The seal beneath Caer Thariel cracked like thunder in a stormless sky.
It wasn't heard by the people above. Not in the palaces. Not in the streets. Not in the sanctums. But every rat, every raven, every beast close to magic turned toward the capital that night, trembling.
And beneath the city, the Cult of the Scorched Veil opened the path.
They chanted in forgotten tongues, blood spilling from their palms into the circular rune drawn in bones. The cracked seal pulsed, and from its heart came smoke—thick, black, sentient. It writhed like a newborn seeking form, and in its swirling chaos, eyes blinked open.
He breathes... again.
Back in the Tower of Vow, reports flooded the war chamber.
Flame sightings in the Deadspine Mountains.
Entire caravan vanished near Grenthold Valley.
Avoiding magic detection likely veiled under cursebound mists.
Loyaid stood in the center, arms crossed. Around him, his generals and lieutenants, now more than just the Second Circle, filled the stone table with whispered questions and hastily marked maps.
Celia leaned close. It's coordinated. They're moving in calculated lines. They're drawing something.
He nodded grimly. A glyph. A giant one. Likely centuries-old. Ritual magic of that scale requires enormous geography.
Elira looked up from her ethereal map. They're carving it across five provinces. This isn't just a resurgence. This is a resurrection.
Loyaid's jaw tightened. They're not just bringing the demon army back.
He touched the edge of a crystal.
They're trying to bring back the throne.
Max Van had read about it in the oldest scrolls, hidden even from the sages of the war council.
The Crown of Cinders wasn't a relic. It was a soul an entity forged from the rage of the first Demon Kings, sealed into a helm of embersteel and dragonbone. It was said to turn the wearer into a god.
Or a monster.....
When worn, it would burn away the user's name, past, and humanity leaving behind only vengeance.
Even Max had feared it. Even he had once refused its power when it was offered at the height of the first war.
...
### **The Cloaked Visitor**
Late that night, as a crimson moon rose, Loyaid sat alone in the strategy chamber, eyes tracing magical leyline routes.
A knock echoed not from the door, but the air itself.....
A cloaked figure stepped from a shadow. Loyaid turned calmly, already charging a ward.
I'm not your enemy, the figure rasped.
Then announce yourself.
The hood fell.
A girl. No older than Loyaid himself. Her eyes were silver. not born. but made. Arcane brands danced over her skin.
My name is Nerisa. And I was born in the flames you sealed.
Loyaid narrowed his gaze. You're a Child of the Crown.
She nodded slowly. I escaped them. They trained me to become a vessel. But the Crown… it has chosen someone else.
Loyaid's voice dropped. Who?
Nerisa looked directly at him.
Your brother...
The revelation hit Loyaid like a thunderclap. Airen Floyen the golden son, the flame wielding prodigy once his brother in blood and now a stranger by fate.
But he hated the demons. He hated me!
Loyaid said.
That's exactly why he was perfect,Nerisa whispered. "The Crown feeds on hatred. And his burns hotter than any I've seen.
.....
That same night, demon forces descended on Caer Thariel. Not in the thousands. Just twelve.
But they weren't ordinary demons.
They were the Twelve Heralds the Crown's personal guards.
Each one carried a piece of ancient power, and they moved like shadows, warping through walls and slaying wardens without effort.
Loyaid arrived mid-battle...
His coat scorched, his blade humming, spells already rotating in runic rings around his shoulders.
He confronted the Herald of Silence, a demon-monk with a mask of bone.
I have no time for whispers, Loyaid growled.
The Herald drew two crimson sabers and darted forward.
Clang.....
Boom.....
Their blades met. Sparks flew like lightning.
Loyaid spun under the next strike and blasted the Herald with [ Heavenpiercer ], a triple-glyph spell infused with divine kinetic force.
The demon crashed through a cathedral wall.
The battle raged for hours. But the turning point came when Nerisa unleashed a wave of pure cinder magic reprogramming it to trap the Heralds in a stasis field.
Loyaid ended it with [ Judgment Spiral ] a spiraling vortex of golden light and shadow blades.
Only two Heralds escaped.
And they left behind a message burned into the sky,,
The Crown Rises.....
With the capital wounded and faith shaken, the Senate panicked. Some called for surrender. Others for dictatorship.
Loyaid stood before them with one demand:
Grant me authority to lead all magical and military forces in the western front. I'll stop the Crown, or I'll die trying.
Many opposed it. But Dravion, the old Archsage, stood beside him.
Let the boy lead,he said. Or find a new empire to hide in.
The vote passed. Narrowly.
Loyaid, still only fifteen in body, was now General of the Arcanum Front.
The Tower of Vow became a fortress. Smiths reforged ancient artifacts. Mages trained night and day.
But even more criticalLoyaid began building a .
A new language of runes. One demons couldn't decipher.
He tested it with Reich and Elira, embedding it into the wind beacons and crystal nets.
And quietly, he crafted something secret.
A contingency spell. One even he feared to use.
Named simply :
........