Chapter 92: The Path of Bone and Flame

The mountain loomed like a god carved from nightmare.

Serena stared up at it, the weight of history pressing down like invisible chains. The statues of monarchs past leered from their stone faces, their eyes hollow and accusing. Each one had ruled with fire, blood, or madness. Some all three.

The path ahead was narrow and steep, carved through jagged ridges with bones embedded in the stone. Not metaphorical bones—real ones. Skulls, femurs, spines fused into the mountain's walls as if the mountain fed on its victims and wore their remains as trophies.

"Well," Theron muttered, stepping beside her, "this is cozy."

Elias stood on her other side, silent but visibly tense, his eyes scanning the surrounding terrain like a predator waiting to strike. The wind carried with it the scent of decay and ash. The silence had returned—but this time, it didn’t feel like calm.

It felt like a trap.

“Do we go up?” Serena asked.

Theron nodded grimly. “There’s no other way.”

Elias’s voice was steady. “Stay between us.”

They began the ascent, the silence growing more suffocating with every step. The wind didn’t whistle here—it moaned, like the mountain itself breathed out regret.

After half an hour of climbing, the path forked into two—one shrouded in a red mist, the other wreathed in icy fog.

Theron squinted. “A trial.”

“Of course,” Serena whispered. “It wouldn’t be a cursed mountain without one.”

Elias stepped forward, looking down both paths.

“We separate here,” he said, voice low.

“No.” Serena turned sharply. “We’re not splitting up.”

Theron gave her a crooked smile. “You have to, Serena. That’s the point. This isn’t a trap for your body—it’s a trap for your heart. This mountain doesn’t just test your power, remember? It tests your soul.”

She looked at them both, her pulse hammering.

“But—”

Elias stepped forward and pressed something into her hand—a silver pendant with a sun and moon entwined. His family crest. Her fingers closed over it instinctively.

“You’ll find us again,” he said gently.

Theron leaned in, his forehead briefly brushing hers. “Make it count.”

She swallowed hard and turned to the red path—the one that pulsed like veins of blood glowing in the rock.

Without looking back, Serena stepped into it.

The heat was immediate.

The path narrowed, the stones beneath her feet burning even through her boots. The mist curled around her like fingers, whispering things she couldn’t quite hear. The deeper she walked, the more real the whispers became.

Weak. Impostor. Pretender.

She pushed forward.

The red mist thickened, and suddenly she wasn’t on the mountain anymore.

She stood in the Obsidian Court, blood soaking the marble floor. Her crown was gone. Her hands were tied behind her back.

Before her, Kael stood with his blade to Elias’s throat.

“Choose,” Kael snarled. “Your throne, or your lover.”

Serena screamed—but no sound came.

Elias met her eyes. “Do it. Save them.”

She lunged forward—

—and fell through fire.

When she landed, she was back on the path.

Breath ragged.

Hands trembling.

The illusion had shaken something in her bones, but she kept walking.

Farther and farther, until she emerged into a clearing cut from lava-stone. A pedestal stood in the center, and floating above it—glowing, humming, pulsing—was a blade.

Her mother’s.

She knew it instantly.

The sword of the lost queen.

Etched into its surface was the phrase: Burn, or be burned.

Serena stepped forward, reaching out.

When her fingers wrapped around the hilt, the world exploded.

Fire ripped through her veins—not pain, exactly, but memory. She saw her mother, cloaked in gold, holding the same blade. She saw the betrayal, the fall of the court, the death of everything they loved.

Then her mother’s voice, whispering through the fire:

"You are more than our mistakes, Serena. But only if you face them".

The fire died out.

And Serena stood, breathless, sword in hand.

The blade pulsed once—then dimmed, falling silent.

A path opened behind her, new and hidden, leading back to the mountain’s main ridge.

She didn’t hesitate.

Theron’s path was different.

No fire, no mist. Just darkness.

He walked through a tunnel that seemed to bend and twist like a living creature, whispering every dark thing he’d buried over the years.

You were born to destroy, not protect.

She’ll never love you like she loves him.

You’re a weapon, not a man.

But Theron didn’t flinch.

He walked straight into the shadows, teeth gritted, fists clenched. He didn’t need the mountain to remind him of his darkness. He’d made peace with it a long time ago.

At the tunnel’s heart, he found a mirror.

Not a normal one. This one shimmered with blood.

When he stepped in front of it, his reflection shifted.

He saw himself—crowned, seated on the throne, Serena kneeling at his feet. Power pouring from his hands like molten gold. Cities burning in his wake. Kael lying dead at his feet.

He blinked.

In the vision, Serena looked up at him—and her eyes were empty.

Theron stepped back, shaking his head.

“No,” he growled. “That’s not who I want to be.”

He raised his sword—and shattered the mirror.

As the shards fell, so did the illusion.

He was alone again.

The path ahead opened.

And he walked forward, bloodied but unbroken.

Elias faced the cold.

The fog on his path was biting, frost forming on his skin, his lungs burning with every breath. But he didn’t falter.

He knew this was about control. About restraint. About holding too tightly to things that needed to breathe.

He heard his brother’s voice in the fog.

Then his mother’s.

Then Serena’s—soft, pleading, scared.

All voices he’d tried to protect.

But the lesson of the path was simple:

"You can’t protect what you don’t trust to grow".

In the heart of the fog, he found a stone basin filled with ice.

Inside it—his wolf.

Caged. Frozen. Eyes wild with pain.

Elias stared at it, then stepped forward.

He placed both hands on the ice and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Then he let go.

The ice cracked.

The wolf lunged out—and melted into him.

Power surged through his bones, his chest, his heart.

And Elias stood taller, stronger. Ready.

The mist faded.

He followed the path back.

Hours later, they met again—where the three paths converged.

Serena stood, her mother’s blade slung across her back.

Theron looked like he’d walked through hell and won.

Elias’s eyes glowed with an inner light.

They looked at each other.

No words needed.

The gate loomed before them—ancient, covered in vines and gold, with symbols that shimmered as Serena approached. Her magic responded, humming through her skin.

The gate creaked open.

And the throne room lay beyond.

A vast cavern of stone and starlight.

At the center sat the throne.

Carved from obsidian and crystal, pulsing with magic so ancient it nearly drove her to her knees.

Serena stepped forward.

Elias touched her hand. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” she whispered. “It’s time.”

She ascended the steps.

Every nerve screamed. Every instinct warned her to stop.

But she didn’t.

She sat.

And the mountain roared.