The storm had finally broken.
For three nights, the northern sky had burned crimson, and when it cleared, the world seemed quieter—as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. Aaryan descended the Whispering Mountain, his steps echoing against the dead stone. The Eclipse Vein pulsed within him, each heartbeat a silent drum of power.
The snow no longer dared touch him. Wherever his shadow fell, frost melted, and the land shivered as if alive. He had crossed a threshold, though even he could not yet name it.
---
At the foot of the mountain, a river of black ice wound across the valley. The air was heavy with the scent of iron, of old blood long frozen. He knelt beside the river, brushing a hand across its surface. Beneath the ice, he saw faces—men and beasts, screaming in eternal stillness.
> "This land remembers your kind," whispered the Sha Essence.
"Once, your throne cast light even here."
Aaryan's gaze hardened. "And now?"
> "Now it waits for you to reclaim it."
The whisper faded into the wind. Aaryan rose and began walking north again. The path grew narrow, hemmed in by cliffs that seemed carved by giant claws. His senses stretched far, and somewhere deep beneath the rock, something called to him—faint, rhythmic, like the beating of another heart.
He stopped. The Sha Essence trembled in response.
> "Do you hear it?" it murmured. "The throne calls to its heir."
---
By nightfall, he reached a canyon split open like a wound. A dark mist seeped from its depths, carrying the scent of fire and decay. Lightning cracked far above, revealing a staircase of obsidian descending into the abyss.
Without hesitation, Aaryan stepped onto it. Each step he took echoed with voices long dead.
—He has returned.
—The Eighth Sun falls again.
—Kneel, or burn.
The further he descended, the louder the chorus grew. When he reached the bottom, he stood before a vast cavern illuminated by a single flame that burned black. Around it, broken pillars and shattered crowns floated in the air, weightless, timeless.
And at the center stood a throne—vast, jagged, carved from the bones of something divine. It was not a seat of comfort but of judgment. Every inch of it radiated both majesty and despair.
Aaryan's pulse thundered. He felt drawn forward, though each step seemed to drag eternity with it.
> "Your throne awaits," whispered the Sha Essence. "But know this—once you sit, you will no longer walk among mortals."
He stopped before it, close enough to feel its gravity. "And if I refuse?"
> "Then the throne will find another. The Shadow Path allows no void."
Aaryan's lips curled. "Let it try."
He turned away. The throne pulsed once—low, mournful—like a living thing denied its master. The air trembled. The entire cavern shook.
---
Far above, in realms unseen, the reaction was immediate.
In the floating palaces of the Celestial Court, divine bells rang without reason. The Emperor of Dawn rose from meditation, eyes wide. "The Shadow Throne has awakened."
Across the eastern seas, oracles drowned mid-trance, their last visions filled with a name forbidden to speak.
In the southern deserts, beasts bowed to invisible pressure, roaring at the heavens.
And in the far west, a child born under an eclipsed moon opened his eyes, black as night—his first word, a whisper of "Aaryan."
The world was beginning to realign.
---
Below, in the cavern, the black flame flared brighter. Aaryan faced it once more, his expression unreadable.
"You call to me," he said softly. "But I am not your servant."
The shadows around the throne twisted, forming shapes—faces, wings, crowns, all reaching toward him. They spoke in one voice:
> "You are not our servant. You are our continuation."
The force of it drove him to one knee. The Eclipse Vein burned, veins glowing like molten silver beneath his skin. The cavern darkened, the air thickening until it was almost liquid.
Aaryan gritted his teeth. "If you seek a master," he said through the strain, "then kneel before me!"
The throne shuddered. The black flame shrieked like a storm. Then, in a blinding flash, silence fell.
When the light faded, Aaryan was standing once more. The throne had changed. It now stood upright, its jagged edges softened, its surface etched with veins of light and shadow intertwined. Upon its crown glowed a single mark—the sigil of the Eighth Sun, reborn.
The Sha Essence spoke quietly, almost in awe.
> "You did not claim it. You forced it to kneel."
Aaryan's voice was calm, but beneath it, power coiled like a sleeping beast. "Then let the heavens know… the throne has chosen differently this time."
---
He stepped back, and the cavern began to crumble. The throne dissolved into black mist that surged toward him, merging with his shadow. When it settled, a faint pattern appeared across his back—eight radiant lines forming a sun of darkness.
He could feel it—raw, boundless strength, waiting to be unleashed. But beneath it, a warning hum persisted. The price had not yet been named.
As he climbed out of the canyon, dawn began to rise. For the first time in an age, the light seemed hesitant, dimmed by the weight of shadow spreading across the world.
Aaryan looked to the horizon, eyes like eclipsed stars.
> "The throne has awakened," he murmured. "Now the gods will remember fear."
The wind answered with silence.
But somewhere in the heavens, an ancient voice whispered back:
> "Then the war begins."
---