The Shattered Crowns

Akash jolted back into reality with a gasp, his body slumping forward as though the dream had physically drained him. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling as they pressed into the cold stone floor for support. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, the phantom heat from the vision still pulsing beneath his skin. Every muscle in his body felt taut, as if he were a bowstring about to snap. The memory of the man on the throne—his mocking smile, his blazing orange eyes—lingered like smoke in his mind.

But his thoughts were wrenched away as a piercing scream split the silence. The Sister of Loyalty staggered backward, her hands clutching her head. The once-imposing woman, whose mere presence commanded reverence, now writhed in terror before the entire court. Her voice, usually melodic and steady, cracked into something feral and raw.

"No!" she howled, her blindfold stained with molten silver dripping like tears from beneath it. Her body convulsed, and her fingers clawed at the metallic band covering her eyes. "It burns—it burns! The fire is here! The Ruin walks among us again!"

A ripple of unease spread through the throne room like a storm gathering strength. Nobles shifted in their seats, whispering furiously to one another. The Coven members, usually so composed, leaned forward, their expressions obscured but their rigid postures betraying their alarm. Soldiers stationed along the walls gripped their weapons tighter, their knuckles whitening. Even the Ukari, the towering, statue-like guardians stationed near the entrances, turned their helmed heads slightly toward the commotion, their massive frames casting long shadows over the assembly.

The God King of Reem, seated at the center of it all, remained motionless on his throne. His copper crown caught the light, the intricate filigree glinting faintly as his dark eyes focused sharply on the Sister. His fingers, adorned with rings, tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm against the armrest. For now, he waited, observing, his expression unreadable.

"The fire of the Despoiler!" the Sister wailed, her voice cracking with hysteria. "It burns in him—it is him! I saw it! The Vessel of Ruin has come, and he will bring the end of all things!" Her trembling hand rose shakily, pointing directly at Akash.

Every head in the room turned to Akash, the weight of their collective gaze bearing down on him like a suffocating wave. His throat tightened. He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but no sound came out. His mind raced, replaying her words. Vessel of Ruin. Fire of the Despoiler. What does any of this mean?

"What nonsense is this?" barked a soldier, one of the King's guards, stepping forward with his spear raised. His voice was rough, an attempt to mask his unease. "Sister, you dishonor this hall with your madness. The boy is just that—a boy! How can one such as him carry the Ruin you speak of?"

The Sister ignored him, her hands clawing frantically at her blindfold. "It will consume us all! The fire—it tears the roots of the world, it burns the skies, it devours the tree!" Her voice broke into a strangled cry as her fingers dug into the edges of the molten silver seeping from her blindfold. "I see it—I see it! The Despoiler returns, and we are helpless before him!"

The God King stood then, his movements slow but deliberate. The simple act of rising from his throne silenced the room. His copper-threaded robes caught the light as he descended the steps of his dais, his gaze fixed on the trembling Sister. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers ceased, replaced by the faint rustle of his robes as he approached her.

"Sister," he said, his voice calm yet cutting through the tension like a blade. "Compose yourself. Tell me plainly—does this so-called Vessel pose a threat to Reem?"

The Sister, still shaking, lowered her hands, her molten-slick fingers trembling as they fell to her sides. Her breathing was shallow, her body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. Yet, she managed to lift her head, her blindfolded gaze fixed on the King. Her voice was softer now but no less chilling. "Not just a threat, my King," she whispered. "A reckoning. He is fire—he is the Ruin reborn. And where he treads, all will burn. Man, elf, orc… none will escape the flame."

The King's expression remained neutral, but the silence in the room was deafening. He turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze falling on the Inquisitor. "Your judgment?"

The Inquisitor, a pale, severe man with cold, hawk-like eyes, stepped forward. His heavy robes dragged across the polished stone floor, the ornate chain of his office gleaming faintly in the dim light. He regarded Akash with a look of detached scrutiny, as though evaluating an object rather than a person.

"He is a danger," the Inquisitor declared, his voice devoid of emotion. "Whether this Vessel of Ruin nonsense holds truth or not, the boy is a threat by the mere perception of it. Fear breeds chaos, and chaos breeds rebellion. It would be prudent to eliminate the problem before it festers."

Akash's jaw clenched. The words stung, but he forced himself to speak. "You don't even know what's happening!" he said, his voice shaky but growing stronger. "I don't know what that vision was, or what she saw. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be! How can you condemn me for something I don't understand?"

The Inquisitor's lip curled faintly. "Ignorance is not innocence. Nor is it an excuse."

The God King raised a hand, halting any further argument. His gaze turned to Jassin. "You have been silent, Darkhold. Do you defend your ward?"

Jassin stepped forward, his expression as cold and unreadable as the King's. "The boy is untested," he admitted. "But I have seen no malice in him—only potential. He may be rough, but he is no threat to Reem."

Vyn chuckled softly, stepping up beside Akash. "Well, at least not yet," he quipped. "Give him time, and who knows? Maybe he'll live up to the Sister's prophecy after all."

The humor earned him a glare from Jassin, but Vyn's light tone seemed to cut through the room's tension just enough to keep the guards from advancing further.

The King stared at Akash, his eyes narrowing. Then he spoke, his voice slow and deliberate. "You say you do not understand what you are. Yet the fire within you burns so brightly it has blinded one of my most trusted advisors." He gestured toward the Sister, who had fallen silent, her head bowed, molten silver pooling at her feet. "This is not a trivial matter. And if you are truly the Vessel of Ruin, then you are not simply a danger to this throne, but to all of Lorian."

Akash's fists tightened, his voice rising. "Then tell me what I am! What am I supposed to do? I'm not here to destroy anything—I'm just trying to survive!"

The King tilted his head, studying Akash. His silence stretched unbearably, the weight of his judgment pressing down on the entire room. Finally, he spoke. "Take him to the dungeons."

Akash froze. "What? No—"

The guards surged forward. Their spears pointed at him like claws, and before Akash could think to fight, one slammed the hilt of a weapon into his side. He stumbled forward, the wind knocked out of him, as his arms were wrenched behind his back and bound with heavy ropes. He thrashed against the restraint, but the guards shoved him roughly toward the doors.

"You can't just throw me in a cell!" Akash shouted, his voice echoing through the chamber. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

The God King's expression remained cold. "You will remain in the dungeons until I decide what to do with you. The fire you carry is not something I take lightly."

As Akash was dragged toward the towering doors, he turned his head, catching a final glimpse of the Sister. She knelt in silence now, her molten tears pooling around her hands. But as the doors closed behind him, Akash could have sworn he heard her whisper one last time.

"The Ruin has returned."