Thorns of the Moonlit Throne
Volume 5 — Chapter 7: The Weight of an Unchosen Crown
Writer: Sabbir Ahmed
The camp outside Lethryn slept, but Lyriana did not.
She stood at the edge of the frozen city, staring at faces locked in calm that would never change. Children paused mid-step. Elders frozen in gentle conversation. A civilization preserved like an insect in crystal.
Freedom had failed them.
The thought cut deeper than any blade.
She removed her crown and set it upon the ground. Without it, the world felt dangerously quiet. No divine pull. No destiny's whisper. Only her own doubts.
"What if he's right?" she murmured to the night. "What if people want stillness more than choice?"
Aryn approached slowly, the fractured Shadowmark faintly glowing beneath his sleeve. "Then it's not freedom they want," he said. "It's relief."
Lyriana turned to him, eyes shining with grief. "I led them into this age. I broke prophecy, shattered fate—and now entire cities are paying the price."
"You didn't cause this," Aryn replied. "You proved the universe could change. That terrifies him."
Eryon emerged from the shadows, expression grave. "The Architect exploits exhaustion. He offers peace to those tired of deciding. And soon, more will accept."
Lyriana clenched her fists. "Then how do we fight something that wins by consent?"
Silence answered—until Aryn stepped forward.
"The fragments respond to me," he said. "Not as a weapon… but as a bridge. The Shadowmark isn't resisting them anymore. It's understanding them."
Lyriana shook her head. "You're not a tool."
"I'm not," Aryn agreed. "I'm a choice."
He reached for the crown and held it out to her. "The Architect believes freedom collapses without structure. Show him a structure built on trust."
Eryon nodded slowly. "Aryn could enter the fragment network—speak where force cannot. But if he does…"
"I might not come back," Aryn finished quietly.
Lyriana's breath broke. She took the crown, placing it back upon her head—not as burden, but as vow. "Then we don't let you walk alone."
She met his gaze, unwavering. "I won't save the world by sacrificing the people I love."
The stars above flickered—not dimming this time, but shifting, uncertain.
For the first time since the war began, the universe hesitated.
And in that hesitation, hope took root.