'Third Point of view '
Ash rained down like cursed snow.
The silence that followed Sebastian's disintegration was unnatural. It was too complete, too loud in its stillness. The red torches around the throne room flickered wildly, casting jagged shadows across the broken marble. Every breath felt like it might shatter the silence.
Lyra was the first to move. Serena fell to her knees. Astra's silver eyes narrowed, calculating.
"No," she gasped, stumbling forward. "No. He—he was still fighting it. He didn't give in—he wouldn't—"
She dropped to her knees and plunged her hands into the pile of blackened ash. The embers scorched her skin, but she didn't flinch. Her fingers closed around nothing. Only silence and soot.
Behind her, Ravyn stood motionless, eyes glassy. The normally smug sorceress had no words. Her hands, once crackling with electricity, now hung limp by her sides.
Serena, the quietest of the four, pressed her trembling hands to her heart. "He didn't scream," she whispered. "He didn't cry out… he just… let go."
"No," Ravyn finally muttered. "No, that wasn't death."
Astra stepped forward, silver eyes glowing faintly. "She's right."
They all turned to her.
"That wasn't destruction. That was… transference."
"What the hell does that mean?" Lyra snapped, standing with fury in her eyes. "He's gone, Astra!"
"His body is," Astra replied calmly. "But his soul… it didn't pass to the afterlife. It was taken."
The torches dimmed further as her words fell into the silence.
Then, something stirred in the ashes.
They recoiled as the black dust began to swirl, not upward—but inward. Compressing. Folding in on itself.
From the center of the ash, a crown rose. Forged of obsidian and gold, it pulsed with a molten-red core, humming with forbidden magic. And where it hovered—Sebastian's blood still glistened on the floor.
"The Demon's Mark," Astra whispered. "It branded him the moment he ascended. And now it's claimed him."
Ravyn reached for the crown.
"Don't!" Astra hissed.
Too late.
The moment Ravyn's fingers touched the artifact, she screamed. The crown flared violently, and a bolt of dark lightning slammed her backward into the marble pillar with a sickening crack.
"Ravyn!" Serena rushed to her, but Ravyn was already pushing herself up, face contorted in pain.
Lyra stared at the crown, her eyes wild. "It's not just an object. It's… a prison."
A low hum began to vibrate through the throne room. It was coming from beneath the floor.
Then the sigil—Sebastian's binding rune—ignited again. Only this time, it wasn't red. It was violet.
Astra's face went pale. "That's not his magic."
The ground cracked. The air thickened with pressure.
And then… the portal opened.
The center of the throne room split with a howl of ancient wind. The rift swirled violently, glowing with chaos-magic. From its core stepped a figure cloaked in royal blue and black, runes embroidered in his sleeves, a half-mask of silver hiding his face.
His presence made the torches die out.
"Greetings, Queens of the Fallen King," he said, voice deep and silky. "I've come to claim what belongs to me."
The crown hovered toward him.
"Don't you touch it," Lyra growled, drawing her blade.
He raised a hand.
Lyra froze mid-step, her limbs locking in place. Her sword clattered to the floor.
Serena screamed. "Let her go!"
The man's silver eyes flicked to her. "Such devotion. He chose well."
Ravyn hurled a spear of lightning. He caught it mid-air and crushed it like glass.
"Impossible," she breathed.
"No," Astra whispered, her expression tight. "He's a Voidbinder."
"A what?" Serena asked.
"A caster from the other side of the realms," Astra muttered. "One who speaks the language of ancient chaos. He isn't supposed to exist."
The man's eyes found Astra. "And yet, here I stand."
He stepped closer to the crown, which flared violently in his presence.
"I won't let you take it!" Astra snarled, stepping between him and the artifact.
He laughed softly. "You think I need permission to claim what's mine?"
Then he vanished—reappeared behind them, fingers brushing the crown.
As he touched it, the air exploded with light—and the portal devoured them.
---
They woke scattered across the ends of the Labyrinth.
Astra in a field of black roses that bled from their petals.
Ravyn in a cathedral of shattered mirrors, her reflection whispering curses.
Serena bound to a pillar of gold, surrounded by angels with burned faces.
And Lyra—
Lyra stood before a bone throne atop a hill of skulls.
At its base, Sebastian hung by glowing chains.
He was alive. Barely. His once-golden skin was marked by crimson brands, his eyes closed, his chest rising faintly. The obsidian crown was fused to his heart.
A woman with wings like a bat and horns coiled like serpents stood over him.
"Welcome," she said with a smile. "The King is mine now."