The land changed the moment they crossed the boundary marked by rusted spears and the bones of men who'd once been kings. Wind died. The air thickened, heavy with silence and dread, as if the earth itself had forgotten how to breathe.
Kael walked ahead of the others, boots crunching over ancient gravel. Each step seemed to echo a little too loud, like the mountains were listening.
"This is it," said the old Uncrowned guide, voice hoarse. "The necropolis where oathbreakers were sealed alive. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't remember what isn't yours."
Lira shivered beside him. "What does that mean?"
But the man only turned and kept walking.
They descended into a gorge carved by centuries of sorrow, flanked by towering statues of faceless kings. The passage narrowed into a corridor of obsidian, and the torches they carried flickered with unnatural colors blue, then green, then black.
"Kael…" Lira's voice trembled. "Do you hear them?"
He did.
At first, it was faint, a whisper brushing his ear like the wind. Then clearer. Voices. Dozens of them. Some weeping. Others cursing. But one stood out.
"You wear the blood of a coward."
Kael froze.
"You carry the Crown, but not the burden. Come face it. Come see what your name truly means."
He clenched his jaw, heart pounding. "They're not real," he muttered.
"They are," the guide said grimly. "They're as real as the sins they're chained to. Don't listen too long or they'll root inside you."
The Hall of Hollow Thrones awaited them at the bottom massive doors sealed by veins of dried blood, each vein shaped like a broken sword.
"A riddle," the guide whispered. "Every soul who enters must confess."
Lira blinked. "Confess what?"
Kael stepped forward, hand to his chest. He knew what the Hall wanted.
He breathed deep and spoke aloud.
"I killed my brother."
Silence.
"I let him die so I could live. I ran when I should have stayed. I wear a curse passed down from blood soaked in treachery. My name is Kael, and I carry shame in every heartbeat."
The blood on the doors hissed and turned wet again. The gates groaned open.
Inside, the Hall stretched endlessly rows upon rows of thrones, each crumbling, each occupied by a shadow. The kings didn't move. They didn't breathe. But Kael could feel their eyes.
"This place…" Lira murmured.
"It remembers," Kael said.
They walked through the dead court, toward the single throne untouched by rot. It was carved of onyx and bone, and though it had no occupant, it radiated presence. The First Throne.
Kael felt it in his bones. This was not just a tomb. It was a crucible.
And somewhere in the shadows, something stirred. Something that had been waiting for him.