Rael woke to cold stone beneath his cheek. His mouth tasted of blood and dust. For a long moment, he lay still, listening to the pulse in his ears and the distant clang of city bells.
When he pushed himself up, pain streaked through his arm and ribs. His clothes were stiff with dried blood. The wound's black veins had faded, but the ache remained—an ugly reminder of what he'd dragged up from the depths.
He remembered the masked stranger, eyes burning gold, voice like a funeral bell. He looked around. There was no sign of anyone—just the ruins of the palace, the great hall roofless, moonlight spilling across shattered marble.
The city outside was restless. Shouts echoed through empty streets. Faint fires burned atop rooftops. Somewhere, a child screamed, the sound cut short.
Rael pressed a hand to his forehead, willing away the dizziness. He had no time for weakness. The throne called, fainter than before but still insistent, its pull a thread of purpose in a world unraveling at the seams.
He staggered through the ruined hall. Every step echoed. The old banners were gone—burned or stolen, nothing left but iron hooks on the wall.
At the center, the throne waited—black stone veined with gold, silent and severe. He felt smaller now, less than a king, more like a survivor clinging to a story the world had outgrown.
Rael sank onto the throne. The stone was cold, but familiar. He closed his eyes and let the throne's awareness open in his mind.
He saw the city as if from above—a map of movement, fear, and violence. Factions skirmished in the dark. Old families and new monsters carved up territory, all of them hunting for a crown to kneel to or destroy.
Beneath it all, the deeper thrones stirred. He felt the old power, the hunger, the waking of things best left buried. The masked stranger's warning echoed: You didn't come alone. More thrones are waking. The dead walk in their shadows.
He opened his eyes, sweat on his brow.
A sound behind him—bare feet on stone.
Rael turned, body tense, hand slipping to the knife at his belt. The girl from the alley stepped into the moonlight. Ash streaked her hair, hunger carved her cheeks, but her gaze was steady.
She carried something wrapped in cloth, cradled against her chest. She didn't flinch from Rael's eyes.
"You left food," she said. "You're the king, aren't you?"
Rael watched her, weighing every word. "What's your name?"
She hesitated. "Sara."
He nodded. "Why are you here?"
The girl stepped closer. She unwrapped the cloth—inside, a battered book, pages torn and stained with old blood. She held it out, arms shaking.
"My father said to bring this to the king if things got bad. He said you'd know what to do."
Rael took the book. The cover was scorched, the symbol barely visible—a sun in eclipse, the mark of the old council.
He thumbed through pages filled with names, symbols, fragments of law and prophecy. Some were warnings, others desperate pleas. One name, repeated again and again, caught his eye—a name lost when the world regressed, one he hadn't heard since before his death.
Sara watched him, silent and patient.
"You know what's coming, don't you?" Rael asked quietly.
She nodded, eyes never leaving his face. "Everyone's afraid. They say the ground moves at night. People disappear. Sometimes, you hear voices. Like something's waking up under the city."
Rael closed the book and met her gaze. "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe."
The girl shrugged, chin lifted. "Nowhere is. Not anymore."
He almost smiled. The stubbornness reminded him of himself, long before the throne, before the world burned.
He rose from the throne, the book heavy in his hand.
"Come with me," he said. "If you're brave enough to walk into the palace, you're brave enough for what's coming next."
Sara followed, silent as a shadow.
They left the hall and stepped into the ruined streets. The moon hung low, painting the broken city in silver and ash. Somewhere in the dark, the masked stranger watched, golden eyes tracking their every move.
Beneath the city, the heartbeat grew louder.
Some debts could not be buried. Some wars did not end.
And the night was far from over.
The walk through the palace was nothing like Rael remembered. The grand staircases were gone—collapsed into heaps of marble and dust. Shadows flickered on every wall. In the courtyard, wind swept ash into swirling patterns around broken statues. Sara followed a few paces behind, her small frame nearly swallowed by the gloom.
They passed what was left of the old council chamber—its doors hanging open, splinters for teeth. Inside, a cluster of survivors huddled around a dying fire. Eyes watched Rael and the girl with silent suspicion, hands clutching whatever weapons they could find.
Rael paused at the threshold, feeling the weight of their stares. No one spoke. Even now, with monsters crawling beneath the city, people trusted fear more than hope.
He raised a hand, the battered book still clutched tight.
"This city needs order," he said, voice low but unyielding. "Not another war."
Someone spat into the dust. "We've heard that before."
Sara tugged Rael's sleeve, drawing him away. They left the chamber in silence, the group's muttered curses trailing behind.
In the ruins outside, Rael led Sara through alleys choked with debris. The deeper they went, the stranger the city felt. Stones hummed beneath their feet, the air thick with the promise of rain and something far older. Distant screams rose, cut short by gunfire or worse. Every corner hid shadows that seemed to watch, waiting for the weak to stumble.
Sara broke the silence as they passed a shattered mural of the old city.
"My father was on the council. He said the world wasn't just broken—it was stolen. That someone took what made it right and buried it under all this." Her voice was small, but steady.
Rael stopped, studying the mural. It showed a king on a black throne, ringed by faceless figures. The faces had been gouged out long ago.
"He was right," Rael said. "The world isn't just broken. It's waiting for someone to fix it, or finish what was started."
They moved on, passing a collapsed bell tower. The city bells rang again, slow and heavy, echoing off the ruins. Rael counted the beats. Five—then six—then seven. A warning. A call to arms. Or perhaps, the sound of judgment.
They reached the edge of the old market. Fires burned in iron barrels, illuminating ragged survivors trading food, weapons, information. The masked stranger was there, lingering at the edge of the firelight. No one else seemed to notice him, but Rael saw those golden eyes flick to him and Sara.
He kept his distance, leading Sara past the market and up a flight of broken steps to a vantage point overlooking the city. Here, the wind was colder. Below, the chaos of the city sprawled—a thousand lives clinging to the bones of a world that refused to die.
Sara sat beside him, knees pulled to her chest.
"My father said the king would always find his way back," she whispered. "Even if the world forgot him."
Rael watched the masked stranger move through the market, untouched, like a shadow sliding between the flames.
He opened the battered book again, scanning its pages. At the center, written in hurried scrawl, was a warning:
"The thrones stir. Their keepers wake. Only the blood of the last king can bar the gate."
Rael closed the book, jaw tight. The girl watched him, her fear now mixed with something like trust.
"You're not going to run, are you?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No. I've run before. It never ends well."
She nodded, eyes shining in the firelight.
Night thickened. The market quieted, people hunkering down as the cold deepened. The city itself seemed to hold its breath.
Rael stood, feeling the ache in his body and the warning in his veins. He turned to Sara. "Stay here. Don't talk to anyone you don't trust. If I'm not back by dawn, leave the city and don't look back."
She wanted to argue, but didn't.
He moved away, blending with the shadows. Each step took him closer to the masked stranger, to the heart of the city's darkness, to the true war brewing beneath the ruins.
As he drew near, the stranger finally turned. Those golden eyes fixed on Rael, full of promise and threat.
"Are you ready to bargain, king?" the masked figure asked.
Rael answered with silence. The world waited, the city shuddered, and beneath it all, the thrones beat like hearts—hungry, restless, and impossible to ignore.