Chapter 80

Smoke bled into the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of crimson and black. From the high tower of Dawnspire, Serenya Vale looked down upon a kingdom trembling on its knees. Armies gathered at the fractured walls, banners of rival houses snapping violently in the wind. Allies had become enemies overnight, and whispers carried across the city like sparks in a storm: Who would claim the crown now?

Inside the citadel, the vault doors stood wide open. The crown of Astralis gleamed on its pedestal—silver and obsidian entwined, glowing faintly as though it drew breath. Every heartbeat seemed to echo its call, seductive and absolute.

Serenya’s palms were damp as she stood at the threshold, Kaelen still reeling in the shadows behind her. He had fallen to one knee after their confrontation, his shadowmark burning like molten iron across his chest. His eyes flickered between clarity and something darker, something hungry.

“Do you see it?” he rasped, his voice raw with both awe and torment. “It waits for you. Take it, Serenya… or all of this death has no meaning.”

She wanted to reach for him, to drag him back from the brink, but her gaze could not tear away from the crown. It pulsed like a heart, each throb whispering of dominion. With it, she could unify the splintered kingdoms in days instead of years. She could end bloodshed with a single command. She could bring peace—her peace—at last.

But peace purchased with chains was nothing more than gilded tyranny.

“Eloria is already moving her army toward the gates,” Darian Crestfall said, storming into the vault chamber, helm under one arm. His hair clung damp with sweat, his armor cracked but still defiant. “If you claim the crown now, you’ll have the power to crush her before she ever sets foot inside Dawnspire. But if you hesitate—”

“She’ll take it herself,” Serenya finished, her voice trembling.

Darian stepped closer, urgency burning in his eyes. “This is your reckoning. Not hers, not Kaelen’s. Yours. The crown will bend to the one who chooses it without fear.”

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, the chamber filled with the echo of boots. Eloria Thorne entered like a blade sliding free of its sheath—elegant, dangerous, her torn gown trailing ash. Her soldiers fanned out behind her, spears raised.

“So this is where destiny sings,” Eloria said, her eyes glittering as they fell upon the crown. “And how fitting that my dear sister guards it, torn between love and duty like a child clutching a toy she cannot keep.”

Serenya’s chest tightened. “This crown will not heal what we’ve lost. It will only poison what remains.”

Eloria laughed, bitter and sharp. “Spoken like someone afraid to wield it. Power does not poison—it clarifies. With it, I will burn away the rot, and those who resist will kneel or die. That is the only way to build a kingdom that endures.”

Kaelen staggered forward, his expression a storm. “She’s wrong,” he hissed. “But so are you, Serenya, if you believe you can resist it forever. The crown will not wait for indecision. Choose—or it will choose for you.”

The chamber vibrated, the crown’s glow intensifying until shadows danced wildly against the walls. The air grew thick, heavy with an invisible weight that pressed against their bones.

Serenya felt it tugging at her veins, whispering promises of glory, safety, Kaelen’s salvation.

“Serenya,” Darian said, his voice softer now. “I swore my sword to you, not to the crown. If you choose against it, I will follow you still. But you must stand, here and now. Show them that a queen does not need a cursed relic to rule.”

The words splintered her heart. Darian’s faith was a torch, Kaelen’s torment a chain, Eloria’s hunger a mirror of what she could become.

For a heartbeat, she almost stepped forward—her hand half-raised to seize the crown.

But a scream tore through the chamber before she could touch it.

Lyra Esthaven stumbled in, armor cracked, blood streaking her face. “The walls won’t hold!” she cried. “Thalric’s men have breached the southern gate. If the crown isn’t claimed now, there will be nothing left to rule!”

Chaos broke like a storm. Eloria lunged toward the pedestal, her soldiers surging behind her. Darian drew his sword, clashing steel with their spears. Kaelen gritted his teeth, shadows writhing around his arms as though begging to be unleashed.

Serenya’s heart thundered. Every instinct screamed at her to act—now.

But instead of rushing to the crown, she spun toward Kaelen. “Fight it,” she pleaded, grasping his face between her hands. “Not for me, not for the crown—for yourself. Remember who you are.”

His eyes flickered, shadow against light. For a moment, she thought he was lost—but then he seized her wrist, voice breaking. “If you fall, I fall. Don’t make me watch you drown in it.”

Behind them, Eloria’s fingers brushed the crown.

“No!” Serenya’s cry split the chamber. She shoved Kaelen aside and leapt forward, colliding with Eloria. Both sisters crashed into the pedestal, the crown tumbling to the floor with a thunderous clang.

The room froze.

The crown spun in a slow circle on the marble floor, its glow flickering like a dying star before flaring brighter than ever. A surge of energy erupted outward, flinging soldiers and stone alike.

When the light cleared, Serenya and Eloria were on opposite sides of the chamber—both breathing hard, both staring at the crown that now hovered above the pedestal, floating as though suspended between them.

“It has chosen neither of you,” Maelis Rowan’s voice echoed from the doorway. The seer, pale and trembling, had arrived at last, her staff barely holding her upright. “The crown does not serve hesitation… nor hunger. It waits for sacrifice.”

Her words dropped like stones into the silence.

“What sacrifice?” Serenya demanded, chest heaving.

Maelis’s eyes burned with sorrow. “The crown demands what you love most. To wear it, you must lose it.”

Every gaze in the chamber shifted to Kaelen, shadows curling around him like a noose. His jaw tightened, as though he already knew.

Eloria’s lips curled in triumph. “Then you are doomed, sister. For you cannot bear to let him go.”

Serenya’s pulse roared in her ears. The crown pulsed again, hungering. And in that instant, she realized her reckoning was not merely about power. It was about the cost of love, the price of freedom.

Her choice would either shatter her heart—or shatter the kingdom.

And with that knowledge, the chapter ended, the crown’s glow bathing them all in merciless light as destiny demanded its due.