The journey to the Ash Tree wasn't marked on any map.
It wasn't found in books or whispered in taverns. Only blood remembered the path.
Kael stood at the edge of the hollow where the forest grew too quiet. Trees loomed overhead like frozen titans, their bark blackened, twisted. No birds sang here. No wind stirred the leaves. The only sound was the beat of Kael's heart and Arin's cautious footsteps behind him.
"Are you sure this is the place?" Arin whispered, eyes darting through the mist.
Kael didn't answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the tree at the center of the hollow.
It stood tall alone its limbs bare, its bark the color of dried blood. Gnarled roots clawed the earth like the remains of a slain beast. And beneath it, as if cradled by time itself, was a stone altar marked by thorns.
He stepped closer.
Every instinct in his body screamed to stop. To turn back. But something deeper older drew him forward.
As he approached, the dagger began to hum again, reacting to the altar. The markings on the blade glowed softly, the same crimson hue pulsing from the carvings beneath the tree.
Arin touched Kael's arm. "This feels wrong."
Kael nodded. "It is."
But he didn't stop.
He knelt beside the altar and touched the stone. It was warm. Almost alive.
Suddenly, the forest darkened not from clouds but from something else. The light seemed to flee, swallowed into the shadows leaking from the base of the Ash Tree.
A voice echoed from beneath the roots.
"Only blood may open what was sealed in blood."
Kael's breath caught. His hand trembled.
Before he could question the voice, the dagger jerked in his grip and sliced his palm. Blood splattered onto the altar, seeping into the runes.
The ground shook.
Roots writhed.
And the altar opens, splitting down the center, revealing a stairwell spiraling into the earth below.
From the depths came a smell of old death and older power.
Arin stepped back. "Kael… this is where kings were buried."
Kael looked into the darkness.
"No," he said. "This is where they were made."
He tightened the bandage around his bleeding hand and descended.
Each step echoed. Each breath grew colder.
As he reached the bottom, the walls turned to obsidian and bone. In the heart of the underground tomb, suspended in roots and crimson vines, was a crown crafted not of gold, but of dark thorns and bleeding stone.
It pulsed like a heartbeat.
Kael took a step closer. The whispers returned.
"Claim it… or be consumed by it."
He reached for the Crown of Thorns.
And the moment his fingers brushed it, pain unlike anything he'd ever known tore through him memories not his own flooding his mind: battles fought in shadows, lovers betrayed, kingdoms burned.
He screamed.
Above, Arin heard it and drew his sword.
But the tree was already moving.
Its roots began to coil.
And Kael?
Kael stood at the heart of the tomb, the Crown of Thorns now gripped in both hands.
And the moment it touched his brow,
The world changed.