The moment the crown touched Duncan's brow, the world blurred.
He didn't fall, nor did he collapse—but the weight of the thing, the very memory within it, bore down on him with the fury of centuries. Every bone in his body ached, not from pain, but from inheritance.
The forest, the warriors, even Alra's crimson-antlered beast—all vanished in a blink of white.
In their place stood the Old World.
A vision—no, a memory—wrapped in sensation and raw truth.
He stood atop a mountain of obsidian and bone, overlooking valleys where wild mystical beasts roamed freely beneath golden skies. Cities had not yet been built. No ballistae lined the hills. No generals wore medals. This was a world where man and beast lived in an uneasy, sacred balance.
And before him—gathered like gods—stood nine crowned figures, each with eyes like fire and armor crafted from the gifts of nature: fangs, roots, molten stone, wind-etched iron. They weren't monarchs. They were guardians.
And one stepped forward.
He looked like Duncan, only older, eyes hollowed by war. His crown was identical—the same iron antlers Duncan now bore.
"You are late," the figure said.
"Who are you?" Duncan asked.
"I am you. Or rather… what you must become."
The world shifted again.
He now stood in a blackened field, ash drifting like snow. Thousands lay dead—beasts and men, side by side. Blades of stone and bone and flame jutted from corpses like grave markers. Among them stood the Nine—but their eyes were dim. The balance had broken.
"The pact was betrayed," the figure whispered. "And from our blood, the Dominion was born."
Duncan's breath caught. "What?"
"The Dominion wasn't built to protect mankind. It was built to control it. And to slaughter what couldn't be tamed. The beasts… the bond… the memory of the Oath—it was all buried beneath steel and fear."
"You want me to fight them?"
"No. You already are. But it's not just swords and legions. The war to come will be waged in memory, in beasts, in belief. If the Crown survives, so too can the Oath."
The vision fractured. The ground beneath Duncan's feet split into rivers of golden light. The Nine shattered like glass.
And then—
He was back.
On his knees, in the clearing.
Kael was shouting. Alra had her blade drawn.
But they weren't fighting.
They were defending him.
All around the clearing, shadowy figures had emerged. Dominion scouts. Dozens of them. Pale uniforms. Red flags. Eyes wide with recognition.
They'd followed them.
"They're after the crown," Kael shouted.
Duncan rose to his feet, the bone-forged circlet still upon his head. He felt taller somehow. Older.
"I know," he said quietly.
He stepped forward, calm as stone. Crossbow bolts hissed through the air—and bent.
Bent.
The bolts veered away from him as if redirected by unseen force. The Dominion soldiers stared in horror.
Alra smirked. "Looks like the Crown remembers."
Kael raised his spear. "Orders, Commander?"
Duncan turned his gaze to the soldiers.
"Spare the ones who surrender. The rest…" He drew Ashborn. "Remind them this forest has guardians again."
It wasn't a battle.
It was a warning.
Duncan, Alra, Kael, and a vanguard of Wakened tore through the Dominion's forward scouts like wildfire in dry fields. Their formation scattered in moments. Half surrendered by dropping their weapons and begging for clemency. The rest were slain quickly—not cruelly, but decisively.
It was over in minutes.
One soldier, still breathing, tried to crawl away.
Duncan walked over, his shadow cast long by the rising sun.
The man trembled. "You were supposed to be dead… Duncan Voss was marked… outlawed..."
Duncan looked him in the eyes. "Then you'll have to make a new mark."
He turned to Alra. "Tell me about the Wakened."
She gave a low nod. "We're scattered. The bloodlines still exist, hidden in every region: the Bone Shapers of the Craglands, the Stormcallers beyond the Hollowed Gulf, the Flameborn near the Cinder Wastes."
"And the Dominion?"
"They're moving. Fast. If they know you bear the crown, they'll come for you. Not with scouts. With armies."
Duncan looked at Kael, then the surviving soldiers who now followed him without question.
"Then we gather. We find the Wakened. We restore the Oath."
Kael raised a brow. "And what do we call this rebellion, Commander?"
Duncan looked east, where the sun broke through the branches.
He thought of his father's grave. His grandfather's last words. Of all the names history had tried to bury.
"We don't call it rebellion," he said.
"We call it Dominion's reckoning."