Gravenmoor rose from the plains like a fever dream of architecture.
Theron and Lyssa approached from the south, following the main trade road that had once carried merchants from across the twelve kingdoms. Now it was nearly empty, just a few desperate travelers moving between the relative safety of walled cities. Most walked alone, eyes constantly scanning for danger. No one spoke to strangers anymore. Trust had died with the gods.
The city itself was larger than Theron had imagined, a sprawling metropolis that housed nearly half a million souls. Walls thirty feet high encircled it, built from gray stone that had darkened over centuries. Guard towers dotted the walls at regular intervals, each one flying Gravenmoor's banner showing a silver compass on black.
But what struck Theron most were the cracks. The city was covered in them. Not normal cracks from age or weather, but the glowing fissures of Weave damage. They spiderwebbed across buildings, through streets, even through the air itself in some places. The city watch had marked the worst ones with red paint, warning signs that told people to avoid those areas.
"It's worse than I thought," Lyssa muttered beside him. She had pulled up the hood of her cloak, hiding her face. "The Weave is dying faster here."
"Population density," Theron said, remembering his lessons with Master Orin. "The more people, the more strain on the Weave. Gravenmoor might only have months before it becomes uninhabitable."
They joined the line at the southern gate. Guards checked everyone entering, searching for weapons and contraband. Theron's hand rested on his sword hilt, ready to fight if the guards somehow sensed what they were. But the inspection was cursory. The guards seemed exhausted, going through motions without real attention.
"Purpose in the city?" the guard asked without looking up from his roster.
"Seeking work," Lyssa said smoothly. "Heard the merchant houses are hiring."
"Everyone's heard that. Most are disappointed." The guard waved them through. "Keep your weapons sheathed and avoid the Shatter District unless you have business there."
They entered Gravenmoor without further incident. The city swallowed them immediately, thousands of bodies pressed together in streets that seemed too narrow for the crowds. The noise was overwhelming after months in ruins and wilderness. Merchants shouted their wares. Children ran between adults' legs. Somewhere someone was playing music badly.
Theron felt his mark flare with sudden intensity. Not painful, but insistent. Someone was here. Another crown bearer, maybe more than one. The sensation was stronger than it had ever been.
"You feel that?" Lyssa asked quietly.
"North," Theron said, following the pull. "Maybe a mile away."
They navigated the crowded streets, Lyssa leading with the confidence of someone who had lived in cities like this. She knew how to disappear in crowds, how to avoid attention. Theron followed her lead, grateful for her experience.
The pull led them to the Shatter District, the area the guard had warned them about. Here the cracks were worst, some wide enough to see the void beyond reality. The buildings leaned at impossible angles, held up by nothing but momentum and prayer. Most were abandoned, but Theron spotted signs of squatters. Desperate people with nowhere else to go.
"Cheerful place," Lyssa observed dryly.
A vendor called out from a corner, selling bread that looked days old. "Fresh bread! Still warm!"
Theron almost laughed at the obvious lie but kept walking. His mark was burning now, the heat almost uncomfortable. They were close. Very close.
The attack came without warning. One moment they were walking down an empty alley. The next, a bolt of crimson lightning struck the ground where Lyssa had been standing. She moved on instinct, Theron yanking her aside just as the cobblestones exploded.
Shrapnel peppered Theron's back. Small cuts, nothing serious, but the message was clear. Someone had just tried to kill them.
At the alley's mouth stood three figures in the light absorbing armor he had seen in Oldport. Void Wardens. Their helmets hid their faces, but Theron could feel their attention locked on him and Lyssa.
"Crown bearers," the lead Warden said, his voice distorted by the helmet into something that barely sounded human. "Surrender your fragments. Your deaths can be quick and painless."
Lyssa's response was to draw her knife. Golden light wrapped around the blade, shadows given form and substance. "Or?"
"Or we make an example of you. One that will be remembered when parents tell their children stories about the monsters who killed the gods."
Theron drew his sword, the familiar weight settling into his hand. His crown fragment pulsed in his chest, power thrumming just beneath his skin. He had been avoiding using it, terrified of losing control. But looking at the Wardens blocking their only escape, he realized he had no choice.
"Together?" he asked Lyssa.
She grinned, fierce and wild. "Together."
The Wardens attacked as one. The leader raised his hands and more crimson lightning erupted from his palms. The other two drew weapons that crackled with anti magic, designed to disrupt the Weave and nullify divine power.
Theron reacted on instinct. He pressed his right palm against his chest, where the crown fragment resided, and opened himself to its power. The sensation was overwhelming, like trying to swallow an ocean. Silver light exploded from his body, forming geometric patterns in the air. He could see the Weave around him suddenly, every thread and connection laid bare.
The lightning bolt struck his hastily constructed shield and dispersed. Not painlessly. Theron gritted his teeth against the backlash, but he held the shield steady.
Beside him, Lyssa moved like water through darkness. Her form blurred, becoming one with the shadows cast by the buildings. She appeared behind one Warden and drove her knife into a gap in his armor. The man went down with a choked scream.
The fight was brutal and quick. Theron learned to weave his shields on the fly, protecting himself and Lyssa while she struck from impossible angles. His crown showed him where to anchor his power for maximum effect. Together they moved with a synchronization that shouldn't have been possible for two people who barely knew each other.
When the last Warden fell, Theron collapsed against a wall, gasping. Using the crown like that drained him worse than any physical exertion. His whole body trembled with exhaustion.
"That was either brilliant or idiotic," Lyssa said. She was breathing hard too, golden light still dancing in her eyes. "We just announced our presence to every Warden in the city."
"Had to," Theron managed. "They would have killed us."
"Fair point." Lyssa wiped her blade clean and sheathed it. "We need to move. Find whoever else is here before the Wardens regroup."
Theron nodded, pushing himself upright. His mark was still burning, still pulling him forward. North. Always north. They left the bodies of the Wardens behind and continued deeper into the Shatter District.
Twenty minutes later, they found her. A young woman in Scholar's robes, sitting in what looked like an abandoned tavern. She looked up as they entered, her green eyes widening behind wire rimmed spectacles. Auburn hair fell in messy waves around her face.
The mark on Theron's palm flared in recognition. Crown bearer. The third they had found.
"Please," she said, standing quickly. Crimson light flickered around her hands. "I don't want to fight."
"Neither do we," Theron said, keeping his hands visible. "My name is Theron. This is Lyssa. We're like you."
The woman's eyes darted between them, calculating. Then she seemed to deflate slightly, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Mira. Mira Ashveil. I've been hiding here for two weeks."
"Void Wardens?" Lyssa asked.
Mira nodded. "And my own guilt. I..." She gestured helplessly at the ruins around them. "I destroyed half the Grand Archive when my crown activated. Killed so many people. I can't..."
Theron understood immediately. The scholar who had lost control. Who carried the weight of accidental massacre. He crossed the room slowly, carefully, and held out his hand. "It wasn't your fault. The crowns are hard to control at first. All of us have made mistakes."
Mira looked at his offered hand for a long moment. Then she took it, her grip surprisingly strong. "There are more of us. I can feel them. At least two others in the city."
"Then we find them," Lyssa said. "Before the Wardens do. Three crown bearers are stronger than one."
"Five," Mira corrected quietly. "I felt five signatures total. Counting us, that's... that's almost everyone."
Theron felt hope spark in his chest for the first time since the monastery fell. Five of seven, all converging on Gravenmoor. If they could find the others, if they could work together, maybe they had a chance.
"Then we need to move fast," he said. "The city watch will have heard about the fight. We have maybe an hour before this place is swarming with Wardens."
The three crown bearers left the abandoned tavern together, following the pull of their marks deeper into Gravenmoor's labyrinthine streets. Behind them, reality's cracks grew wider. Ahead, two more bearers waited to be found.
The game was accelerating. The pieces were moving into position. And somewhere, something that had orchestrated all of this watched and waited to see if the seven chosen would save the world or destroy it.