Darkness Rifts Throne World Novels & Stories

He whispered, “Please be alive…” The Rift pulsed again—larger, darker, a swirling storm of black lightning that threatened to rip the entire valley apart. A massive corrupted titan rose from the Rift’s lower pit, screaming with a jagged maw. Eryx cursed, gripping his sword. “Are you kidding me?!” Ianthe leapt forward. “I’ll take the right side!” Seraphine hurled a concentrated burst of healing light to shield Kael’s back. “PLEASE DON’T DIE!”

“And you think returning there will fix this?” “I don’t think it will,” she admitted. “But I know that’s where the darkness is leading me.” She placed a hand over her chest, where the warmth of her own magic still fought against the cold pull of the entity inside her. The merge had not been complete yet—there was still a battle to be fought. And the battlefield would be the throne itself. The Path of the Moonborn They traveled in silence, the ruins giving way to a jagged mountain path that had been untouched for centuries. The Moonborn Throne was hidden deep within the Shadowlands, its presence wiped from history by those who had feared what it once represented.

The First King’s sigil. She set it on the nearest table, flipping through pages until she found what she was looking for. “Here.” Elior stepped closer, the others gathering around as Myrra read aloud. “To break the Throne is to break the Balance. The Chains of the Veil will shatter, and the Dark One shall rise again.” Silence. Elior’s pulse quickened. The Dark One. He didn’t need to say it. They all knew the name Erythos.

“The Thorn. I saw it. I think it’s calling.” “I got the same vision,” Kael murmured. “Only mine ended with me bleeding out while it laughed.” The next morning, the High Council convened in the Circle of Stone what remained of it. Elders from the mountain clans, the southern packs, and the scattered remnants of the Hollowborn resistance gathered under gray skies. Lyra stood before them, voice sharp and unwavering. “There’s no time left for politics. The Rift has opened in four locations. And the Thorn, the only weapon capable of closing it, is somewhere in the Forgotten Vale.”

“The Hollow Throne is not a place. It’s an entity’s body, a living realm. Once we step in, we are no longer bound by the rules of this world.” Malthea added, “Memories, fears, desires — they will be weaponized against us. Stick together.” Bain turned to his circle — Vulture, Petrov, Sokolov, Elias, Cassian, Seraphina, Malthea, Cassie, and Aragorn. “One rule,” Bain growled. “No one gets left behind.” Together, they stepped through. II. The Realm of Hunger The world on the other side was wrong. The sky was a swirling canvas of black ichor and crimson lightning. Mountains floated upside down, rivers ran like liquid shadows, and massive bones jutted from the ground like the ribs of a dead god.

Inside, they found no statues, only memories frozen in time. In the center of the hall stood five thrones, each corresponding to an element. But there was a sixth throne—shattered and cold—at the very end. ThroneElementOriginal CustodianStatus The GlacialIce/OrderThe Queen of CalmElara's Template The SolarFire/WillThe King of CoreKael's Template The TideWater/LifeThe Abyssal LordTrench-King's Template The CrystalEarth/HarmonyThe Weaver of BondsZane's Template The GaleAir/OscillationThe Voice of the WindJulian's Template

“The Mother appeared. She was created from pure love, devotion, and happiness. All her joy and love materialized and formed the world we know. The Mother divided the world into six parts. The Kingdom of Winter came first, with its tall mountains and northern location, a place of endless cold. The Kingdom of Darkness came next, farthest to the south, where the sun didn’t shine as brightly, and the stars shone the strongest. The Kingdom of Summer came third, where the sun shone the most, and the warmth filled and illuminated the kingdom. The Mother combined the three kingdoms and created the Kingdom of Autumn and the Kingdom of Spring from them.” Only five kingdoms were explained—no mention of

Cracks formed in the floor, leaking ancient, freezing brine. ​"The Sunken Throne is the anchor of the Grey Sea," the King explained. A cold, cruel smile touched his slate-colored lips. "If I break the anchor, the ocean will reclaim the land. The Citadel, the mountains, the Southern Plains—all will be silenced. And I will rule over a world of salt and bone." ​"Not while I breathe," Kaelen roared.

Nora picked up the folded paper. She didn't open it. She held it. "You want the throne," she said. "Yes." "And you want me to trust you." "Yes." "Those two things are going to conflict at some point." "Probably," he said. "When they do, I'll tell you." He held her gaze without wavering. "I want the throne through legitimate succession. If Caspian fulfills the anchor requirement and succeeds, the succession is his by right and I'll accept that." He paused. "What I won't accept is the succession being built on an arrangement that's being managed dishonestly. But then. if the anchor is being kept in the dark about the terms of her own arrangement

I raised my hand, and the black silk-shadows didn't attack, they reached, they touched the Warlord’s scarred chest, the Solar Priest’s throat, and the Seer’s silk-bound eyes, it wasn't a strike, it was a connection. For a heartbeat, they saw what I saw; the three thrones in the dream, the crumbling ivory of the Sun, the stagnant onyx of the Shadow, and the middle throne of smoke that was the only thing keeping the world from falling into the Abyssal Grave. The Warlord fell to his knees, the Seer gasped, clutching her heart, the Solar Priest’s golden staff shattered in his hand.