Crown of withered thorns

Chapter 6: The iron weald's shadow

The violet light of the Judgment Eye seared the air behind us, turning ancient oaks into pillars of white salt. The smell of ozone was thick enough to choke on.

"Keep your head down!" I yelled over the roar of the divine scan. "Don't look at the light! If it catches your reflection in your eyes, it’ll track your soul!"

"We can't outrun it, Cyprian!" Elowen screamed, her breath hitching as a beam of violet fire obliterated a boulder five feet to our left. "It's covering the whole forest!"

"I’m not trying to outrun it. I’m trying to go where it’s blind."

I grabbed her arm and veered sharply toward a ravine choked with gray, metallic-looking moss. My memories of the future—the thousand-year maps etched into my spirit—screamed at me. *Thirty paces north. The cracked monolith. The Grave of the Ancients.*

"There!" I pointed to a half-buried slab of stone. "Inside, now!"

We slid into a narrow crevice beneath the monolith. The air inside was instantly different—cold, silent, and smelling of heavy iron and stagnant power. We were standing in a tomb, a hollowed-out chamber where a warrior of the First Age had fallen. In the center of the room sat a pool of liquid gold, shimmering with a dull, heavy light.

"Pure Ichor," I whispered.

"Is this what’s in your veins?" Elowen asked, staring at the pool.

"A crude version," I said. "This is the real thing. It’s a dead zone for the Empyrean. The residual power here creates a static field. They can't see through it."

I turned to her, my expression grim. "But the Eye isn't the only thing out there. Elowen, I need you to focus. Close your eyes. That Witch-Sight of yours? I need you to spread it. Wrap your intent around this cave like a blanket. Mask our heat. Mask our scent."

"I don't know how!"

"The hell you don't," I snapped, stepping into her space. "You've been hiding from your own shadows for years. Stop running from them and use them. If you don't, we’re both ash by morning."

She trembled, then closed her eyes tight. A faint, silver mist began to roll off her skin, mingling with the golden vapor of the tomb. The air grew heavy, dampening the sound of the destruction outside.

"Good," I muttered.

I turned toward the exit, my senses on high alert. The humming of the Judgment Eye had stopped, replaced by something much worse: the rhythmic clank of armored boots on stone.

I crept to the lip of the crevice. My blood went cold.

Descending into the ravine were three figures clad in armor that looked like it was forged from solidified clouds. They carried spears tipped with sun-shards. They didn't walk; they hovered inches above the ground, their movements fluid and terrifyingly precise.

"Wingless Seraphs," I hissed.

"Are those... gods?" Elowen whispered from the shadows.

"Scouts. Soldiers of the Empyrean," I said, my hand tightening on the hilt of the dagger I’d taken. "But they shouldn't be here. Not for another three years. The timeline is breaking. My return... it's like a stone thrown into a still pond. The ripples are reaching the Sun-Lords too fast."

The lead Seraph stopped. He turned his helmeted head toward our monolith. His visor was a flat pane of glowing gold.

"A glitch," the Seraph spoke, his voice sounding like two tectonic plates grinding together. "The scan detected a marrow-pulse. The harvest is corrupted."

"Stay here," I told Elowen. "Whatever happens, don't stop the veil."

"Cyprian, no!"

I didn't listen. I used the *Ghost-Step*, but this time I pushed it further, fueled by the proximity of the Ichor pool. I didn't just blur; I flickered out of existence for a microsecond.

I appeared behind the trailing Seraph. I didn't go for the armor—I went for the seal at the back of his neck.

Thuck.

The dagger sank in. The Seraph didn't bleed; he leaked white light. He collapsed into a pile of empty armor before he could even let out a sound.

"Intruder!" the lead scout roared, spinning his spear. The tip ignited, turning the ravine into a furnace. "You dare touch the divine?"

"Divine?" I mocked, sliding under a sweep of his spear that melted the stone wall behind me. "You're just a battery in a fancy suit. And I'm the one who’s going to drain you."

I lunged. He was faster than any human, but I was a Warden. I didn't fight his strength; I fought his rhythm. I parried a thrust with my bare hand, the golden marrow in my palm absorbing the heat, and drove my elbow into his visor.

The gold glass shattered. Beneath it was a face of shifting, faceless light.

"The Sun-Lords will know," the Seraph rasped, his form beginning to destabilize. "They will see the glitch. They will come for the Crown of Withered Thorns themselves."

"Let them come," I said.

I grabbed the spear from his hand and drove it through his chest. The energy backflow was violent. An explosion of white light threw me back into the cavern, slamming me against the Ichor pool.

I coughed, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. Outside, the remaining Seraph had vanished—likely retreating to report back to the Empyrean.

Elowen ran to me, her veil flickering out. "You're hurt! Why would you do that? You could have stayed hidden!"

I looked at my hands. They were shaking, the golden light beneath my skin flickering like a dying lamp.

"Because they needed to know," I said, looking up at the violet sky as the Judgment Eye began to fade, leaving a jagged, permanent scar in the clouds. "They think they're hunting a boy. I need them to realize they're fighting a war."

I looked at the Ichor pool. The liquid was beginning to swirl, forming a shape—the faint, shimmering outline of a crown made of dead, jagged briars.

"The system has a glitch now," I whispered, the cliffhanger of my own making settling over us. "And that glitch just started fighting back."