The Shattered Crowns

The Ukari guided Akash to a room draped in long, flowing red silks with intricate golden embroidery. The patterns shimmered faintly under the room's ambient light, giving the space an otherworldly glow.

"The fanciest room I've ever been in," Akash said with a weak attempt at humor.

"It is the waiting room for participants. The whole of Reem will watch," Fallen stated brusquely, his metallic voice leaving no room for banter.

Akash gave a nervous laugh. "No pressure then."

The only response was a curt order. "Take off the cloak. All who claim the Right must show themselves to Reem."

Akash shrugged off the battered cloak and tossed it aside. The air in the room felt heavier on his bare shoulders, as if the act of shedding it marked the beginning of something far greater than himself.

"And a sword? Do I get one?" he asked, his voice carrying a nervous edge. Fallen didn't answer. Instead, the Ukari turned on his heel and strode out, his heavy, stone-like footsteps fading into the distance. Akash sighed. Hopefully, the silent warrior was going to fetch a blade.

Left alone, Akash turned his attention to the other Ukari in the room. This one stood near the door, his towering figure as still as a statue. A bastard sword hung from his hip, its pommel glinting faintly. The Ukari's gaze was unreadable behind his helmet, but without warning, he knelt in front of Akash and reached for the shackles on his wrists.

"No need for these," the Ukari said, his voice deep and resonant. He gripped the cuffs with his gauntleted hands, his fingers tightening with a strength that made the metal groan under the pressure. With a sharp yank, the chains snapped apart and clattered to the floor.

Akash stared at his freed wrists, rubbing at the red marks left by the metal. "That's some strength," he muttered. The only response was a low grunt.

He glanced around the opulent room again, its grandeur doing little to soothe his frayed nerves. Gold-threaded banners draped over every surface, and the faint scent of incense lingered in the air. With a sigh, he sank into one of the cushioned chairs, letting its softness engulf him.

"What exactly are the trials?" he asked after a moment, his voice breaking the uneasy silence.

The Ukari shifted, his helm tilting slightly. "You invoke the Rights of the First King without knowing what they entail?" His tone carried more curiosity than scorn.

A mirthless laugh escaped Akash's lips. "Did I really have a choice? It was either this or die."

"Most would prefer death," the Ukari said flatly.

Akash shook his head. "I have promises to keep. I can't let it end here."

The Ukari grunted softly. "Admirable."

The towering figure leaned closer, bringing his helmeted face near Akash's. With a single finger, he pressed firmly against Akash's forehead. "The Rights of the First King are threefold: trials of the mind, body, and soul." His finger moved in sequence, tapping Akash's forehead, chest, and abdomen as he spoke.

"The trial of the mind is first," he continued. "You will accept the blood of the Angel of the Red Sands into you. It is through this that the First King and his five Honors will judge your worth. Most fail here."

Akash squirmed slightly, the pressure of the Ukari's finger on his chest growing almost unbearable. He grit his teeth, grabbed the finger with his hand, and, with considerable effort, managed to push it away. The Ukari drew back, a faint note of surprise in his posture.

"The trial of the body is next," the Ukari said, his tone unmoved.

Akash groaned. "Should've known better than to ask. All you seem to do is tell me how I'll fail."

"You will fail," the Ukari said, his voice as cold and unyielding as stone.

Akash smirked, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "And the trial of the soul? I assume that's where I really meet my end?"

"The trial of the soul has never been completed," the Ukari said. "You are walking to your death."

Akash forced a grin. "Then I'll be the first to survive."

"A childish statement," the Ukari replied, shaking his head slowly.

Akash's grin slipped into a scowl. "We'll see about that. I'll finish these Rights if only to prove you wrong."

The Ukari straightened, his towering presence casting a shadow over Akash. "We shall see."

Moments later, Fallen returned, carrying a blade. Without a word, he handed it to Akash, who took it eagerly. The weight in his hand was comforting, familiar—a small piece of control in an otherwise spiraling situation. He exhaled slowly, feeling a flicker of confidence.

"The preparations are complete," Fallen said. "The trials are ready. It is time."

The streets of Reem pulsed with life. Crowds pressed against the edges of balconies and railings, straining to catch a glimpse of the man who had invoked the Rights of the First King. Akash walked with the Ukari through the throng, shielding his eyes from the sun as cheers roared around him.

He felt their voices in his chest, a cacophony of excitement, curiosity, and malice. Some called his name; others hurled insults. He wasn't sure which felt worse. The Ukari strode ahead, unbothered by the noise, their presence clearing a path through the crowd like a ship cutting through turbulent waters.

They entered the coliseum.

The arena was massive, its seats packed to the brim with spectators. Flags bearing the Coven's emblems hung from the walls, their colors bold and defiant. Above them all, the God King reclined on his elevated throne, his gaze sweeping lazily over the proceedings. His golden robes shimmered in the sunlight as he watched from the best seat in the house.

Five towering pillars rose from the center of the arena, encircling a massive stone basin. Akash followed the Ukari to the basin, his eyes scanning the ornate carvings on its surface. Priests and priestesses stood around it, pouring liquids from chalices into the basin. The mixture churned, shifting from clear to deep blue to a viscous, unnatural crimson. The air grew thick with the pungent scent of sulfur and citrus.

One of the priests stepped forward, holding a chalice adorned with three serpent heads. The serpents' black scales shimmered like oil, their eyes glinting like rubies. The silver goblet gleamed in the sunlight, its beauty both mesmerizing and unnerving.

The priest's voice boomed, reaching every corner of the arena. "We, who are but vessels of the Honors, bear witness to the epoch of change. Here stands a man who dares to walk the path of the First King. He seeks the blood of the Angel of the Red Sands to flow within him, to bind himself to Reem."

The crowd stilled, the anticipation palpable. Akash felt their eyes on him, thousands of strangers waiting to see him succeed—or fail.

The priest raised the chalice high. "Will you accept the blood of the King and Reem? Will you drink and be reborn?"

Akash hesitated, his gaze fixed on the swirling crimson liquid in the basin. It glimmered in the sunlight, an inviting yet menacing pool of unknown consequences. He stepped closer, his heart pounding in his chest.

The priest's voice continued to echo through the arena. "The Angel of the Red Sands, he who uproots the status quo, shall rise again in our darkest hour. With wings of sand and a sword of judgment, he will drag Reem to greatness—or ruin. Gods will fall before him, and the sun itself will break."

Akash knelt by the basin, his hands trembling as he cupped the liquid. The crimson substance was warm and thick, staining his fingers as it pooled in his palms. The crowd erupted in a deafening roar as he raised it to his lips. He drank.

The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, searing its way through his body. Ice and fire raced through his veins, consuming him entirely. Akash staggered, gripping his chest as his vision blurred. The world around him dissolved into a haze of red and gold.

When the haze cleared, he stood alone in a vast desert of crimson sand dunes. The air was heavy, the silence oppressive. Below him, two armies clashed, their banners snapping in the wind. One bore a white star on a field of deep blue; the other, a black flower with copper petals.