The base of the Blue Spire didn't have a door. It had a mouth—a yawning archway of jagged crystal that seemed to swallow the pale violet light of the sky.
"Keep your shadow close," Kaelen whispered, his yellow eyes darting toward the flickering darkness behind them. "The Spire has a memory. It remembers every King it has outlived, and it doesn't particularly care for the new ones."
Alex stepped inside, and the temperature plummeted. The air here didn't smell of sulfur; it smelled of old blood and cold iron. His boots echoed against the floor, which was polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the violet glow of his eyes back at him. As they moved deeper, the walls began to pulse. Faint, rhythmic thuds vibrated through the soles of his feet—the heartbeat of the tower.
At the center of the hall stood the pedestal. It wasn't ornate or golden. It was a block of raw, unhewn obsidian, and resting upon it was the *Codex*.
The book was massive, bound in hide that shimmered like oil on water. It didn't wait for him to arrive. As Alex drew within ten paces, the heavy cover groaned open, the pages flipping violently as if caught in a gale.
"Go on," Kaelen urged, hovering near a pillar. "Claim your burden. Or let it claim you."
Alex reached out. The moment his skin touched the parchment, the world vanished.
He wasn't in the Spire anymore. He was standing in a sea of grey ash, under a sky of falling stars. Thousands of voices—whispers, screams, prayers—flooded his mind at once. He saw the rise and fall of empires he'd never heard of. He felt the weight of a crown so heavy it crushed his collarbones.
**[SOVEREIGN CORE: DETECTED]**
**[BLOODLINE: DORMANT]**
**[AUTHORITY: LEVEL 1 — THE DUST KING]**
The words burned themselves into his retinas. A surge of cold, dark energy erupted from the book, traveling up his arm and colliding with his heart. Alex gasped, his back arching as his very DNA seemed to be rewritten by the ink of the Underworld.
Then, the silence returned.
He was back in the Spire, slumped against the pedestal. But he felt... solid. The air no longer bit at him; it obeyed him. He could feel every crack in the stone, every hidden shadow in the rafters.
"You look taller," Kaelen remarked, though his voice was tight with tension. "And you might want to look behind you. The neighborhood's first welcoming committee has arrived."
Alex turned slowly.
Standing in the archway was a man—or what used to be a man. He was draped in heavy, rusted plate armor, his face hidden behind a visor that leaked a sickly green fog. In his hand was a flail made of human vertebrae, the spiked balls at the end glowing with necrotic spite.
"The Grave-Knight," Kaelen hissed. "A remnant of the old guard. He's been eating the souls of travelers for a century, waiting for a 'King' to return so he can steal the spark."
The Knight didn't speak. It didn't need to. It swung the flail, the chain whistling through the air with a sound like a dying gasp.
In the Academy, Alex would have flinched. He would have tried to remember the third law of magical shielding. But now, he didn't need memories. He had *Authority*.
He watched the flail coming toward his head and didn't move an inch. He simply raised his marked hand and caught the glowing, spiked ball in his bare palm.
The iron bit into his skin. Blood dripped. But the moment his blood touched the metal, the green fog died.
"My turn," Alex said.
He didn't use a spell. He reached into the *Codex* mentally and pulled a thread of the tower's own power. The shadows beneath the Knight's feet turned into liquid tar, rising up and swallowing the armored legs.
The Knight struggled, letting out a hollow, metallic roar, but Alex stepped forward, his eyes burning with an intense, violet fire. He grabbed the Knight's helmet with his bloody hand.
"I am the King of this dust," Alex whispered, his voice vibrating with a power that shook the Spire. "And you are nothing but a memory. **Expire.**"
The word was a command the universe couldn't ignore. The armor didn't just break; it unraveled. The Knight dissolved into a pile of rusted scraps and grey ash, leaving only a faint echo of a scream behind.
Alex stood in the center of the hall, his hand bleeding, his heart hammering—not with fear, but with a terrifying, intoxicating sense of victory.
He looked at Kaelen. The scavenger was no longer mocking. He was kneeling, his forehead pressed against the cold stone floor.
"The Dust King," Kaelen whispered, his voice trembling. "Forgive my earlier insolence, Majesty. I didn't realize the Abyss had sent us a monster."
Alex looked down at the pile of ash that used to be a warrior. He felt the *Codex* humming against his hip, hungry for more.
"I'm not a monster," Alex said, though even he didn't quite believe it. "But I'm done being a victim. Kaelen, stand up. We have a kingdom to rebuild, and I have a feeling the neighbors aren't going to be friendly."
He looked out the archway at the vast, broken landscape of Rebirh. For the first time, he didn't want to go home. He wanted to see how far this power would go.