All Chapters of Throne of the Nameless. : Chapter 181
- Chapter 190
198 chapters
Chapter 181. Hunger of the Hollow Sun.
The city of Kyraleth never slept. Even when its streets grew quiet and the echoes of voices faded, its shadows moved as though alive. Rhok walked them without hurry, without fear, though his body still ached from the forbidden chamber. His limbs carried a heaviness, not from wounds, but from something deeper, an exhaustion in the marrow, as though the gods themselves had drained him.He didn’t know why he lingered here. He should have left already, vanished into the wastes where the Church’s eyes could not follow. But curiosity clung to him. Kyraleth was a city of forgotten gods, and he wanted to see how deep that rot went.It didn’t take long before he found them, the worshippers.In a half collapsed square, lit only by cracked braziers filled with tar, men and women stood bare to the waist. Their skin was scored with burns, fresh and raw, bandaged poorly. One by one, they pressed heated irons to their flesh, then smeared the seared skin into the flames. Their voices rose in low chan
Chapter 182. The Name Buried in Shadows.
Rhok lay in the dark with nothing but the cold stone beneath him. Sleep didn’t come often anymore, not the way it used to when he was human. It came in fragments, heavy but restless, like being dragged into a pit he never wanted to enter. Tonight, that pit opened wide.At first it was peaceful. He found himself standing in a forest under pale sunlight. The air was warm, full of green smells, moss, pine, damp soil. He hadn’t seen sunlight like that in so long it made his chest ache. His armor was gone. He wore his old traveling gear, scuffed boots, torn cloak, the ones he had when he first joined the guild.For a moment, he almost smiled.Then he heard laughter, familiar laughter. He turned and there they were... Liora, Dian, and Eryn. His old companions. Liora was leaning on her staff, teasing Eryn for missing a shot with her bow. Dian was sharpening his blade, shaking his head with that patient, tired smile he always had when the others argued.It was like stepping back years. His he
Chapter 183. The Queen’s Gamble.
The queen’s summons came without ceremony this time. No guards lined the path, no banners hung, no courtly procession preceded it. A single messenger entered the chamber where Rhok was quartered and delivered the command with a bow so shallow it was nearly insulting.“Her Majesty requests your presence... alone.”The word alone lingered like ash in the air.Rhok rose without hesitation, brushing the dust of sleep from his shoulders. His eyes burned faintly in the candlelight, not with exhaustion, but with a quiet fire that had been smoldering ever since the Singers had marched through the streets, crying for his death. The people saw him as a harbinger now of ruin, of death, of the breaking of their fragile peace. And he… well, he hadn’t exactly denied it.The palace corridors stretched long and empty as he walked. His bare footsteps echoed against marble, the sound sharp in the silence. No courtiers whispered, no servants dared to glance at him. It was as if the entire city held its
Chapter 184. Chains of the Drowned Star.
The night in Kyraleth was always a strange thing. The horizon never really darkened, shadows simply pressed thicker into the cracks of the drowned ruins, and the sea seemed to breathe with a low groan that rattled through the broken stone towers. Rhok had made his camp near the jagged ribs of a collapsed bridge, its stone arches sticking out of the black water like the spine of some dead leviathan.He sat alone, fireless, staring at the water as it lapped quietly against the ruins. His hands rested on his knees, and his mind wandered restlessly. The Hollow Sun’s whispers had not left him, and though he told himself that he had no business with forgotten gods, the echo of that strange voice lingered.He should have known better than to let his guard slip.The first sound was not steel, nor footsteps, but the chanting... low, guttural, and so perfectly in rhythm with the waves that it might have been mistaken for the sea itself. His head lifted slowly, his eyes narrowing. Then the water
Chapter 185. The Price of Salvation.
The morning after the storm of blood and whispers, the city felt like it was holding its breath. The broken walls were patched with boards and prayers, and the sky above Namarast still carried the shadow of the Drowned Star. People whispered of it like a curse, like a thing that would not leave them alone as long as he was here.And that “he” was Rhok.The boy sat alone on the steps of a ruined shrine, staring at his hands as if answers might crawl out of his skin. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. His thoughts were only an echo, circling the same question again and again: Was he meant to live? Or was his life just a curse stretched thin across everyone who dared to care for him?He didn’t have time to decide.Because Veyra came.Her presence was not soft like a friend’s should be. She moved like a storm wrapped in human skin, her cloak snapping behind her as she crossed the empty square. Her boots cracked the stone with every step. The moment Rhok lifted his eyes to her, he knew this
Chapter 186. The Festival of Masks.
The days that followed his clash with Veyra were not quiet, though on the surface they seemed so. Rhok spent them in silence, hidden among the narrow streets of the city, trying to grasp at the strange threads of Divine energy that still lingered in his body. It was like touching a flame that refused to burn him, and yet each time he reached deeper, it recoiled, slippery and wild, as if mocking his lack of mastery. Still, something had shifted. He felt it in his bones. His instincts had begun to recognize patterns he couldn’t name, whispers in the air that spoke of laws older than steel and fire.And then came the Festival of Masks.He hadn’t planned to go. He never cared for crowds or noise, and even less now, when every eye could be the Church’s, and every shadow could hide an assassin. But the festival was not something one could avoid... not in this city.For one night, all faces were hidden. Men, women, children, even the elders, they wore masks carved in the likeness of ancestor
Chapter 187. The Voice of Emek.
Far from the fortress that Rhok rested within, in a fortress built upon pillars of bone and black stone, Emek stirred. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly in the darkness of her sanctum, a chamber without windows, where the ceiling was lost to shadows and the walls pulsed faintly like the inside of a living creature. She had been meditating in silence, listening to the countless whispers of the souls bound to her dominion. And then, suddenly, like a knife cutting through silk... something shifted.The brand she had placed upon Rhok vanished.Her eyes opened fully, the glow flaring into something violent. That mark had not been hers to forge, not entirely. Branding was no mortal trick, no curse woven by a mere sorcerer. It was divine, bestowed only upon those chosen by gods themselves. For centuries, she had believed it to be unbreakable. Eternal.And yet, Rhok had survived it.Emek rose slowly from her throne, the chains of her long robes scraping against the stone. Each sound was sharp i
Chapter 188. Hollow Dreams.
The days that followed were slow, like the dragging of chains across stone. Rhok spent them in quiet isolation, hidden away in the undercroft chamber of Kyraleth. His body healed faster than it had any right to, though it was not without pain. His skin still bore faint lines of seared flesh where Emek’s divine brand had once carved its curse into him. Even now, though the mark had faded, he sometimes felt it itch beneath the surface, like fire trying to claw its way back to life.But the most important thing wasn’t the healing of his body. It was the sharpening of his mind.The branded scar had done something to him, it left him with a new sensitivity, a resonance with the divine energy he had only brushed against before. Where once he fumbled blindly, now he could feel the threads of energy that moved within the world: the hum of life in the stones, the pressure of the air, the pulse of shadows themselves.He sat for hours in silence, cross legged, drawing the smallest fragments of t
Chapter 189. Veyra’s Choice.
The temple hall was lit by oil lamps, their flames quivering like nervous hearts. Stone pillars rose high into the darkness above, etched with prayers that had been whispered for centuries. Tonight, those prayers sounded hollow to Veyra. The voices of her sisters and brothers in faith echoed around her, sharp and accusing.“You walk too closely with him,” one priest hissed. His robes swayed as he pointed a trembling finger, as if Rhok’s shadow clung to Veyra like a stain.“You carry the stink of heresy,” another added. “Do you think the Nameless One will forgive you for aligning yourself with that… monster?”Veyra stood in the middle of them, her jaw tight, her hands pressed together to stop them from shaking. Her whole life had been here, the chants, the rituals, the endless search for purity. She had risen higher than most, chosen as a priestess when she was still young. And yet, standing here now, she felt nothing but suffocation.“You don’t understand him,” Veyra finally said, her
Chapter 190. The Road of Silent Stones.
The city had grown restless. The longer Rhok remained in Kyraleth, the more the air thickened with suspicion. It wasn’t spoken aloud but no one dared, but it was everywhere. In the way guards stiffened when they saw him pass. In the way servants carried trays a little too quickly, heads bowed but eyes darting. Even the common folk who had once marveled at his presence now crossed the street when his shadow fell near them.The queen herself was no different. Though she masked it with her regal grace, there was hesitation in her eyes whenever she looked at him. A quiet question sat on her tongue, but she swallowed it every time. Rhok didn’t need to hear it. He knew what weighed on her heart: When will you leave?He didn’t blame her. He was a storm in a house of glass. His presence brought unease, fear, and the silent threat of disaster. The longer he stayed, the more it felt like he was suffocating the city itself.So he made the decision himself.That evening, as dusk burned the horizo