Dawn came reluctantly to the highlands of Vireth, creeping over the broken ridges like a wounded thing unsure whether it wished to be seen. The sky was stained with ash-colored clouds, remnants of distant fires that never truly went out in the Realm of Embers. Even the wind carried the scent of old smoke and iron, as though the land itself remembered the burning of crowns and kingdoms long fallen.
Kael stood at the edge of the ridge, his boots half-buried in frost-kissed soil. Below him, the valley spread wide and silent, broken only by the slow movement of fog slithering between ancient stone ruins. Once, this had been a city—Aurelion's Reach, jewel of the First Crown. Now it was nothing more than a graveyard of pillars and shattered towers, its history swallowed by time and fear.
He clenched his fists.
This was where it ended.
And where it had begun.
Behind him, the faint crackle of fire announced Lyrien's presence before her voice followed. "You've been standing there since before first light."
Kael didn't turn. "I wanted to see it before the sun touched it. Before it pretended everything was normal."
Lyrien stepped beside him, her cloak drawn tight against the cold. The small flame hovering above her palm flickered in response to her unease. "The past doesn't change just because we look away."
"No," Kael said quietly. "But it has a way of changing us when we look too long."
They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the distant cry of a carrion bird circling the ruins below. Kael could feel it again—that pull, that pressure behind his eyes and in his chest. The same sensation he'd felt the night the mark first burned into his skin. The same whisper that haunted his dreams.
The Crown remembers.
He shook his head as if to dislodge the thought.
"You're thinking about it again," Lyrien said, her voice softer now.
"I never stopped," Kael replied.
From behind them came the sound of armored footsteps. Dain emerged from the treeline, his massive frame outlined by the pale light of morning. His sword was strapped across his back, worn but meticulously maintained. The old scars along his arms told stories Kael suspected he'd never hear in full.
"We move in an hour," Dain said. "Scouts report movement near the lower ruins. Ashbound."
Kael finally turned. "How many?"
"Enough," Dain answered grimly. "And where there are Ashbound, there's usually something worse pulling the strings."
Lyrien exhaled slowly. "The Ember Court."
"Or what's left of it," Dain said. "Power doesn't die easily. It just finds new hands."
Kael looked back at the valley. "This place draws them. It always has."
Dain studied him carefully. "So does the Crown-bearer."
The words hung heavy between them.
Kael's jaw tightened. "I didn't ask for this."
"No," Dain said. "But the world rarely asks the ones it needs."
They descended into the ruins as the sun finally broke through the clouds, casting long shadows across cracked stone and fallen arches. Every step felt like walking through the bones of history. Symbols carved into the walls—once proud and radiant—were now worn smooth, their meanings half-forgotten.
Lyrien paused near a shattered obelisk, brushing her fingers across its surface. "These markings… they predate the Ember Wars."
Dain frowned. "Older than the First Crown?"
"Yes," she said. "Older than kings."
Kael felt the pull intensify. His vision blurred for a heartbeat, and suddenly the ruins were no longer silent.
He heard screams.
Fire roared around him, towering walls of flame consuming banners of gold and white. Soldiers clashed beneath a blood-red sky, their blades singing songs of death. At the center of it all stood a figure crowned in light and shadow, their face obscured, their voice thunderous.
You were never meant to rule, the voice boomed. You were meant to endure.
Kael staggered, gasping.
Lyrien caught him before he fell. "Kael!"
The vision shattered, leaving him trembling.
"I saw it again," he whispered. "The fall. The last stand."
Dain's expression darkened. "Visions are dangerous. Especially here."
"They're not just visions," Kael said, straightening slowly. "They're memories. Not mine—but they're becoming harder to tell apart."
Lyrien met his eyes. "The Crown is waking."
A low, guttural sound echoed through the ruins before Dain could respond.
A snarl.
From between collapsed columns, figures emerged—twisted, ash-blackened forms with burning embers where eyes should be. The Ashbound moved with unnatural grace, their bodies scarred by fire that never healed.
"Positions!" Dain barked.
Steel rang as he drew his sword, charging forward with a roar that echoed through the stone halls. Lyrien raised both hands, weaving sigils of flame and light, her magic flaring bright against the gray ruins.
Kael hesitated for only a second.
Then the mark on his chest ignited.
Power surged through him, raw and ancient. He felt the weight of it—the burden of countless lives, of choices made and unmade. When he moved, it was faster than before, his blade guided by instinct rather than thought.
The Ashbound fell one by one, their forms collapsing into drifting ash. But for every one slain, another seemed to rise from the shadows.
"They're stalling us," Lyrien shouted. "Something's coming!"
As if summoned by her words, the ground trembled.
From the heart of the ruins, a figure stepped forward clad in darkened armor etched with crimson runes. A crown of twisted metal rested upon his helm—not gold, but iron scorched black.
"The False Crown," Dain muttered. "A Herald."
The Herald's voice was hollow, echoing unnaturally. "Heirs of dust and regret. You walk on sacred ground."
Kael stepped forward despite Dain's warning hand. "This ground belongs to the dead."
"And to those who remember them," the Herald replied, fixing his burning gaze on Kael. "You carry what was lost."
Kael raised his sword. "Then come and take it."
The Herald laughed—a sound like metal grinding against stone. "Soon. Not today."
With a gesture, the ruins erupted in flame, walls collapsing as smoke swallowed the battlefield. When the fire died down, the Herald was gone.
Only silence remained.
They regrouped near the edge of the ruins, exhausted and bloodied but alive. Lyrien leaned heavily against a broken column, her magic spent. Dain cleaned his blade, his expression grim.
"That wasn't a victory," he said.
"No," Lyrien agreed. "It was a message."
Kael stared back toward the heart of Aurelion's Reach. "They know who I am."
"They always have," Dain said quietly. "The First Crown doesn't hide forever."
Kael felt the weight settle deeper into his bones. He thought of the voice in the vision. Of the fire. Of the countless lives bound to a crown reduced to ash.
"What happens when it fully awakens?" he asked.
Lyrien met his gaze. "Then the world will remember why it feared kings."
Kael tightened his grip on his sword.
"Then we make sure it remembers something else too," he said. "That crowns don't decide the fate of the world."
They turned away from the ruins as the wind carried the ashes of the fallen into the sky.
Behind them, Aurelion's Reach watched in silence—waiting.