Vael stood in silence.
The crown hovered before him,
its form flickering—
between iron, bone, and flame.
Not a relic.
Not yet.
Just raw will.
Around him,
memories spiraled.
His past.
His rage.
His regrets.
Each fragment whispered:
"Choose what I become."
The Forge Core pulsed.
Three shapes formed around it—
like shadows waiting to be worn.
A sword.
A chain.
A mirror.
Vael reached toward the sword.
It hissed.
"Power without control."
The chain rattled.
"Control without freedom."
The mirror shimmered.
"Truth without mercy."
Vael's breath slowed.
He looked at his hands.
Blood on one.
Ash on the other.
"Is there no path without loss?"
The voice replied:
"Only those that shape what remains."
He stepped back from the three forms.
Turned to the raw crown.
Held it gently.
"I won't wear you."
The crown shivered.
"I'll forge you."
His hands moved.
Memories shaped metal.
Pain folded into steel.
Hope cooled the edges.
He wasn't reforging the crown.
He was creating something new.
The Core flared once—
then vanished.
In his hands,
not a crown—
but a ring.
Simple.
Black.
Still warm.
It pulsed once,
then settled.
A voice whispered.
"Bound not by power…
but choice."
The white path crumbled.
The anvil vanished.
And the others—
Elira, Nyra, Reylen—
waited at the threshold as Vael emerged.
They saw the ring.
And something in him had changed.
"What did you forge?" Elira asked.
Vael didn't answer.
He just walked past them.
Toward the next path.