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The quiet that came after the mimic's death was not peaceful. It was thick - almost. present. Kael stood in the ruins which were empty and ash covered, surrounded by broken stone, but the moment did not feel void.
The Grimoire at his side beat out a weak pulse and turned its own page with a strange rustle. There in blood ink was a crude picture of a throne made of bones and roots, chained up and crowned with what was once wing.
> The Whispering Throne.
Kael's throat felt parched. He had witnessed this already. Perhaps not in dreams, but during his earlier transformations. A throne encircled by a hundred kneeling, obscured visages. The Grimoire inscribed the next page with words.
> "The Progenitor does not sit to rule, but to remember. One who takes the throne hears the blood of all who came before."
A pulse reverberated within Kael. The Crimson Heart was awakened, thudding once more, this time with warmth.
He was being pulled.
Following the feeling, Kael descended deeper into the ruins… through broken archways, across torn banners, down spiral stairs lit only by faint, glowing moss. The scent of dried blood clung to the air like incense.
At the bottom, he found it.
A small, circular chamber. Roots grew from the cracked walls like veins. The throne sat in the center, crooked but whole, made from blackened bone and something darker. Symbols circled its base in languages he couldn't read, but somehow… understood.
He stepped closer. His footsteps echoed like whispers. Not around him… inside him.
> Sit. Remember. Become.
Kael paused. At the last time that he had been a part of something like this he'd nearly lost control of himself. But this was not about control. This felt… as if it were a challenge. As if the throne were watching him.
He put his hand on the armrest.
Then a violent surge went through his spine. His vision exploded.
What he saw was a field of battle which was lit by silver fire. Demons were screaming. Angels were dying. And in the middle of it all… a figure of fire, pale skin, red eyes, robed in shadow. That figure was Kael. His roar split the skies.
Then quiet.
Then.
"Kael Vire."
He staggered back, gasping, hand smoking where it had touched the throne. The name had echoed again… this time from the throne itself. A memory or a curse?
The Grimoire flipped violently, scrawling new text:
> [Memory Echo Unlocked: Vire the First, Fragment I]
The one who bled the sun. The flame-eater. The betrayed.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"Vire again…"
His true identity? Or just another in a line of shadows that define him?
He turned from the throne, didn't care to sit. not yet.
The blood was still talking to him, and he wasn't ready to hear.
But what he did know is that...
he hadn't been born for grand things.
He was built for something more terrifying.
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End of Chapter
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