Crown of withered thorns

Chapter 3: The marrow's first spark

The vault air was stagnant, smelling of old copper and dead men's dreams. I didn't have much time before Thalric’s shock wore off and his survival instinct kicked in. He’d send the entire Iron Guard to bury me here if it meant keeping his secrets.

I moved through the shadows of the Oakhaven treasury, bypassing piles of gold that could buy a kingdom. I didn't care about the gold. I needed the catalyst.

"Looking for this, brother?"

I didn't turn around. I knew the voice. It was Sir Kaelen, the Captain of the Vaults and Thalric’s most expensive lapdog. He stood by the central pedestal, tossing a small, glowing stone—the Ichor-Seed—into the air and catching it with a smug grin.

"Give it here, Kaelen," I said, my voice flat. "While you still have the hands to hold it."

"You’ve got a big mouth for a man who was just branded like a pig," Kaelen sneered, signaling the four guards flanking him. "Thalric said you’d come here. He said you’d try to steal the family legacy before you fled like the coward you are."

"Legacy?" I laughed, and the sound echoed off the obsidian walls. "This isn't a legacy. It’s a battery. And you’re too stupid to know how to plug it in."

"Kill him," Kaelen barked. "Slowly. I want to see if that 'Ghost-Step' works when your hamstrings are cut."

The first guard lunged, his halberd whistling toward my neck.

"Too slow," I whispered.

I didn't even draw a weapon. I stepped into his guard, the world slowing as the Warden’s instincts took over. I caught the shaft of the halberd with one hand and slammed my palm into his throat. The metal armor crumpled like parchment. He hit the floor, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

"One," I counted.

"Surround him!" Kaelen yelled, his bravado slipping. "He’s just one boy!"

"I'm the boy who died on that Stone of Penitence," I said, dodging a sword thrust by a hair’s breadth. I grabbed the second guard’s wrist and twisted. The bone snapped with a wet pop. "You're fighting what came back."

I blurred. To them, I was a smudge of gray in the torchlight. To me, they were statues. I disarmed the third guard, kicked the fourth into a stone pillar, and stood three inches from Kaelen before he could even level his spear.

"The seed," I said. "Now."

Kaelen’s face was a map of terror. "You... you’re a monster."

"I'm a Warden," I corrected. I flicked my finger against his forehead, a simple release of kinetic energy that sent him sprawling. The Ichor-Seed flew from his hand. I caught it mid-air.

I didn't wait. I slammed the seed into the brand on my chest.

"Siphon!"

The vault exploded in my vision. Not with light, but with feeling. Golden fire raced through my veins, screaming into my bone marrow. It wasn't just power; it was density. My bones were turning to tempered steel. My vision sharpened until I could see the microscopic cracks in the obsidian floor.

Stage One: Marrow Ascension.

I exhaled, a puff of golden mist escaping my lips. The guards were groaning on the floor, but they were the least of my concerns. The blood-lock on the main door was humming—not the low hum of a seal, but the high-pitched whine of a bypass.

"The backdoor," I muttered. "Someone else knows the sequence."

I scanned the room, my new senses screaming at me. There was a hidden compartment under the pedestal—a secondary fail-safe. I kicked the stone base, shattering the mechanism, and pulled out a leather-bound journal. The King’s seal was embossed in fading gold on the cover.

I flipped to the final pages. My eyes raced over the script.

"To my successor," it read. "Know that our throne is a lie. Oakhaven does not rule; Oakhaven serves. We are the breeders of high-quality blood. When the Sun-Lords descend, the strongest of us is not crowned—he is consumed. We are the tinder for their eternal flame. If you read this, the harvest is near."

"Cyprian?"

The voice was weak, trembling. I looked up. Thalric was standing at the vault entrance, his face pale, his royal robes torn. Behind him, the corridor was littered with the bodies of his own guards.

"You found it," Thalric whispered, staring at the journal in my hand. "The truth."

"You knew?" I demanded, stepping over Kaelen’s unconscious body. "You knew we were just cattle for the Sun-Lords, and you still tried to take the throne? You fought me for the right to be a sacrifice?"

Thalric gave a hysterical, jagged laugh. "I thought if I was King, I could bargain! I thought I could give them you instead of me! That’s why I branded you! I was marking the meat for the slaughterhouse!"

I felt a cold rage settle in my chest—not the hot rage of a boy, but the glacial, focused fury of a man who had seen worlds end. I walked toward him, the golden glow of my marrow pulsing beneath my skin.

"You’re a pathetic excuse for a brother," I said. "But you’re an even worse King."

"It doesn't matter now!" Thalric shrieked, pointing a shaking finger toward the ceiling. "Do you hear that? The bells? They aren't ringing for your escape, Cyprian. They're ringing because the sky is turning gold!"

I listened. The rhythmic tolling was heavy, vibrating the very foundations of the vault.

"The Sun-Lords," I whispered.

"They're here for the harvest," Thalric whimpered, collapsing to his knees. "And they don't want the weak one anymore. They felt you, Cyprian. They felt the Ichor-Seed ignite. They felt the Warden."

The vault door didn't just close; it fused shut. The obsidian turned white-hot, sealing us in a tomb of boiling stone.

"What are you doing?" Thalric screamed as I turned back to the center of the room.

"I'm reading the rest of the journal," I said, my voice steady despite the rising heat. "Because if I'm the sacrifice, I'm going to make sure I'm the one that burns the temple down."

I flipped the page. The last entry wasn't text. It was a map. A map to the Crown of Withered Thorns—and a warning that the Sun-Lords weren't gods. They were parasites.

"Thalric," I said, looking at the fused door. "I hope you like the heat. Because it’s about to get much, much worse."

The floor beneath us began to liquefy, and a voice—a thousand voices speaking in unison—echoed through the stone:

"BRING US THE ASCENDED MARROW."

The ground gave way. We weren't falling into a cellar. We were falling into the maw of something that hadn't been fed in a thousand years.