Your Throne Webtoon Novels & Stories

Maybe I can annoy him a little. “Hey what is this throne thing? Everyone keeps throwing that word around like it is a common thing” “A throne is like the position in which a King or a Queen takes.” He kindly explained to me. He sounded like a dictionary. I mentally rolled my eyes. “Why does the king or queen take it?” I asked him. I gave him a fake confused face. “Because of the power it beholds.” “What kind of power does it hold? Do you get like telekinesis or flying power or necromancy or something like that?” he chuckled.

* *Sometimes the throne decides to claim its own seat filler…* I’d written that once. Half asleep, half high on caffeine. A stupid line in a draft titled **“Thronebound”** I’d abandoned after three chapters. I watched the man I didn’t even know the name of be dragged up each step to the throne I’d never finished writing and felt my throat close. “No,” I whispered. No one heard me. The man hit the top step on his knees. He clawed at the stone, trying to turn around, to scramble back down. His body didn’t care. His spine straightened, shoulders forced back like hands were under his arms, hauling him up, up, up—

She sat down at her desk and opened the Book of Ashes again. And on a new page, in clean black ink, she wrote: VI. The throne is not inherited. It is taken. And if I must become a monster to keep it, then let them tremble. Let them kneel. Let them burn.

"Azriel, please...I did it for you...This throne belongs to you and I.." "You think it's a game? The throne is not some toy, Sienna, that you give to someone out of pity, " he bit out. Disappointment flashing in his eyes. Sienna furrowed her brows before shaking her head. She didn't do it out of pity. He was misunderstanding everything.

“Debt. Memory. Potential. You broke hierarchy now shape what replaces it.” --- Araya — The New Throne The black flame pulsed, then breathed. Ash swirled and fused bone white lines veined in gold and shadow rising into a seat from ruin. Fresh runes inked themselves along its base, whispering in a new tongue. Dorian’s light caught its edge in a clean halo. “It’s alive.” “It’s listening.” Nyxara prowled, tail lashing. Every throne waits for a name. Give it none. Make it guess.

The Throne had never been a weapon. It was a key. A lock. A shield. Then the horror attacked again. This time with both hands. BOOOOOOOOOOM! Reality screamed. The seal cracked further. The eye opened wider. Then Thomas felt it. The pressure. The burden. The weight of the prison. God. No. Fair. Absolutely not. Reasonable honestly. Then his knees nearly buckled. Immediately. The Throne was stronger than any Crown. But it demanded everything. Then Cassian stepped forward.

I blurt out. I looked at Volk who nods his head and tells me to continue like he knew I was saying my thoughts out. I looked at the people face that were in suspense as they don't know what might come out of my mouth next. "Now, listen to me people, a throne is not a position that ought to be filled, neither a seat that ought to be fight for, nor a place you and your family can flex and enjoy your life waiting for when the people throw their dice. I'll tell you something that everyone of us here is not bringing out the number we want to. I'm I lying?

“You won’t.” Luna hovered above the throne, her voice echoing across the Vale. “You built this from pain.” The Blood Father snarled. “I built it from truth.” Luna raised her hands. “Then let it burn.” Her mark flared, and the throne ignited. Flames surged upward, swallowing the obsidian, the bone, the crown.

,my mate mumbled. "yes she is",I smiled as he laid beside me. "so we are done here",he wanted to leave I don't blame him. "no we aren't Grant I got more work to do",he sighs and rubs my back and kisses my head. "what are we still doing here then Tina?",I sigh and kiss his peck. "I was told there would be a huge fight for the throne Grant. Hannah is going to be Queen with both her mates as kings so the fight will be brutal. There is another that wants the throne but hasn't earned it",he stares at me.

Silence returned, but not peace. Just wine, I told myself. Just exhaustion. But the words cut too deep. Ronan’s voice was too real. What if it was true? What if everything I built was already crumbling? What if Ronan lived, waiting to reclaim it? My hands were shaking as I poured another drink, his words were in my head: Brother, the throne you sit on is made of sand. I drank until the bottle was empty, the room moved in my eyes, and when I fell on the bed, the pelt wrapped around me like a burial cloth—I couldn’t run away from the truth.