The Shattered Crowns

Days turned into weeks as Jassin drilled the lessons of the sword into Akash's mind and body with relentless precision. His days blurred into a punishing cycle: waking up, eating whatever bland meal was available, and heading straight to the training grounds, where Jassin would thrash him into the dirt over and over. Afterward, his aching body would endure mundane tasks that felt just as exhausting. He'd eat a rushed lunch, spar again until his arms screamed in protest, then collapse into a restless sleep, only to do it all over again the next day.

It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't even particularly inspiring. But Akash grew used to it. Pain became a familiar companion, and in those fleeting moments between exhaustion and unconsciousness, he sometimes felt himself improving. Slowly. Relentlessly. Like the blade of a sword being ground into shape.

It was another morning, quiet and warm in the Red Sands of Reem. Akash sat cross-legged on the ground, idly tossing sticks for Elys to fetch. The large tiger prowled through the sand with a lazy sort of grace, snapping up the sticks in his powerful jaws before returning them with what almost looked like a smug expression. Akash grinned faintly, breaking chunks of dry bread and tossing a few to Elys, who devoured them with the same enthusiasm.

The sun rose higher, its golden warmth pleasant against Akash's skin. He leaned back on his hands and allowed himself a rare moment of peace. For now, the camp was quiet, the world still.

That peace was shattered when Vyn's smooth, casual voice interrupted. "Care if I join you?"

Elys immediately stopped mid-step, his ears twitching as a low, rumbling growl escaped his throat. It wasn't an aggressive warning, more like a tiger's way of telling someone they were unwelcome.

Akash chuckled, scratching Elys behind the ears. "Doesn't seem like Elys wants to share with you."

Vyn strolled closer anyway, unbothered by the tiger's warning. He crouched down beside Akash, his movements light and fluid, like a cat's. "A good meal is always better with company," Vyn said, flashing a grin. "Even if the company is less than enthusiastic."

Akash motioned to the last few scraps of bread. "Help yourself. Elys is distracted. But if he changes his mind, I take no responsibility for missing fingers."

Vyn snatched a piece of bread with a flourish, biting into it with mock appreciation. "Ah, thank you. You wouldn't believe the slop they've been serving for breakfast lately."

Akash shrugged. "It's nothing like Morgoi. I miss real food. Everything here tastes like dust." His gaze drifted to the horizon, where the endless dunes shimmered in the morning heat. "The world feels... bigger than I thought it was."

"Bigger," Vyn mused, "but also smaller. A bit of mystery keeps life interesting, don't you think? Makes the answers sweeter when you find them."

Akash smiled faintly. "You sound like Mirak."

Vyn tilted his head, intrigued. "Should I take that as a compliment?"

"You should," Akash said simply. "Mirak had this... curiosity about him. He wanted to know everything."

"Well," Vyn said with a grin, "it seems I'm in good company."

They fell into an easy silence, the kind that didn't need filling. Elys padded over, dropping a stick at Akash's feet before flopping down with a contented huff. Akash reached out to scratch the tiger's fur, feeling the familiar warmth of companionship.

After a while, Vyn broke the silence. "You know, I think I've taken a liking to you, Akash. Do me a favor and don't die when the Dauntless Company gets itself dragged into this war. It would ruin the mood of the camp."

Akash raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I'll do my best to stay alive—for your entertainment, of course."

Vyn snapped his fingers. "Ah, that's right. Jassin sent me to fetch you. Something about the Coven and the Palace of Kings. Sounds dreadfully dull."

Akash frowned, standing and brushing sand off his pants. "Why would Jassin want me? This sounds like politics, not swordsmanship."

Vyn shrugged, his tone light. "I guess you'll just have to find out."

When they found Jassin, he was surrounded by mercenaries bearing the Dauntless Company's three-clawed emblem. He was barking orders, his tone sharp enough to cut through steel. "This needs to be done immediately. No delays. Get to it." The mercenaries saluted and hurried off, clearly eager to avoid his wrath.

Jassin turned, his sharp gaze landing on Vyn and Akash. "Vyn," he said, his tone cold, "I told you to bring Akash hours ago."

Vyn shrugged, his grin as careless as ever. "Ah, yes. About that. I stumbled upon the most delightful spot for breakfast. It had the most wonderful—"

"I don't want to hear about your excuses," Jassin cut him off. "We're attending a meeting of the Coven in the Palace of Kings. Dante's orders. Move."

Without waiting for a response, Jassin turned and walked away, leaving Akash and Vyn to follow.

Akash groaned as they hurried to keep up. "You set me up, Vyn! Jassin's going to make me train until I drop for this."

Vyn grinned, unrepentant. "You'll live. Probably. Besides, Jassin needs to lighten up."

As they left the camp and approached the city, the sheer scale of Reem came into view. Towering walls of copper and obsidian loomed over them, their surfaces gleaming in the harsh sunlight. Beyond the walls, the five pyramids of the Five Honors pierced the sky, their copper-plated peaks glinting like beacons. Sculptures adorned the city's walls and streets—winged warriors locked in battle with serpents, robed scribes holding scrolls, farmers standing proudly with scythes. Every inch of Reem seemed carved with history.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Vyn said, his voice unusually soft. "The Capital of Reem. A marvel of Eastern Lorian. The last great kingdom on this side of the Bridge."

Akash's eyes lingered on the pyramids. "What are the spires on top?"

"Orichalcum," Jassin said. "The fractured armor of the Angel of the Red Sands, reforged into beacons. They protect the city and honor the dead entombed in the pyramids."

Vyn leaned closer to Akash, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And they say the beacons keep the ghosts at bay."

Akash frowned. "Ghosts?"

"Enough," Jassin said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Ignore him. He's trying to scare you."

The trio climbed the thousand steps leading to the Palace of Kings. The red stone stairs stretched endlessly upward, each step carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shimmer in the light. Akash's legs burned by the time they reached the top, but he refused to show it. He wasn't about to give Vyn the satisfaction.

The palace loomed before them, a massive structure of copper and black stone. Four circular towers rose to varying heights, connected by arches and columns draped in silk. Massive doors, guarded by hulking armored figures, marked the entrance.

At first, Akash thought they were statues—immense, unyielding, and carved with meticulous precision from some dark, weathered stone. They stood still, motionless, almost as if abandoned by the artisans who had shaped them. Only when he grew closer did he hear the faint sound of breathing, steady and deep, emanating from within the strange, alabaster helmets.

These were no statues.

The warriors were giants, standing nearly nine feet tall, their frames encased in a mix of ivory and crimson armor that gleamed under the harsh desert light. The polished surface of their armor bore faint, ancient inscriptions, spiraling patterns of scripture and iconography that whispered of eras long past. Great scarlet shoulder plates, broad enough to shield a grown man, rose like jagged cliffs on either side of their necks, their edges carved with filigree that seemed to ripple with each faint movement they made.

Their helmets were blank masks of ivory, inlaid with black, etched lines that formed geometric patterns—eyes and mouths faintly suggested but ultimately nonexistent. Akash's gaze lingered on the dark slits where their eyes should have been, but he could see no human expression, only endless shadow. Despite this, he felt their stares boring into him, as if they could see far more than mere flesh and blood. Their presence wasn't just intimidating—it was suffocating. Their silence was heavier than the heat of Reem's sands.

Yet, beneath their hulking forms and impenetrable armor, there was no doubt these were men. Their breathing, deep and deliberate, had an almost rhythmic quality, and the occasional subtle shift of weight in their towering frames reminded Akash that they were not unfeeling machines. The faint creak of leather straps and joints mingled with the metallic hiss of their movements, grounding them in the physical world. But whatever humanity remained had been shaped into something far beyond mortal men.

"What are they?" Akash muttered to Vyn, his voice low, barely audible over the desert wind.

Vyn leaned in, his usually smug expression laced with a flicker of unease. "The Ukari," he said, his voice uncharacteristically reverent. "The custodians of the Hall of Kings. Statues given life, or men reforged into something greater... or worse, depending on how you look at it."

Jassin shot Vyn a warning glance but said nothing, allowing Akash's curiosity to carry him further.

"They're not just soldiers," Vyn continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "They're relics, remnants of a time when men tampered with creation itself. They say the Ukari were the apex of human ingenuity—warriors engineered and sculpted from birth to be perfect soldiers. Their bodies are hardened by ancient alchemical techniques, their bones strengthened with metals mined from the farthest reaches of Lorian. Their blood is said to run thick with chemicals that render them immune to poison, disease, and even exhaustion. They're men, Akash... but only just."

"Barely men at all," Jassin interjected coldly. "Men shaped for war, stripped of anything unnecessary. Their emotions are dulled, their sense of self all but erased. They exist only to serve the God King and guard his sacred halls."

Akash frowned, his gaze lingering on the warriors. "That doesn't sound like much of a life."

Vyn shrugged. "Depends on how you define 'life.' The Ukari don't need what you or I need. They don't age like we do, either. Some of them have been standing here for hundreds of years, watching over the Hall. They're as much a part of the palace as the walls and towers."

As they reached the summit, one of the Ukari moved. It was only a slight shift, a fraction of an inch, but it felt as though the ground trembled beneath the weight of it. Akash flinched as the warrior's massive form turned toward them, its movements unnervingly smooth for something so massive. The sound of shifting metal and stone accompanied the motion, a harsh, grating noise like distant thunder.

"Name?" The Ukari's voice emerged, deep and guttural, as though it echoed from the depths of some cavernous void. There was no inflection, no trace of emotion—just a flat, mechanical demand that seemed to grind against Akash's eardrums.

"Jassin Darkhold, Vyn Azure, and Akash Dorher of the Dauntless Company," Jassin replied, his voice steady.

The guard handed Jassin a knife. "Blood must be shed to enter. Let it fall onto the sacred ground."

Jassin took the knife without hesitation. The gleaming steel caught the desert sunlight as he drew it cleanly across his palm. Blood welled up and dripped onto the blackened stone floor, each crimson drop spreading faintly before soaking into the ground.

"I, Jassin Darkhold, agree to these terms," he said, his voice sharp and unwavering.

He held the knife out to Vyn, who took it with far more flourish than was necessary. "I suppose there's no use arguing," Vyn said lightly, slicing his own palm. The blood trickled lazily down his hand, splattering on the sacred stone below. "I, Vyn Azure, agree to these terms."

With a quick smirk, he passed the knife to Akash. The younger man hesitated for only a moment, his fingers tightening around the hilt. He dragged the blade across his palm, wincing slightly as the cut opened, and let his blood join the others.

"I, Akash Dorher, agree to these terms," he said firmly.

The Ukari stood motionless as the blood from Jassin and Vyn soaked into the stone without issue. But Akash's blood was different. The moment it touched the black surface, it sizzled, letting out faint wisps of smoke. A soft, crackling sound echoed, and the blood seemed to smolder as if lit by an unseen flame.

Vyn arched an eyebrow. "Well, that's new. Didn't know you had fiery blood, Akash. Perhaps you've been hiding talents from us?"

Akash shrugged. "Maybe I just run hotter than most."

The Ukari exchanged low murmurs that rumbled like shifting boulders, their words too faint to catch. One of them, a figure with scarlet filigree carved into his gauntlets, spoke in his grating, metallic voice: "Burning blood is not a good omen."

Jassin's jaw tightened, his sharp features betraying no emotion. "It does not concern us. Let us proceed."

The Ukari's blazing orange gaze lingered on Akash for a moment longer before he nodded. Without another word, the massive armored men stepped forward, their heavy hands gripping the enormous doors. With a sound like grinding stone, the doors groaned open, revealing the shadowed halls of the Palace of Kings.

The interior of the Hall of Kings was an overwhelming display of power and artistry. Colossal arches stretched toward the high ceilings, which were adorned with intricate murals that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Copper and obsidian statues lined the walls, depicting legendary figures locked in eternal battle or posed in moments of quiet triumph. The air smelled faintly of incense and something metallic, a weighty reminder of the blood rituals performed here for centuries.

Jassin led the way, his stride confident and purposeful. The Ukari flanked him on either side, their footfalls heavy against the polished stone floor. Akash and Vyn followed behind, their heads turning as they tried—and failed—not to gawk at their surroundings.

"Keep your eyes forward," Jassin said sharply, his voice cutting through their wonder. "We are here on the Paramount's orders, not as tourists."

Akash muttered under his breath, "Hard not to look when the walls are practically glowing."

Vyn, ever the provocateur, grinned. "Come now, Jassin. A little appreciation for the arts wouldn't kill you."

Jassin ignored him, but Vyn's grin only widened as they approached the throne room. The great hall opened into a massive circular chamber, its center dominated by a grand, golden throne. Copper and black silk draped the walls, their shimmering folds framing the dais where the God King sat.

The God King was an imposing figure, clad in flowing robes of copper and black. His crown, a gleaming band of orichalcum edged with sharp points, seemed to merge with his chestnut hair, which fell in waves to his shoulders. His dark eyes were sharp and calculating, his expression unreadable. He radiated authority, an unspoken reminder of the power he wielded over the sands of Reem.

Behind him, arranged in a semi-circle, stood one hundred concubines, their delicate frames adorned with jewels and silks. Their faces were painted with intricate patterns, masking their expressions but not their unease. Above them, seated on elevated pews, was the Coven, their members robed in crimson and gold. They stared down at the chamber with an air of superiority, their whispered conversations falling silent as Dante and Veneres stood before the throne.

Dante, ever the diplomat, was speaking animatedly, his hands gesturing in controlled yet passionate movements. Veneres stood behind him like a shadow, his eyes scanning the room with predatory sharpness. He looked ready to pounce on any who dared oppose the Paramount's will.

As Akash, Jassin, and Vyn entered, all eyes turned to them. Akash felt the weight of a hundred gazes, their scrutiny heavy and unrelenting. His muscles tensed instinctively, but he forced himself to stay calm. This was a different battlefield, but a battlefield nonetheless.

To the left of the dais, Akash's gaze landed on a man who immediately set his blood boiling: the Inquisitor. Clad in flowing white and gold robes, the man exuded an aura of smug authority. His pale face was serene, but his eyes held a cold, calculating malice. Akash clenched his fists, his mind flashing to the farmer who had been executed for daring to ask about his daughter.

"Akash," Vyn said softly, his tone unusually serious. "Don't."

Akash didn't respond, but his jaw tightened as his glare burned holes into the Inquisitor's pristine robes. He would not forget. And he would not forgive.

"Focus," Jassin said sharply, snapping Akash out of his thoughts. "The King is speaking."

The God King's voice carried through the chamber, smooth yet firm, commanding absolute attention. "It seems the rest of your company has arrived, Dante. I trust you will keep them from disrupting the proceedings?"

Dante bowed deeply. "Of course, my King. The Dauntless Company is honored to serve you."

The King's gaze shifted to Jassin, Vyn, and Akash. His dark eyes lingered on Akash for a moment, narrowing slightly before he looked away. "You walk among mercenaries, Darkhold, yet you carry yourself like a knight. Perhaps you should train your compatriots to do the same."

Vyn smirked but wisely said nothing. Jassin bowed his head, his expression impassive. "As you command, my King."

The King leaned back in his throne, his gaze sweeping over the gathered mercenaries, Coven members, and his Inquisitor. "We are at a crossroads," he declared. "The Bridge must fall, yet the Spires remain an obstacle. The Bridgemen will not yield without a show of force. Dante, you have three months. If the Spire is not taken by then, I will assign this task to a more... capable company."

Dante bowed again, his tone calm despite the implied threat. "We will not disappoint you, my King. The Dauntless Company is prepared to carry out your will."

The King nodded, then motioned to the Inquisitor. "See to it that these mercenaries understand the importance of loyalty. Let the Sister of Loyalty test them."

The Sister stepped forward, her silver-lined robes flowing like liquid metal. Her blindfold gleamed faintly, its surface etched with intricate runes. She moved with an otherworldly grace, her presence both unsettling and commanding.

Her hands touched Jassin's temples first, her fingers light yet firm. Akash watched as Jassin stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening, but he endured the intrusion without protest.

When she moved to Vyn, the War Dancer's usual smirk faltered for the briefest of moments. Her fingers brushed his temples, and his expression became unreadable. She lingered longer with him, her lips pursing slightly, but said nothing as she withdrew.

Then it was Akash's turn.