Chapter 67 – The Throne Tests
The throne waited.
Not like a chair, not like an object. It waited as a presence, as an entity, as a judgment made solid in black stone and veined with gold that pulsed with the heartbeat of the fractured world. Every breath in the Kingless Crown felt heavy, as if the air itself weighed their choices.
Atreus stood before it, the First Mark glowing faintly on his wrist, the fracture humming beneath his skin. He could feel the whispers again — subtle, layered, pulling at his thoughts from every angle. They were not threats this time, not exactly. They were tests.
"Who are you?" one voice asked.
"Are you the heir… or the destroyer?" another murmured.
"Can you command what flows through you… or will it command you?"
Kratos remained behind him, Leviathan Axe ready. His presence was steady, a wall of certainty in a world that had none. Xenara hovered a step away, staff poised, eyes scanning the void for anomalies. Even she seemed tense, as if the very air could shift and tear them apart.
"Do not sit," Kratos warned, voice low, deadly calm. "Do not submit to it. Observe. Learn. Master it."
Atreus exhaled, tightening his fists. The whispers intensified, winding tighter around his mind. The throne pulsed like a living thing, as if it had anticipated his hesitation. The golden veins shimmered and shifted, forming patterns that seemed to speak without words, messages layered into light and shadow.
The first test came without warning.
The air around him thickened. The platforms beneath his feet trembled. Shadows leapt from the void, forming into distorted, humanoid figures — not quite solid, not quite immaterial. Their faces flickered between those of long-forgotten gods and distorted versions of himself. Each figure moved with a fluid, unnatural grace, striking at him from multiple angles.
Kratos swung his axe with brutal precision, scattering the first few attackers. Atreus responded with the fracture, guiding controlled pulses to stabilize the trembling path and disperse the shadowy assailants. But for every shadow defeated, another appeared, their movements faster, sharper, more synchronized.
"You are being tested," Xenara said, voice tense. "Not just your skill… but your control, your restraint. Do not allow the fracture to act of its own accord."
Atreus swallowed. The temptation was immediate, the fracture thrumming urgently beneath his skin. It wanted release, wanted power, wanted him to abandon control. But he forced his will into it, letting it pulse in harmony rather than in rebellion. A precise surge of golden light shot from his hands, scattering the shadows while keeping the path intact.
The shadows hesitated — a flicker of surprise crossing their indistinct forms — before reforming into a larger, more terrifying figure. Its body was a shifting mosaic of gold and black, faces overlapping across its surface, some screaming silently, others watching in cold indifference.
Kratos' jaw tightened. "This one… it mirrors your fear."
Atreus' pulse quickened. The figure raised an arm, elongated, jagged, tipped with claws that could pierce through stone. The fracture surged again, urging him to lash out recklessly. But Atreus focused, centering the energy, and projected a controlled pulse that struck the shadow figure without destroying it.
It recoiled, but did not disappear. Its voice echoed inside his mind:
"Fear. Anger. Doubt. These are yours… or are they?"
Atreus staggered, the world tilting slightly. He felt the fracture respond to his hesitation, flaring uncontrollably. Images flashed through his mind — a throne broken, the Nine kneeling, worlds collapsing beneath his choices.
Kratos' hand gripped his shoulder, grounding him. "Focus. Control it. Do not let it see weakness."
He inhaled slowly, letting the pulse of the fracture align with his intent. This time, when he projected the energy, it was not a blind strike. It flowed with precision, weaving around the figure's strikes, destabilizing it without yielding to the chaos.
The figure shrieked in silence, its form flickering and fracturing, until it dissolved into shards of light and shadow that scattered into the void.
Xenara's staff glowed faintly. "Good. You resisted. But there are more tests to come. The throne does not forgive hesitation."
The second trial began almost immediately.
From the golden mist around the throne emerged phantasms — visions of his past, twisted and distorted. Scenes he had hoped to forget: failures, losses, moments where he had been powerless. The fracture pulsed wildly as the memories struck, each one amplified, each one challenging his resolve.
"You could not save them," whispered a voice that sounded like his mother.
"You are too weak," said another, echoing Kratos' own harsh words.
"You will fail," a distorted Atreus sneered, eyes glowing with gold veins.
Atreus staggered, nearly letting the fracture surge freely. Kratos' grip on him was firm. "No. You will not give them power over you. Control it."
The fracture responded slowly, its pulse now under his conscious guidance. He wove it around the visions, containing them, dispersing the false threats without destroying the memories entirely. He realized, with clarity, that mastery did not mean erasing fear. It meant confronting it, acknowledging it, and guiding it without letting it dominate him.
The throne shifted subtly, as if observing his progress. Golden veins flared brighter, the air vibrating with a low hum that resonated with the mark on his wrist. He could feel the Nine's gaze through the fracture, assessing, judging, measuring every pulse of his will.
Then came the third test — the hardest.
The Kingless Crown itself seemed to breathe. Shadows formed along the edges of the arch, thickening into a living fog that obscured Kratos and Xenara. The platforms trembled violently, and for the first time, Atreus felt true terror: the sense that the world itself could collapse under his feet.
From the fog emerged a figure taller than any before — its armor a mirror of the throne itself, black stone veined with gold, its face hidden beneath a crown-like helmet. The figure's voice was thunder and whisper combined:
"You have survived skill and memory. Now we test will. Will you claim… or will you resist?"
Atreus' wrist burned. The fracture pulsed like a second heartbeat. The temptation to unleash it fully screamed in his mind: power, control, dominance, a world reshaped by his hand. But he remembered Kratos' words, Xenara's guidance, and the truths he had learned: mastery came from harmony, not surrender.
He raised his hands slowly. The fracture responded not with chaos, but with obedience. Golden light wrapped the figure in threads of energy, not to destroy, but to bind, to observe, to measure.
The figure stepped closer. The temperature dropped. The shadows thickened. The air pressed harder against his lungs. And still, Atreus did not flinch.
The throne pulsed. The Kingless Crown itself vibrated with anticipation.
Then, silence.
The figure stopped, faceless, helmeted, massive. Its presence remained, but the pressure lifted slightly. The mark on Atreus' wrist glowed steadily — no longer flickering with uncertainty, but bright with awareness, as if acknowledging that he had endured.
Kratos lowered his axe slightly. Xenara exhaled, tension easing just a fraction.
"You have passed," the figure whispered in unison, voice echoing in every corner of the void. "But this is only the beginning. The throne watches. The Nine observe. And the fracture… will never forget."
The shadow dissolved. The platforms stabilized. The golden light of the Kingless Crown softened, revealing the throne in full, still veined with gold, waiting silently.
Atreus exhaled deeply, trembling slightly, his pulse still racing. The mark on his wrist was warm, but not painful. It had changed subtly — sharper edges, deeper glow — like a seal of acknowledgment. He understood now that it was not simply a mark of ownership or temptation. It was a reminder: he carried responsibility, choice, and power.
Kratos' hand rested on his shoulder. "You endured," he said, voice quiet, almost proud. "You were tested by what you feared most, and you did not fail. But do not mistake endurance for safety. The Nine will not relent."
Atreus nodded, feeling the weight of both his success and the challenges ahead. The fracture hummed faintly, a steady rhythm that echoed the realization forming within him: mastery was not the absence of threat. It was the courage to confront it.
Xenara's voice broke the silence. "The throne recognizes strength… but it tests more than strength. It tests understanding, judgment, and restraint. Remember this, Atreus. Every step forward will demand the same. And the Nine… they will escalate."
He looked at the Kingless Crown, at the mark on his wrist, and the fracture pulsing in perfect rhythm with his heartbeat. He was no longer a child facing visions of possible power. He was an heir confronting his destiny — a destiny that would demand every ounce of control, every shred of courage, and every choice he was capable of making.
The first trial of the throne had ended.
But the war — the war against the Nine, against the fractures, against his own potential — had only just begun.