Night found me again before I was ready. The sky bled into darkness, slow and graceful, like ink spilled over a forgotten page. I sat at the center of the garden, the crown resting before me, its faint light flickering like a heartbeat trying to remember how to live.
The spirits had grown restless. I could feel them moving in the air, brushing against my skin like a chill that did not belong to this world. Seris stood beside me, her form dimmer than before, her expression unreadable.
"They will not come willingly," she said. "They do not trust the living."
"Then I will earn their trust," I answered, my voice quiet but sure. "Even if it kills me again."
The wind shifted, and the world fell silent. Then came the first whisper — deep, ancient, almost heavy. A man's voice, rough like stone being ground against itself.
"Who dares call upon the fallen?"
I looked toward the sound. From the shadows beneath the old oak, a figure emerged, tall and cloaked in the echo of armor long turned to dust. His eyes burned faintly blue, sharp with remembrance.
"I am Elara," I said. "Daughter of Aravelle. The one who was betrayed. I seek the oath of the fallen."
He studied me for what felt like forever. "The dead owe nothing to the living," he said finally.
"Perhaps," I replied. "But I am no longer fully living."
The garden seemed to hold its breath. Then he stepped closer. "You speak as one who has touched death. What do you offer us, princess of ruins?"
"Rest," I said. "And a crown uncorrupted. Help me reclaim what was stolen, and I will free every soul bound to the throne's curse."
A sound like laughter rippled through the air — not cruel, but weary. The armored spirit bowed his head slightly.
"I am Kael, guardian of the first crown. My oath is yours, if your heart remains steady when the blood begins to fall."
As he spoke, his ghostly hand touched the broken crown. The runes flared brighter, their light spilling across the ground like liquid fire. I felt something surge through me — cold and warm at once — a fragment of his strength, his will.
More voices began to rise then. From the trees, from the earth, from the air itself. Dozens of spirits appeared — kings, warriors, scholars, even a child with hollow eyes and a smile that hurt to see.
Each placed their hand, or what remained of it, upon the crown. Each whispered their name, their sorrow, and their vow.
By the end, I could barely breathe. The garden pulsed with power, and the crown now glowed like the sun trapped in twilight.
Seris turned to me. "The oath is made. But remember, princess — every spirit that fights beside you carries a wound that never healed. Their pain will become your own."
I nodded slowly. "Then let it be so. Let their pain guide me."
As the first light of dawn broke through the trees, the spirits began to fade, their forms dissolving into shimmering air. But their presence lingered — inside me, around me, and in every breath I took.
The crown was no longer broken. And neither was I.