The wind howled across the ruined citadel of Hollowspire.
What had once been a bastion of Valebourne strength was now a shattered monument, its marble towers reduced to skeletons of stone. Marcus stood in the center of the broken courtyard, surrounded by fallen statues—kings and queens of old, their faces weathered into oblivion.
"This was my grandfather's stronghold," he said quietly. "He held it during the Black Siege. They say he never once left the walls."
Erin walked beside him, her boots crunching on frost and rubble. "Then how did it fall?"
"He died of fever. Two days before the enemy breached the gates."
"Tragic."
Marcus let his fingers trail along a cracked pillar. "Fitting."
He turned to Erin. "We need to find the tomb. If Valemortis is a corruption of my line, it might trace back further than we thought."
Erin nodded. "Then we start in the catacombs."
They descended into the dark beneath Hollowspire—lanterns casting long, flickering shadows. The air was colder here, thick with dust and memory. Each step echoed like a drumbeat of the dead. The walls bore faded murals—battles, coronations, and blood rites long forgotten.
"Charming place," Erin muttered. "Would make a great wedding venue."
Marcus smirked despite himself. "You planning something?"
She arched a brow. "Just collecting options."
As they reached the final corridor, a gust of icy wind snuffed their lanterns. Marcus drew his blade. Erin's dagger gleamed in the dim.
And then—a whisper.
Not from behind. From within.
"He sees you."
The voice was Marcus's own. Spoken in a tone he didn't recognize.
Erin's grip tightened. "You heard that?"
He nodded slowly. "It's getting stronger."
The corridor opened into a vast chamber carved into the bedrock. At its center stood a great sarcophagus, rimmed with old gold and carved with the sigil of the first Valebourne king—a lion devouring a serpent.
"This is it," Marcus said.
They stepped forward, but as Erin's foot touched the central dais, the ground shifted.
A low growl filled the chamber.
Stone crumbled, and from the walls emerged skeletal guardians—half-armored revenants with rusted blades and glowing crimson eyes. Their movements were stiff but purposeful.
"Lovely," Erin said. "You go left, I'll take—oh, godsdammit!"
One lunged, and she ducked, rolling under its blade and slicing upward with expert precision. Marcus parried another's sword, sparks flying, and drove his dagger into the hollow of its throat.
But for every one that fell, another rose.
"We can't fight them all," Marcus said.
"Then we don't."
Erin dashed to the sarcophagus and placed the shard of the summoning stone on its surface. It pulsed.
The guardians froze.
Then, like broken marionettes, they collapsed into dust.
Silence returned.
Erin exhaled. "Okay. That was new."
Marcus approached the tomb. "Help me open it."
Together, they slid the heavy stone lid aside.
Inside lay the preserved body of King Alaric the First—wrapped in royal silks, hands folded over a greatsword of pure obsidian. But it wasn't the sword that caught their attention.
It was the scroll resting on his chest. Bound in chains of silver, sealed with red wax.
Marcus broke the seal.
Unrolled it.
And read:
"To the last Valebourne: If you find this, then the shadow has returned. It wears your face, your voice, your blood. It is not merely a curse—it is a twin, born in secret, cast through the Veil. Destroy it, and you destroy yourself. Let it live, and the world burns. Choose."
Erin stared at the words, blood draining from her face. "A twin? What—how?"
Marcus's hands trembled. "I don't know. But it explains the dreams. The whispers. The way the Crowborn knew my thoughts."
Erin touched his shoulder. "It means your fight isn't just with them. It's with yourself."
He nodded slowly. "Then I need to find the one wearing my face."
As they resealed the tomb and climbed back toward the surface, Marcus felt a chill burrow deeper into his soul.
Not from the cold.
But from the truth.
Somewhere out there, in the twisted wilds of the realm, walked another him—born of darkness, raised by shadow.
And he would stop at nothing to take the throne.