The Crown hovered before Aric, shards of molten crystal spinning lazily, humming like a heartbeat. The fire within him throbbed in answer, pulling his hand upward.
"Aric!" Mira's voice cracked, desperate. "Step back!"
But his body ignored her. Every shard of the Crown whispered promises: kingdoms kneeling, chains breaking, gods bowing.
Then Edran's frail hand gripped his shoulder. "You are not its vessel," the old magister rasped. "You are its master—or its victim."
Aric's hand hovered inches from the shards, heat blistering his skin. He closed his eyes, and for a single heartbeat, the world was silent.
When he lowered his hand, Mira's sob of relief echoed through the cavern.
But the fire burned hotter than ever. And it was far from finished.