A Throne Of Ruin の小説・ストーリー

In one hand, she held a talon—blackened and cracked, the last remnant of the Kilimane warlord she had slain. She smiled. “Pitiful,” she whispered, echoing the word her kind loved so much. “He thought his roar could rival mine.” The talon crumbled to ash between her fingers, vanishing into a curl of flame before it ever kissed the floor. She raised her hand, unhurried, and rested it on the arm of her throne. The legendary Throne of Flames. Gold hissed beneath her touch yet never burned her.

And I understand something that chills me more than the ash still falling from the ceiling… From this moment on, when they look at me, they will not see power. They will not see a queen. They will see ruin. And in this pack… Ruin does not survive.

"I wanted us to be free! I wanted us to go home!" "This *is* home, Kaima," Selene laughed, a sound like glass grinding on stone. She gestured to the ruins around us. "This is the world the Alphas built with their wars. This is the world the Council built with their greed. This is the world the Aethel-Group built with their logic. I am just the one who has come to rule the wreckage." --- ### The King of the Ruins

I looked toward the open warehouse doors, where daylight spilled across the concrete floor. "Now I find out why a father declared war on his own daughter. And if Raj Varma has another reason..." I thought of Drisana sleeping upstairs, bruised and unaware that the greatest betrayal of her life wore her own surname. "...he'd better pray it's good enough." Without another word, I walked out of the warehouse. This wasn't over. It had only just begun.

Then suddenly— the Third Crown pulsed violently. Warning. Danger. Immediately. Thomas turned. Then froze. Because standing on a nearby rooftop— watching them— was the Keeper of Ruin. Smiling. The shadow shouldn't have been here. The trial never invited him. Yet somehow— he had entered anyway. And that meant the Bastion wasn't as secure as everyone believed. The Keeper raised one hand. Then whispered: "The throne is waking." The words sent chills down Thomas's spine. Then the shadow disappeared. Gone.

And in the center of that emptiness, there was a single structure—a throne. The throne was a monument to failure. Made of cracked and weathered obsidian, it was the skeletal frame of a once-grand seat of power. From its fissures, black shadows dripped endlessly like obsidian tears, pooling at its base into a puddle of darkness. "This throne..." Rayden realized with a quiet horror, "...is me?"

--- **The Third Prophecy – The Sovereign Reckoning** > *When the hell rifts scream open and the false light of fanatics blinds the world, the Raven Queen must choose. She may raise an army of the dead to end all wars… or she may lay down her power and let the living decide their fate. Only one path leads to true sovereignty. The other leads to eternal night.* > *Beware the one who wears the crown of thorns but serves only ash. The Lunarch’s fire will consume all if left unchecked.* ---

“No—no, no—Erevan—something’s wrong—something’s wrong—” He grabbed her hands, forcing their palms together. His shadows wrapped around their skin, trying to anchor her—but they slipped through her light like water through fingers. Her heart hammered painfully. “Erevan—help me—my light—my magic—it’s—” He pulled her against him, voice raw with terror. “It’s not you,” he said fiercely. “It’s the throne.” Aria’s vision blurred. Her light continued unraveling. Thread by thread. Erevan looked up at the throne—voice cracking with rage.

Adrian flinched. “He was going to betray The circle he founded and the empire he and your father built.” Adrian watched on as the words slithered out. His mind still conflicted. “You sure aren’t sympathizing with her, when she's as much threat as her father?” The man continued. “She’s not part of this.” Adrian said. Ronald leaned forward. “Everything is part of this.” His voice bounced off the walls of the room. “Step back.” Adrian didn’t move, neither did he answer. Ronald’s expression slightly hardened.

Dust puffed up around him in a cloud. Draevon's finger stayed pressed against his chest. Pinning him there. Holding him down. Malgron tried to get up. His muscles bulged. His claws scraped against the stone, leaving deep grooves. His beast roared inside him, demanding freedom, demanding blood. But he could not move. He could not even lift his head. That single finger was heavier than any mountain. He was trapped. The throne room was destroyed. Pillars toppled. Walls crumbled. Windows shattered. The ceiling sagged and cracked and dust fell like snow. It looked like a giant had come through and stomped on everything. It looked like the end of the world.