The tunnel that opened beyond the First Throne was no ordinary path it was a descent. The walls were slick with age, weeping moisture that smelled of rust and time. Torches flared to life one by one as Kael walked forward, each flame casting flickering shadows that danced like old ghosts.
Lira stayed close behind, her eyes darting around the corridor. "This place… it doesn't feel like the rest."
"It's older," Kael said. "And angry."
They emerged into a vast underground chamber one lined with statues. Dozens of them. Kings and queens, warriors and tyrants, their features frozen in agony or shame. All of them headless.
At the center of the room stood a shattered throne, jagged and uneven. Blood still stained its armrest, thick and black with age. A single sword was plunged into the stone beside it untouched by time.
Kael approached.
He reached for the sword.
The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, a wind roared through the chamber. The statues began to whisper.
"Coward.""Traitor.""Son of nothing."
Kael gritted his teeth and drew the blade.
The whispers fell silent.
The sword was unlike any he had wielded. Its hilt was etched with ancient runes, pulsing faintly with a warm gold glow. The blade was black, rimmed in silver, and impossibly light. A name was carved down the center: Virelith a weapon once held by the first of the Broken Kings.
"It chose you," Lira murmured. "Or maybe it remembers you."
Before Kael could respond, the ground trembled. One of the headless statues cracked and moved.
A stone foot dragged forward. Then another.
Then dozens of statues came to life, each drawing weapons made of obsidian and steel.
The Broken Kings had awakened.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He charged, Virelith humming in his hand. The first statue fell in a single, clean strike. The blade carved through stone as if through flesh. But they kept coming merciless, relentless, bound by some oath older than kingdoms.
Beside him, Lira unleashed her fire, weaving streams of flame through the advancing line. She moved like a spirit of vengeance, her hair blazing in the torchlight.
Still, the kings came.
Kael leapt onto the base of the shattered throne, raising Virelith high.
"I am no king," he roared. "But I am what you made me!"
A wave of power surged from the blade, knocking the statues backward in a ring of pure force. Several crumbled, lifeless. The rest froze mid-stride, the enchantment broken.
Silence returned.
Breathing hard, Kael looked down at the blade. "What else are you hiding?"
Lira stepped to his side. "Whatever it is… it's only just begun."
Kael turned toward the next corridor the only path forward. The sword pulsed in his hand like a heartbeat, alive with memory and prophecy.
And Kael knew: this road led not only to power, but to ruin.
He walked on.