Novel & Cerita Chaol Throne Of Glass

Mom chuckled and gave him a flying kiss. "Geez, I don't wanna see you guys flirt anymore. I am done. Goodnight dear folks." They wished me back as I went upstairs in my room. Taking a shower, I sat down at my bed. My gaze fell over the book kept on the table. Right, I should start with the assignment. "Myth of The Broken Throne". I mumbled opening the book. The pages were yellowish, a little tattered on the corners, clearing showing how old it was. Nonetheless, the classic vibes were all I needed to jump into the story.

Eryx wiped blood from his mouth, but his eyes gleamed with pride. They moved forward again, steps heavy but resolute. And as they walked deeper, the mist thinned just enough to reveal a door of obsidian, etched with a single line of glowing script: The stolen ending must be returned. Mia reached out. The pendant pulsed once more, and the door shuddered open. Beyond it lay a chamber lit by violet fire—and within it, a throne that had been waiting centuries for someone to claim it. The door groaned as it opened, stone grinding against stone, dust drifting down in a thin veil. The chamber beyond pulsed with violet fire, casting long shadows that stretched and writhed like living things.

The colors danced and shimmered, providing a stark contrast to the murky surroundings. Sable approached the window cautiously, her eyes tracing the intricate artwork. Suddenly, a surge of energy coursed through her veins, as if the stained-glass window held a hidden power waiting to be unleashed. She reached out and placed her palm against the cool glass, closing her eyes and allowing herself to be consumed by it. In that moment, the stained-glass window shimmered and pulsed with an otherworldly light. The glass seemed to come alive, swirling and shifting until it transformed into a magnificent sword. It gleamed with a radiant brilliance, its hilt adorned with intricate carvings of mythical

“The Hollow Throne must be sealed.” Then came the vision. Scene 1: The Throne of Silence In her mind’s eye, Iris stood before a vast, silent chamber. At its center was a throne of black stone and bone, suspended above a pool of still, silver water. Mist curled around it. Time seemed irrelevant here. And on that throne— A child. Her son. But his eyes… they were voids, swirling pools of unfeeling black. Shadows coiled at his feet, reaching toward the water like tendrils of fate. The glow of the moon haloed his crown, but it could not penetrate the darkness clinging to him.

The staircase climbed impossibly high into the darkness. Leading nowhere. Or perhaps somewhere far beyond the world. At the very top stood a throne. The throne from my vision. The Throne of Stars. The throne hidden beneath the kingdom. The throne every ancient power was searching for. And seated upon it was a figure. Motionless. Silent. Wrapped in chains made of silver fire. A prisoner. Still asleep. Still bound. Yet somehow more terrifying than anything we had seen so far. The golden eyes immediately focused on it. The thirteen fortresses turned toward it.

Each step made her veins glow brighter until her hands burned like torches. Inside the ruins, everything hummed. The walls pulsed with faint veins of gold—like arteries pumping slow light. The air smelled of salt and dust and old incantations. Taren ran a hand along one wall. “It’s warm.” “It remembers fire,” Kaelira said. In the great hall ahead, a single throne sat crooked on a dais of cracked stone. Behind it, a mural stretched across the wall—three moons, one black, one white, one bleeding gold. Beneath them, the inscription read:

The goblet shattered in his hand, but he didn’t so much as flinch at the sting of glass piercing his palm. Crimson wine ran down his fingers like blood, dripping onto the obsidian armrest of his throne. The air thickened, oppressive, charged with his fury. He leaned forward slowly, claws digging deep into the throne’s armrests until cracks spider-webbed through the black stone. His eyes glowed faintly, a savage light burning within them, the kind of fire that promised ruin to anyone foolish enough to stand against him.

This is our sky now. And the war has only just started. September 11, 2029 – directly beneath the Throne-ship It descends like judgment made of glass and storm. A floating cathedral of black stormglass, edges sharp enough to cut the sky itself. Lightning veins crawl across its surface in slow, deliberate pulses. At its heart: a throne of frozen thunderclouds, empty, waiting. They want me in it. Or dead beneath it. Either way, they think this ends today. They’re wrong.

Vertical ribbons of crimson, indigo, and emerald fire lanced through the atmosphere, ionizing the air until it smelled of ozone and burnt sugar. "The thermal shield is gone!" Vane’s voice screamed through the comms, barely audible over the roar of the collapsing tower. "Audrey, the city of Solaria is melting! The glass is turning back into sand!" Inside the Throne Room, the world was falling apart in slow motion. The floor, once a vibrating surface of gold, was now cracking into jagged floes of obsidian. Aurielle was no longer a goddess of light; she was a flickering ghost, her form oscillating between a woman and a silhouette of static.

The obsidian glass windows of the grand throne room shattered inward simultaneously, raining sharp black shards onto the marble floor. The protective barrier that Luna had spent weeks reinforcing vanished with a sound like a tearing bedsheet. From the gaping voids in the wall, figures draped in tattered, starless robes drifted inside. They didn't have faces—only hollow hoods shifting with a violet, viscous fog. In their hands, they held chains of cold iron wrapped in weeping, necrotic runes.