Final Volume — Chapter 1: The Weight of a Crown
Dawn broke softly over Arvandor, casting golden light across the ruined citadel. Where the Council once wielded fear, now only silence remained—broken stone, shattered wards, and the lingering echo of Lyriana's ascension.
But victory had not brought peace.
Lyriana stood on the highest balcony, her cloak fluttering in the cool morning wind. The relics rested within her—silent, heavy, alive. Their combined presence pulsed like a second heartbeat, reminding her with every breath that she was no longer just Lyriana Vael.
She was the Moonlit Queen.
And the kingdom now looked to her for salvation.
Aryn approached quietly, his steps soft against the cracked marble. Though healed from battle, weariness lingered in his eyes. "The people are gathering in the valley," he said. "They want to see you… to know what comes next."
Lyriana exhaled slowly. "They expect answers. Hope. A plan for a kingdom that hasn't known freedom in twenty years."
Aryn gently touched her shoulder. "You don't have to figure everything out today."
"But I must start today," she replied. Her voice held strength, but Aryn could hear the uncertainty beneath it. "The council may be broken, but their roots run deep. There are lords still loyal to them. Hidden factions. And…" Her gaze darkened. "The relics told me something last night. A warning."
Aryn's expression sharpened. "About what?"
"That the council's fall awakened more than just my power." She looked toward the horizon, where the mountains still smoked from the relic's awakening. "Something ancient… something they kept sealed for centuries."
Aryn stepped closer. "Whatever it is, we face it together. We always have."
Before Lyriana could answer, Eryon entered the balcony—his presence calm, but the shadows around him tense. "You need to see this," he said.
Below them, tens of thousands of citizens filled the valley, kneeling not in fear, but in devotion—waiting for their queen. Yet beyond them, dark clouds gathered unnaturally, swirling in a pattern Lyriana recognized from the relic visions.
A storm was coming.
Not of nature—
but of prophecy.
Lyriana lifted her chin. "Then it begins. The final battle for Arvandor's future."
And with Aryn and Eryon at her side, she stepped forward to face her people—and the darkness rising beyond them.