Night fell over the shattered skies of Niraxis.
The silver-and-black crown still floated before Azael, untouched. Its power pulsed like a second heartbeat, drawing in the wind, bending the light. Every thread of destiny seemed to stretch toward it—taut, trembling.
But Azael didn't reach for it.
Not yet.
Behind him, Lyka watched with narrowed eyes. "Aren't you going to claim it?"
Azael didn't answer immediately. His gaze stayed locked on the crown. "I don't know what happens once I do."
Selene stepped closer, tone firm. "It doesn't matter. You passed the Trials. You earned it."
"No." Azael's voice was quiet, distant. "I survived them. I haven't earned anything yet."
Thunder rumbled again, louder now. Not a warning—a summoning.
Above them, the burning sky cracked open.
And from that tear descended a figure wreathed in violet flame and shadowsteel armor, wings of molten silver trailing behind her. Her face was hidden by a mask, but her voice carried across mountains.
"You've delayed long enough, brother."
Azael stiffened. Selene drew her daggers.
Lyka grinned. "Well. That didn't take long."
The masked figure landed, flames hissing beneath her boots. She removed her helmet slowly, revealing golden eyes and a crown of bone etched with runes.
"I am Seraphyne. First Crown-Bearer of the Fallen Accord. Daughter of Maerith. And I've come to see if you're worthy of standing among us."
Azael tilted his head. "Among you?"
"There are seven crowns, Azael. You wear one. I wear another. The rest…" She smirked. "Still hidden. Still unclaimed."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're here to test me?"
"No," Seraphyne said. "I'm here to warn you."
She stepped closer, her wings dissolving into ash.
"Now that the Trials are over, the Game begins. Each crowned heir must choose their path—dominion, destruction, unity, or betrayal. Alliances will be forged. Wars will be waged. And only one crown will remain in the end."
Selene's breath caught. "You're talking about war between heirs."
"I'm talking about survival," Seraphyne said. "The Accord was shattered for a reason. Too much power in too many hands."
Azael studied her. "And what did you choose?"
Her smile sharpened. "Dominion."
Lyka laughed under her breath. "Of course you did."
Seraphyne looked at her. "I remember you. Half-burned girl. Traitor's orphan. Still crawling after scraps of legacy?"
Lyka raised her cursed blade. "Want to see how fast I crawl across your corpse?"
Azael stepped between them. "Enough."
Seraphyne's eyes gleamed. "He has spine after all. Good. You'll need it."
She turned to leave—but paused. "When the seventh crown is claimed, the Game begins in full. Until then… choose your allies wisely."
She vanished in a swirl of violet fire.
—
Later, in the ruins of the Temple, Azael sat beside the crown but didn't touch it.
Selene came to him, quiet.
"You're thinking about what comes next."
He nodded. "I'm thinking... what if I don't want the Game at all?"
She sat beside him. "Then you change it."
He looked at her. "With what army?"
Selene smiled softly. "With us. Me. Lyka. Anyone willing to follow fire that doesn't burn blindly."
Lyka snorted from across the room. "Don't get sentimental, princess."
Selene smirked. "And you don't get cocky, ash rat."
Azael looked between them, then finally stood.
He placed a hand on the crown.
The fire flared, and the symbol of twin flame branded itself over his heart.
Crown claimed. Game begun.
But far beneath the Temple, in the prison-city of Maerith, a chained god opened its eyes—and smiled.
Stay tuned...