The cavern floor still smoked from the corpse-knight's ruin. Its sundered remains lay scattered like discarded armor, the black fire within extinguished. What remained of the Hollow Pit's silence pressed heavy on all who witnessed.
Kael stood alone at its center, his crimson aura fading to a faint shimmer. The Crimson Mark on his arm burned faintly, pulsing like a heart unwilling to be silenced. His sword hung loose at his side, edge dripping with the remnants of the monster's fading essence.
Above, the tiers of the Sovereign Court sat in stunned quiet. Nobles, warlords, magisters, even the veiled prophets—they had expected Kael to break, to falter, to reveal himself as nothing more than cursed flesh.
Instead, they had seen something else.
Something they could not name.
The High Regent finally stirred, his jeweled scepter tapping against the marble of his throne. His voice cut through the stillness, sharp and regal.
"You were meant to be tested, boy. Instead, you desecrate the Hollow Pit with defiance. Do you call yourself Sovereign?"
Kael's gaze rose, his crimson eyes locking with the Regent's. The silence between them was colder than steel.
"I call myself nothing," Kael said, his voice carrying with terrifying steadiness. "Names are for those who cling to thrones. I carry only a blade. And when it sings, liars fall."
The words echoed like a verdict.
Gasps ran through the balconies. Some nobles leaned forward in awe, others in hatred. A handful—fewer than Kael had hoped—lowered their heads in reverence.
Darric's fists clenched in the shadows. Lyra's breath caught, torn between pride and fear. Isryn's eyes narrowed, calculating the weight of what Kael had just done. Kaelen, silent as ever in the far corner, merely folded his hands—eyes gleaming with the faintest spark of something like satisfaction.
The Regent's jaw tightened. "Then you are no Sovereign. You are a danger. And dangers must be contained."
He raised his hand. Guards shifted, their halberds lowering in unison. Chains clinked as the wards around the pit pulsed, sealing off escape. The Sovereign Court wanted blood.
Kael did not flinch. Instead, he lifted his sword once more, the crimson light along its edge flaring as though in response to his resolve. His voice was soft, almost quiet, but it carried through the chamber like thunder.
"Then come. Try."
For one eternal heartbeat, the chamber teetered between battle and collapse.
But it was broken—not by steel, but by voice.
"The Oracle speaks."
Every head turned. At the highest tier, shrouded in ashen veils, the Oracle of Ash rose from her seat. Her frail hands trembled around a staff of blackened bone. Her voice was cracked, ancient, but it cut through every corner of the hall.
"The boy is marked. The boy is flame. The boy is ruin." Her veiled head tilted toward Kael. "And the boy is inevitable."
Whispers exploded through the chamber.
The Regent's face darkened with rage, but even he dared not silence the Oracle. Her words, once spoken, were law.
She raised a skeletal hand toward Kael, her voice deepening into prophecy.
"When the chains break, when the fire bleeds, when the ash remembers—he will stand at the gates of the end. Not Sovereign, not servant. Something more."
Her staff struck the floor. The sound rang like a bell of doom.
"The Ashen Crown burns. And he is the flame that consumes it."
The chamber erupted—shouts, prayers, curses, fear. Some nobles fled, others raised voices of war. The High Regent's scepter trembled in his hand.
Kael stood unmoving, his aura flickering faintly. His eyes were not on the Court, nor on the Oracle. They were fixed only on the dark beyond the Hollow Pit—where whispers from the depths still lingered, unseen by others.
The Crimson Mark throbbed.
Not with pain.
But with recognition.
Kael tightened his grip on his sword. He knew, even without the Oracle's words, that his path was set.
No throne would hold him.
No crown would claim him.
No chain would bind him.
He was Kael Rivenhart. And the world would burn before it broke him.