The disaster began at noon.
Waylen felt it before he saw it a sudden tightening in his chest, like a hand closing around his heart. The crown's presence surged, no longer distant or curious.
It was awake.
Across the city, bells rang in panic,people ran into the streets as the sky above the palace darkened, clouds swirling unnaturally fast.
A low tremor rolled through the ground, knocking merchants off their feet. Windows shattered. Horses screamed and bolted, tossing their riders into the cobblestones.
Waylen stood in the shadow of a collapsed archway, watching in horror.
From the palace spire, a column of black-red light shot into the sky, piercing the clouds like a spear. Screams followed.
Men dropped where they stood. Some clutched their heads, blood spilling from eyes and ears. Others turned on one another, driven mad by whispers only they could hear. Mothers shrieked as children vanished in the chaos. Smoke and ash stung every eye, coating the streets in gray.
The crown was feeding.
Waylen staggered back. "This is because of me".
The pressure slammed into his mind sharp, impatient.
No. Because of refusal.
The thought wasn't spoken. It was impressed. The crown was angry.
A noble's carriage overturned in the street as guards butchered civilians in the name of "order." Fires spread from shop to shop, consuming timber and thatch like kindling.
Bell tower collapsed, sending stones crashing into the crowd. The city fractured in moments.
Waylen clenched his fists. He didn't want power. He didn't want control.
But people were dying.Again
A merchant screamed as a shadowy blade passed through his chest, his body twisting before collapsing into the dirt. Waylen wanted to reach them all, to stop it but even as he ran, the crown's pulse tightened around his mind, forcing him to move faster, react faster, think faster.
The pressure shifted different now. Focused.
The crown was searching the chaos. For him.
Waylen turned and ran, dodging collapsing walls and fleeing citizens. He leaped over flaming debris, narrowly avoiding a falling streetlamp that shattered with a deafening crash. Every heartbeat thumped in his ears, every pulse of the crown clawing at his thoughts.
From the rooftops, shadows moved assassins or crown constructs, he couldn't tell. Every alley seemed alive, every street a battle readiness.
Deep beneath the palace, the cursed crown pulsed violently, dark light seeping into the stone walls, echoing like a heartbeat across the city.
Waylen's breath was ragged. His chest burned. His mind screamed but he ran anyway, the weight of the crown pressing on him like an avalanche.
The kingdom would remember this day.
Not as a failed coronation.
But as the moment the crown declared war.
And Waylen understood survival was no longer enough.
He would have to fight.
Even if it meant standing against the crown itself.