The ride back from Veylor was heavier than the road there. The crown’s iron chest clanked faintly with every step of the horses, its chained weight pressing down on more than saddlebags. It pressed on the riders’ spirits. None of them spoke, though each felt its silent thrum, like a heartbeat that did not belong to the living.By the time the fortress walls loomed out of the mist, dawn had already broken. Guards on the ramparts straightened as Elias, Helena, and Marcus approached. Word spread quickly—whispers of what they carried reached the council chamber before their boots even crossed the threshold.The chamber was full when they entered. Councilors stood restless, soldiers leaned against the walls, and even servants lingered near the doors, eager for news. The sight of the chained chest silenced the room.Elias set it upon the table with a heavy thud. “We found it.”The murmurs broke loose instantly. Some gasped, some cursed, some fell to their knees in half-superstitious fear. T

Even as his legions battered the gates, fires blossomed within the fortress. Supply stores erupted in flame. Wells soured with poison. Barracks collapsed in sudden explosions that left defenders screaming beneath rubble. And every time the council rushed to douse one crisis, another rose.Helena stormed into the war chamber, helm under her arm, smoke staining her armor. “It’s sabotage,” she snapped. “He has hands inside these walls.”Marcus slammed his fist on the map table. “I’ll find the traitors and gut them myself.”But his words rang hollow. Too many fires, too many whispers. The Shadowlord had planted more than spies—he had sown doubt itself.The fortress murmured with rumors.“Elias is no commander. He’s a pretender.”“He’s the Shadowlord’s kin—that’s why the enemy calls him by name.”“He hides the crown to claim it for himself.”Elias heard the whispers even as he walked the halls. Soldiers who had once saluted now averted their eyes. Some councilors avoided his gaze, mutterin

Elias stood among the ash and ruin, his sword blackened with soot. The crown’s shattered shards lay locked away in the vault, but their memory still clung to him like a phantom hand. He had refused its power. He had chosen his own will over the whisper of dominion.But the Shadowlord was not defeated.At dawn, a silence fell over the battlefield. No drums, no horns, no charge. The enemy army remained still as statues, their banners limp in the wind.It was too quiet.“Why do they wait?” Marcus muttered, pacing the wall. His armor was cracked, his knuckles raw from days of unbroken battle. “They could have crushed us last night. Why stop now?”Helena narrowed her eyes, her instincts prickling. “Because brute force didn’t break us. So now they’ll try something else.”And she was right.The first sign came with the sunrise.A soldier on the western wall screamed, slashing wildly at shadows only he could see. His comrades tried to restrain him, but he turned his blade on them, crying that

Every man and woman who survived Alaric’s betrayal stood on edge, weapons close at hand, eyes darting to every shadow. The silence outside the walls pressed heavier than battle. It was the silence of an enemy gathering, waiting, preparing.Elias stood on the highest tower, the night wind cold against his face. Below, fires dotted the horizon—thousands of them, spreading across the hills like a second sky fallen to earth. The Shadowlord had gathered his full strength.Helena climbed the stairs to join him, her armor dull with soot, her face drawn with exhaustion. She didn’t speak at first. They simply stood together, watching the endless army below.At last she whispered, “When they come, it will be the end.”Elias’s jaw tightened. “Then we make our end costly.”But Helena turned her gaze on him, her silver hair whipping in the wind. “No, Elias. Don’t play at riddles. The Shadowlord called you heir. What did he mean?”The question cut deeper than any blade.Elias said nothing.“Answer

The horns of the fortress groaned in the dead of night, low and mournful, rolling across the battlements like the wail of dying giants. Elias was the first on the wall. The air itself seemed heavier, pressed down by a tide of dread.He gazed outward. Torches dotted the horizon, not in scattered bands of raiders, but in one endless, unbroken sea of fire. The ground trembled beneath their march. From this distance, the army looked like a swarm of ants crawling across the earth—but as the glow grew nearer, details emerged.Faces.Men, women, even children. Farmers clutching sickles like swords. Former soldiers stripped of insignia. Eyes empty, devoid of will. Their steps moved in unnatural rhythm, each boot striking the dirt in perfect unison.“The March of Bound Souls,” Helena whispered at his side. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her blade until her knuckles blanched. “Gods help us.”Marcus cursed under his breath. “That’s no army. That’s… that’s everyone. Villages. Cities. They’r