changed—But because he did.
From the trees, a voice called out.
"Well, well. Looks like you survived."
A figure stepped forward.
Ragged cloak. Burned face.One arm missing.Eyes sharp.
"I've been watching you, Vael.""The world's changing. And you broke the cycle."
"Who are you?" Vael asked.
The man grinned.
"Name's Eron.""Last survivor of the Crownless War."