Chapter 32: The Eclipse Throne
The stars burned wrong.
Rhea Vael stood on the edge of the Valkyrion's observation deck, watching as the Bone Citadel reassembled itself in the distance. It floated in the black like a resurrected god, colossal ribs folding into place, tendrils of raw energy wrapping around its spine. Every pulse from it rattled her ship's core.
She could feel it in her chest — the same rhythm her heart had been beating since the day she touched the Crown of the Void.
Behind her, Commander Darek watched in silence. His reflection wavered on the glass, glitching between human and hollow. "We're being pulled in," he said, voice hoarse. "Gravitational locks are forming. It's like the Citadel is alive again."
"It's not alive," Rhea said, eyes fixed ahead. "It's remembering."
The ship shuddered. Lights dimmed. Across the deck, consoles bled static. The crew whispered fragments of prayers to gods long dead — names forbidden even in the underworld archives.
"Captain," Darek said quietly, "if that thing wakes fully, none of us—"
"I know."
Rhea turned. For a moment, her reflection didn't follow. When it finally did, it smiled at her, lips curving too slowly.
'Welcome back, my heir.'
The voice threaded through her thoughts, silk on steel. She staggered back, gripping the console. "Get us free!" she shouted.
Darek slammed controls, but the systems disobeyed. A cold wind swept through the deck, carrying a scent of dust and memory. The hull screamed as if dragged by invisible claws.
Outside, the Citadel split open.
A colossal gate of bone and light unfolded, revealing a core that throbbed with life — veins of molten gold, eyes orbiting in the dark. From within came a low hum, almost human, rising in pitch until the glass trembled.
"The throne awaits."
Rhea fell to her knees, clutching her head as images stabbed her mind: silver chains, a thousand kneeling shadows, and a figure in armor carved from dying stars — her reflection, crowned and weeping light.
"Captain!" Darek's voice was distant now, drowned beneath the rising noise. The ship's gravity inverted for a heartbeat, slamming bodies against ceilings, blood floating in spheres of crimson light.
Rhea forced herself to her feet. Her veins glowed faintly silver. She slammed her hand onto the main control. The panel hissed, burned her palm — but the ship listened.
"Override. Manual control," she rasped.
A pulse of static rippled through the deck. One by one, her crew collapsed, their eyes flickering with residual energy. The ship steadied. Rhea exhaled — then froze.
Something was moving outside the glass.
A shape, tall and shrouded in starlight, drifted toward the ship. It wore the silhouette of a man, but its body was a mosaic of broken constellations, eyes like dying comets.
"Kaelith…" she whispered.
The voice that answered was both his and not.
"You left me there, Rhea."
"No." Her breath shook. "You died. You chose—"
"I was chosen," he said, voice echoing through every speaker. "Just as you are now. The Citadel needs its queen."
The reflection on the glass turned toward her again. This time, it wasn't smiling. It was hungry.
Her hands trembled as the crown's echo shimmered above her head — a halo of black flame.
'Take your place.'
"I'm not your heir," she whispered.
The Citadel responded.
A beam of white fire shot from its heart, piercing through the void and enveloping the Valkyrion. Systems screamed. Deck plating ripped away. Reality folded, colors bleeding into each other as they were pulled into the Citadel's core.
Inside the Bone Citadel
The ship lay broken in a sea of ash and bone. Fragments of metal floated like dying fish in the airless void. Rhea stumbled out of the wreckage, boots crunching over rib-like bridges that pulsed beneath her.
Above, the sky was alive. Rivers of light ran upside-down, and skeletal towers screamed hymns that made her blood itch.
She wasn't alone.
From the mist, a procession emerged — cloaked figures with faces hidden by masks of mirrored glass. They moved in silence, heads bowed toward her. The ground trembled with each step.
One of them spoke. Its voice was layered, ancient.
"Rhea Vael. The last bearer. The crown remembers you."
Rhea drew her weapon, the Voidlance. Its blade shimmered blue-white, humming with unstable energy. "Stay back."
The figures halted. Then, as one, they knelt.
"Your throne awaits," they said in perfect unison.
A path of bone unfurled before her, leading toward a vast door etched with runes older than language. From behind it came a faint sound — heartbeats. Her own.
Darek's voice buzzed in her earpiece, weak and crackling. "Captain… half the crew's gone. The others— they're changing."
"Stay on the ship," she ordered, though she knew it was already too late.
Rhea stepped through the gate.
The chamber beyond was endless — a cathedral of stars. Suspended in its center was the Eclipse Throne, forged from bone, obsidian, and fragments of dying suns. Above it hung a crown of living shadow.
Kaelith's voice followed her.
"Do you feel it now? The pull? The blood remembers the promise."
She turned slowly. He stood behind her — or the echo of him did. His body shimmered with cosmic decay, eyes pools of liquid night.
"You're not real," she said.
"I'm what's left when gods die." His gaze burned into her. "And so are you."
The ground cracked beneath her feet. Energy surged through her veins, climbing her spine like fire. The crown descended, hovering inches above her head.
She screamed. The Citadel screamed with her.
The walls melted into rivers of light and bone. The cloaked figures dissolved into dust, their voices fading into a chorus of prayer and pain.
Kaelith stepped closer, touching her cheek. His hand left frost and stars.
"Once you sit, you'll never stand again," he said softly. "But you'll see everything."
Rhea's heart thundered. The weight of the universe pressed against her skull. She looked at the throne — a seat that pulsed like a living heart. For a moment, she saw herself upon it, silver-eyed and eternal.
Then she raised her weapon and drove it into the floor.
The explosion tore through reality. Bone shattered, light screamed, and the Citadel convulsed like a dying beast.
Kaelith's form disintegrated, whispering her name as he vanished.
Rhea fell to her knees, smoke rising from her armor. The crown flickered above her head, unstable, cracked.
'You cannot destroy the heart,' the voice hissed. 'You are the heart.'
She looked up through the debris — the stars twisting into spirals. The Citadel was collapsing, but somewhere within its dying light, she saw a figure waiting — another version of herself, smiling, calm.
"Then I'll burn with it," Rhea said.
The Citadel roared. The sky folded in on itself. And the Valkyrion's signal blinked out.