The world was quiet.
Too quiet.
Kaen stood frozen at the edge of the cracked seal, golden embers flickering across his skin, his breaths shallow and uneven. The heat of his awakening still clung to him like second skin, but the fire within him had begun to tremble—not from exhaustion, but from fear.
He hadn't just opened a door.
He'd shattered a lock.
And now something on the other side… was coming through.
The obsidian hand clawed its way further from the earth, dragging with it a ripple of pressure that made the very air buckle. Lightning churned across the sky, no longer random—but spiraling, drawn to the point of emergence like metal to a magnet.
Kaen stepped back instinctively, the pendant on his chest now cold and lifeless. The fire inside him sputtered, flickering uncertainly.
"What have I done…" he whispered.
The plateau quaked again. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the seal, and with a sudden shriek, another limb burst through—a twisted wing, skeletal yet plated in jagged armor. Dark, ancient blood dripped from where it tore through the stone.
Kaen's knees buckled, but he caught himself. He couldn't fall. Not now. Not when something like that was waking up because of him.
"Will you burn the world to find the truth… or be consumed by the fire you've unleashed?"
The Matron's final words echoed in his skull.
Kaen clenched his fists.
"No," he muttered. "I didn't come this far to lose control."
But part of him knew—he already had.
The sky thundered as a final tremor split the seal entirely. From the gaping wound in the mountain rose a figure—towering, monstrous, regal. It was not a beast. It was a king.
A forgotten god.
Its eyes opened—brilliant slits of gold buried in black stone. Horns curled back from a helm-like skull, and chains of molten metal hung from its shoulders like a cloak.
Kaen's breath hitched. He'd seen this being before.
In a dream.
No…
A memory.
The creature turned its gaze upon him, and the world tilted.
Kaen collapsed to one knee, visions flooding his mind—wars that split the sky, empires falling into ash, and a crown of flame worn by a boy who looked just like him… but wasn't him.
"You…" the being spoke, voice deeper than mountains. "…bear the flame."
Kaen looked up. His voice was a whisper. "Who… are you?"
The being's eyes narrowed.
"I am the Hollow Crown. Last of the Flame Kings. First of the Unforgiven."
Kaen's heart slammed against his ribs. The legends spoke of the Flame Kings as myths—gods who once ruled with fire that could unmake creation.
"You are not ready," the being growled.
Kaen's fists shook. "Then help me—show me what I need to become!"
But the Hollow Crown only laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made the rocks vibrate.
"I am not here to teach. I am here to reclaim."
Kaen blinked. "Reclaim what?"
The being took a step forward. The ground wept magma.
"You."
And in that moment, Kaen realized the truth.
This w
asn't the final test.
This was the beginning of the war.
To be continued…