Chapter 93: The Crown of Thorns

The instant Serena sat on the obsidian throne, the mountain shuddered.

A pulse rippled outward, slamming into the walls of the cavern. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor. Dust fell from the high ceiling, and far above, the sky split open with a low, ancient growl—half wind, half warning.

Serena’s eyes snapped shut as magic poured into her chest like a flood. It was fire, wind, earth, water—every element compressed into a single surge of unrelenting power. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart stuttered.

Then she felt it.

The throne was alive.

Not sentient, not exactly—but forged with magic so old and feral it bore the memory of the First Queens. Their regrets. Their triumphs. Their blood.

It wasn’t welcoming her.

It was judging her.

"Serena!" Elias’s voice echoed distantly, as if through water. He started to run up the steps, but a wall of light erupted between them, throwing him back. He hit the floor with a grunt, Theron catching him before he fell off the edge of the platform.

She couldn’t move.

Her hands gripped the armrests—slick with something warm. When she looked down, she realized it was blood. Not hers. Not new.

The throne remembered every life taken in its name.

Then came the voices.

Thousands of whispers. Queens. Kings. Betrayers. Martyrs. Each one speaking at once, their chorus like thunder.

“Why you?” “Too soft.” “Too late.” “Too dangerous.”

"Unworthy."

Serena’s breath hitched.

She gritted her teeth. “Shut up.”

The voices hissed.

“You are no ruler.”

She closed her eyes. “I never wanted to rule.”

The air tightened around her. The throne seemed to resist her presence, pulsing violently beneath her. The mountain was testing her claim. It wasn’t enough to sit—it needed her soul.

And it was trying to break her.

But Serena had not come this far to beg.

She had burned. She had bled. She had lost.

And she had chosen herself.

Serena’s hands flared with light. Her mother’s blade floated from her back and hovered in front of her, spinning slowly. Its hum matched the pulse of the throne. The voices snarled—but faltered.

“I'm not here to repeat your mistakes,” Serena said, louder now, voice steady. “I’m here to end them.”

Her words echoed across the throne room like a war cry.

A second pulse shook the mountain—but this time, it didn’t throw her off balance.

This time, it bowed.

The throne’s magic slammed into her one final time—ruthless and unfiltered. Her spine arched as visions assaulted her: the founding of the mountain court, the coronation of the first queen, the wars, the betrayals, the fires.

And at the center of it all—Serena, standing at the crossroads of history.

When she opened her eyes, they glowed white.

The throne stopped pulsing.

Silence.

And then—

She is chosen.

The words weren’t spoken. They were declared.

Far above, the ceiling of the cavern shattered. Starlight poured in, golden and blinding. The stone walls illuminated ancient glyphs that had been dormant for centuries. The mountain, it seemed, had not only judged Serena—but accepted her.

The wall of light vanished.

Elias ran up the steps and fell to his knees before her, eyes wide with shock and awe.

Theron followed, slower but steady, sword drawn in case something else came for her.

But nothing did.

Because it was done.

She was the mountain queen now.

“Does it feel different?” Elias asked softly.

They stood together on the ledge just outside the throne room, watching clouds swirl below them like a sea.

Serena didn’t answer immediately. Her hair blew in the wind, and though she still wore the scars of battle, there was something new in her aura now.

Stillness.

Power.

“Yes,” she finally said. “It feels… heavier.”

He took her hand. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

A pause.

Then she looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“I never wanted the crown,” she said. “I wanted freedom. And somehow, they’re the same now.”

Elias nodded, squeezing her fingers. “And now?”

“I want to rebuild what was destroyed.”

She looked toward the valley below, where Kael’s forces had begun to retreat days ago. Where cities still burned. Where her people waited—without knowing if they’d lost their queen or gained a tyrant.

Theron joined them, brushing dust off his armor, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’ve got maybe a week before the rest of the realm starts sending emissaries to beg, flatter, or threaten you,” he said. “Maybe less.”

Serena arched a brow. “Let them come.”

“Damn right,” he said. Then his smirk faded slightly. “But you know Kael isn’t done.”

She turned. “He’ll come to the mountain next.”

“Or try to burn it down,” Elias added grimly.

Serena stepped forward, her gaze fierce. “Then we give him a reason to run.”

Down in the lower valleys, Kael stood before a mirror carved from obsidian.

He watched Serena ascend the throne with narrowed eyes.

The magic in the mountain had shifted. The heartbeat of the realm had changed—and it no longer pulsed for him.

He clenched his jaw.

“The mountain bends to her,” the sorceress beside him said, her voice trembling. “She is the chosen queen.”

Kael’s eyes didn’t move from the mirror. “Then we break the mountain.”

He turned to the shadows behind him.

“Send for the Leviathan. If the throne will not yield, we will drown it.”

The room fell silent.

The final war had begun.