Chapter 10: The Choice Unmade
Darien sat in silence at the foot of the throne.
Not touching it.
Not turning away.
Just breathing.
The voices had quieted. The mark no longer burned. But something had changed. The throne had accepted him—not as king, not yet—but as a question.
Behind him, the stairway had closed.
No return.
The chamber pulsed faintly with old magic, the kind that hummed beneath the skin and made thoughts feel fragile. He could hear the echo of battles long past... and futures not yet born.
Then, a flicker.
From the far wall, a shadow moved. A woman stepped forward, cloaked in red and dust. Her face was veiled, her hands gloved in silver.
Darien stood, wary.
She bowed slightly.
"I am Lysra. Guardian of the Throne Unclaimed."
He narrowed his eyes. "How long have you been here?"
"A long time," she said. "Longer than time remembers. I was waiting for the next who would find this place without choosing it."
Darien hesitated. "You mean me."
"Yes," she replied. "The one born under the Hollow Flame. Marked by blood, hunted by silence."
She stepped closer, eyes hidden.
"There are two paths now. One ends with your death. The other… with your rebirth."
He clenched his fists. "Is that a threat?"
She smiled, a sad thing.
"No. A prophecy. And like all prophecies, it lies... and tells the truth."
She handed him a small shard of obsidian, etched with a sigil.
"When the Flame rises again, you must decide. Will you sit… or will you burn with the world?"
Darien took the shard, and the chamber trembled.
The choice was not yet made.
But it had already begun.