The moment Aren's heartbeat aligned with the shard, the world shattered.
Not broke—shattered, as if reality itself were glass struck by a hammer.
The crater vanished.
Sound died.
Color bled away until only blinding white and endless black remained, folding into one another like opposing storms. Aren's body felt distant, unreal, as though it no longer fully belonged to him. He tried to move, to breathe, but found neither action necessary.
He was falling.
Or perhaps rising.
The distinction no longer mattered.
Before him, the void opened.
The broken throne emerged—not as a fleeting vision this time, but as a towering, undeniable presence. Its shape defied reason: a crown and a seat fused together, forged of star-metal and fractured light, cracked down the center as though struck by a god-slaying blade. Endless fragments orbited it slowly, each shard radiating a different resonance—rage, sorrow, dominion, ruin.
The Starbound Crown.
Incomplete.
Waiting.
Aren felt its attention settle fully upon him, and for the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to be seen.
Not judged.
Not measured.
Recognized.
You reached me.
The thought was not sound, yet it reverberated through his existence, carrying the weight of ages.
Aren tried to speak. "You… you're the reason this world is broken."
A pause.
The void darkened slightly, fragments slowing in their orbit.
No.
The answer was neither denial nor apology.
I am the reason it still exists.
Images flooded Aren's mind.
Stars burning out as something vast consumed them. Worlds collapsing into silence. A crown rising—not to rule mortals, but to bind reality together, to impose order on chaos that sought to devour everything.
Then came betrayal.
Hands reaching for the crown. Mortals. Ascendants. Kings who feared being ruled by something greater than themselves.
The crown shattered.
The stars fell.
The world bled.
Aren staggered within the void, clutching his head. "Then why me?" he demanded. "Why drag me into this?"
The fragments pulsed.
Because you are empty.
The words struck harder than any blow.
No lineage. No divine imprint. No claim.
A vessel unclaimed by the lie of the stars.
Aren laughed bitterly. "So I'm convenient."
You are necessary.
The shard's presence surged.
Pain exploded through Aren's chest as something tore open—not flesh, but possibility. He screamed as searing light and consuming darkness poured into the hollow space inside him, colliding violently.
The crown did not settle gently.
It anchored.
Accept the resonance.
Or be erased.
Aren's teeth clenched as memories flashed through his mind—ash-filled streets, fearful eyes, the settlement alarms, the hunter he'd crushed, the Arbiter's cold certainty.
He thought of kneeling.
And felt rage burn hotter than fear.
"No," he snarled. "I don't accept orders. Not from gods. Not from crowns."
The void trembled.
For the first time, something like surprise rippled through the fragments.
Then claim me.
The throne cracked further.
Power surged—not flooding him, but offering resistance, like a blade testing its wielder. Aren reached out instinctively, fingers closing around nothing and everything at once.
He pulled.
The crater exploded with light.
The Arbiter staggered backward, throwing up a barrier of condensed star energy just as a shockwave ripped outward from the shard. The ground fractured violently, molten crystal shattering into shards that screamed through the air like blades.
Hunters were lifted off their feet, armor crumpling as they were flung aside like broken dolls.
At the center of it all, Aren screamed.
Blackened light erupted from his body, no longer branching aimlessly but forming patterns—jagged sigils that burned themselves into his skin like living scars. His eyes snapped open, pupils gone, replaced by swirling void shot through with starlight.
The shard cracked.
A fracture split its radiant core.
The Arbiter stared in horror. "You—stop! You don't understand what you're doing!"
Aren rose slowly to his feet.
The air bent around him.
Ash lifted from the ground, spiraling upward in controlled currents. The oppressive pull of the crater inverted—what once dragged everything inward now bowed outward, as though the land itself were afraid to touch him.
"I understand enough," Aren said.
His voice was wrong.
Deeper. Layered. As if something else spoke alongside him—not over him, but with him.
He raised his hand.
The shard answered.
A beam of condensed resonance tore free from it, slamming into Aren's chest. Instead of destroying him, it sank into his body, etching a final symbol over his heart—a broken crown encircled by ash.
The shard went dark.
Dead.
Silence fell over the crater.
The Arbiter fell to one knee, blood seeping from the corner of their mouth, barrier shattered. Their gaze locked onto Aren with a mixture of awe and terror.
"You've done the impossible," they whispered. "You've bonded with a dead authority."
Aren looked down at his hands.
They trembled—not with weakness, but with restraint. Power coiled beneath his skin, heavy and volatile, threatening to tear free if he lost focus.
"What does that make me?" he asked quietly.
The Arbiter swallowed.
"A heretic," they said. "A threat."
Aren's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile.
"Good."
The sky above the crater darkened unnaturally, clouds spiraling inward as distant thunder rolled—not from the heavens, but from something responding.
Far away, across kingdoms and star-temples, ancient mechanisms awakened. Crown-Stones shattered. Seals cracked. Oracles screamed as visions burned their eyes blind.
The Starbound Crown had found its anchor.
And the world, built on the lie of its absence, had just begun to unravel.