Kael barely breathed as the last glow faded from the obelisk. Around him, the valley lay silent once more too silent.
The Uncrowned remained still, their hollow eyes locked on him like he'd become something else. Something they recognized. Something they had been waiting for.
Lira gripped his arm. "Kael… what just happened?"
He swallowed hard. "I don't know. But I felt them. All of them. Their memories. Their deaths."
He staggered a step back as flashes swirled behind his eyes empires falling, betrayals inked in blood, wars lost not in battle, but in whispers. Kings abandoned. Crowns shattered. It wasn't just power. It was pain. Centuries of it.
The antlered warrior stepped forward. With a slow, deliberate motion, he drew a jagged sword and drove it into the ground before Kael.
A gesture of loyalty.
One by one, the others followed. Fifty-seven fallen kings, each laying down their weapons at Kael's feet.
"They… they've accepted you," Lira breathed. "But why?"
Kael didn't answer. He couldn't. Because deep down, he already knew. The Crown, the one true artifact that could control kingdoms and chaos alike was beginning to awaken. And it was reaching for him.
Not because he was worthy.
But because he was empty.
He turned from the blade-strewn ground and looked to the horizon. The sky above the distant Blackridge Mountains was darkening clouds swirling with unnatural force. Storms gathering. War brewing.
Behind them, something cracked.
Lira whirled, blades drawn. A stone figure was crawling from beneath the earth, its face chiseled like a forgotten god, runes scarring every inch of its body. A Guardian.
"A test," Kael said quietly. "The Crown isn't just handing itself over."
The Guardian lunged.
Kael moved to meet it.
The Uncrowned didn't flinch. They watched silent, cold, waiting.
The battle wasn't long, but it wasn't easy. The Guardian was no mindless relic it thought, it adapted. For every strike Kael delivered, it returned two. For every weakness he hid, it sought another. Blood spilled. Runes flared. Bones cracked.
But Kael refused to fall.
Because something deeper than pride or power had taken root in him now.
Responsibility.
He struck the final blow through its chest, shattering the core within.
Silence returned.
Breathing hard, Kael dropped to one knee. Lira rushed to his side, her hands pressed against his wounds.
"We need to leave. You're not ready for whatever this is."
"No," he said quietly, staring at the shattered remains. "We've only just begun."
He looked up at the Uncrowned.
"Tell me where the Crown lies."
The antlered figure stepped forward once more.
And this time… he spoke.
"In the Hall of Hollow Thrones. Where the first king was buried alive."