The air changed the moment they stepped off the silver path of the Hollow Seas. Gone were the swirling mists and flickering echoes, replaced by a city both magnificent and unsettling.
Crownless City sprawled across a plateau of jagged stone, its streets twisting unpredictably, as though the city itself had grown like a living organism. No walls enclosed it; no banners marked allegiance. Towers rose haphazardly, each one appearing to defy physics, leaning and curving like the arms of a giant frozen in motion. Bridges made of glass and light spanned empty voids, connecting floating platforms and buildings that seemed to hover independently.
"This is… the Crownless City?" Aeren whispered, awe gripping his voice.
"Yes," Lysara replied, her shadows stretching and slipping along the streets like ink in water. "Here, no king rules. No laws are written. Only… secrets. And secrets are far more dangerous than armies."
Aeren glanced around. The streets were alive with movement, but not the kind he recognized. People moved with purpose, but their faces bore expressions of calculated caution. Eyes glanced in every direction, and whispers carried on the wind, words he could barely understand yet instinctively feared. Some shadows moved independently of their owners, stretching toward the clouds before retracting. Magic was everywhere—but subtle, hidden beneath ordinary gestures.
"Why is it called Crownless?" he asked, frowning.
"Because no ruler can hold it," Lysara explained. "Every crown worn here crumbles before its wearer. This city is ruled by information, by memory, by manipulation… not by force. The strongest are those who control knowledge—and the weakest are devoured by it."
Aeren shivered. He had crossed the Hollow Seas to reach this city, yet now he felt smaller than ever, like a single spark against a raging inferno.
"Come," Lysara said abruptly, pulling him through a narrow alley. "We need shelter—and allies. You will need both if you are to survive here."
The alley opened into a courtyard. In its center stood a fountain, its waters black as obsidian, reflecting the violet sky above. A figure sat at the edge, legs dangling over the water, a book open in his lap. His hair was silver, though he looked no older than thirty. His eyes—sharp, unblinking—tracked their approach.
"Ah," Lysara said, "you remember him?"
Aeren blinked. "I… I don't know him."
"He is Elion Thorn," Lysara said. "A historian. But not just of this world—of memories themselves. And he remembers everything. Even the things erased from history."
Elion closed his book with a soft snap, rising to greet them. "You are the ash-touched boy," he said, voice calm yet weighted. "I have been expecting you."
Aeren swallowed, unease prickling along his spine. "How do you know me?"
Elion's gaze was steady. "Because I remember you. Though the world has not. And soon… the world will try to forget you entirely."
The words carried a chill. Aeren felt his stomach twist. "Why?"
Elion's eyes flickered toward the sky. "Because the Eternal Empress does not allow threats to her dominion. You are one such threat. And if you fail… the ash will claim everything you might have become."
Lysara motioned to a narrow stairway leading below the city. "We need to move. The Crownless City is safe, but only for a short time. There are forces here that will seek you the moment your presence is known."
As they descended, the walls of the stairway shimmered faintly, revealing faint runes that pulsed beneath the surface. Aeren reached out. Sparks of ash leapt from his palm, illuminating the symbols. They were strange, alien—yet familiar, as if etched into the marrow of his bones.
"You see?" Lysara said softly. "Even here, your magic shapes reality. But each use comes at a cost. Do not forget it."
Aeren's hands trembled. He felt a hollow space in his mind, a void where something important should have been. He shook it off and focused forward. He had survived the Hollow Seas; he could survive this.
Below the city, the streets twisted into a labyrinth. Shadows clung to corners, sometimes moving independently, watching them. The sounds of the city were alive—whispers of deals, of betrayals, of plans long forgotten. Aeren realized he could feel the city itself, like a living organism responding to their presence.
"Elion," Lysara said, "show him the map."
Elion's book glowed faintly as he opened it. A map unfurled in the air above the pages, showing the Crownless City in intricate detail—floating towers, hidden passages, secret markets, and areas marked in red.
"These are places of danger," Elion explained. "Here, here, and here." He tapped points along the map, each pulsing with soft red light. "And here," he added, pointing to a distant tower, "is where the Empress watches. All movements are noted, all secrets logged. Nothing here escapes her eyes."
Aeren stared at the map, feeling a surge of dread. "Then… she knows I'm here?"
"Already," Elion said, closing the book. "And she has been waiting for you longer than you know."
The weight of the words pressed down on him. He had crossed seas, faced echoes of memory, and yet the true challenge was only beginning. The Crownless City was alive, and it hungered for knowledge, for secrets, for power. And in its heart, the Empress's gaze fell like a blade.
"Then we prepare," Lysara said, her shadow stretching around them like a protective barrier. "You will need allies. You will need strength. And most of all… you will need to survive yourself."
Aeren nodded, though he did not fully understand what lay ahead. The city pulsed around him, alive with magic and whispers. He could feel it probing, testing, shaping him. Somewhere in the labyrinth, the first trial awaited—and he would not be able to rely on luck this time.
As they moved deeper, Aeren's palm flared again, sparks of ash illuminating hidden symbols along the walls. They were warnings—or invitations. He could not yet tell which.
The Crownless City had claimed them, and now the game had begun.
Chapter 3 End Hook:
Above, one of the floating towers shimmered with golden light. A figure stepped onto the balcony, cloaked in black and gold. Her eyes glowed faintly with a predatory intelligence. The Eternal Empress Seraphae had marked her prey—and the ash-touched boy was already within her grasp.