Third Point of view
The walls groaned.
The black spires that had once stood dormant now burned with runes etched in light and blood. The figure that emerged from the shadows was not made of flesh—it was a memory given shape. An echo of a god that had long since died… or been sealed.
Kael staggered back, his heart pounding like war drums. The being's face was a blank mask of obsidian, yet its presence filled the entire chamber like a rising tide.
The voice that followed was cold and infinite.
"You wear the mark of defiance. You awaken the bond. You call to me… yet you do not kneel?"
Kael's legs refused to bend. His instincts screamed to fall, to beg, to submit—but a part of him, the boy who had died on a stage before a jeering crowd, refused.
"I didn't come here to kneel," Kael said through gritted teeth. "I came to survive."
The being tilted its head, slow and mechanical. Flames licked its spine, curling into a crown above its skull. Chains trailed from its wrists, each one ending in hooks that dragged across the floor with a sound that scraped against Kael's soul.
"Survival... is not granted. It is taken. And you—are not worthy."
The ground quaked.
The chained former Leon behind Kael began to scream again—his veins turning black, his eyes glowing with the same fire as the entity.
Kael had no weapon. No magic yet awakened. Only a mind sharpened by one death and the knowledge that this was not a test—it was an execution.
Think, damn it. Think!
He stared at the runes still glowing on his hand. They pulsed in rhythm with the chains—the same sigils now carving themselves into the floor.
There had to be a link. A resonance.
He raised his arm and stepped forward, forcing himself to face the being.
"I carry your mark," he said. "That means something."
"It means you are claimed. A seed in fertile ruin. But you do not yet know the price."
The being extended a hand.
"Give me your fear."
Kael's breath caught. "What?"
"Your fear. Your pain. Your deepest wound. Give it, and I will grant power. Refuse—and be consumed."
Images rose unbidden—his mother's broken body, the knife in his back, the crowd chanting his name like a curse as the blade fell.
He clenched his fists.
"I accept."
Fire surged from the entity's palm. It struck Kael's chest like a meteor, and he burned—not his skin, but his soul. He saw his memories crack apart, splintering into shards that the being devoured.
And when it ended—he stood taller.
Stronger.
Different.
His hand now bore a brand, pulsing like a second heart. The air around him shimmered. The Chains no longer trembled—they bowed.
"You have been chosen," the being said, voice fainter now. "One of seven."
"Seven what?"
"Vessels. For the gods buried beneath the world. You have taken the first step. The others will come. Some to kill you. Others… to worship."
Kael swallowed. "And you?"
"I am the Crown of Ash. I do not kneel. I do not guide. I burn. Use me… or be used."
The figure stepped back into the fire—and vanished.
The runes faded.
The chamber dimmed.
And Kael collapsed to his knees, gasping.
The former Leon's body sagged, chains limp. He was unconscious—or dead. Kael didn't check.
The stone stairwell was there again.
He climbed in silence, every step heavy with the weight of what had just been unleashed.
When he reached the archive, dawn had broken.
But the light did not warm him.
---
Back in his quarters, Kael stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were no longer the same. A ring of ember-orange surrounded his irises, faint but unmistakable.
He clenched his fist. Power hummed beneath his skin—wild, unstable, but real.
He didn't just have knowledge of the future now. He had a weapon. A spark.
He would need it.
Because soon, the game would begin.
---
Meanwhile, across the Empire…
In the Grand Cathedral of the Radiant Throne, a girl in silver armor dropped her chalice.
Wine spilled like blood across the marble floor.
She clutched her chest, eyes wide. "Another Chain… has awakened."
Her companion, a pale youth with silver hair and emotionless eyes, looked up from his book.
"The Crown of Ash?"
She nodded. "The prophecy accelerates."
---
Elsewhere, in the Demonlands…
A horned figure snarled as the bones in his brazier cracked and glowed.
He saw the image of a boy with ember-lit eyes.
And he smiled.
"So the child dares claim a god," the demon prince whispered. "Let's see how long he lasts before he begs me to kill him."
---
Back in the Drayven estate…
Kael stepped out into the training yard.
Waiting for him was Sera—the Commander's bastard daughter and one of the few people who didn't flinch when he walked by.
She raised a brow. "You look like death."
Kael smirked. "You should see the other guy."
Before she could reply, a messenger sprinted toward them, breathless.
"My Lord Leon! The Emperor's black envoys—they're here!"
Kael froze.
Now?! Already?!
He had barely a day left in his first life when they arrived. This time, they were early.
Too early.
He turned to Sera. "Ready the blades. Double the guard. No one enters unless I say so."
She blinked. "You think they're a threat?"
"I know they are."
As he walked toward the front hall, Kael's hand brushed the hilt of his father's sword. The mark on his chest still burned.
The Crown of Ash had given him power.
Now came the test of how far he'd go to keep it.
The Emperor's black envoys have arrived days earlier than expected—and Kael, newly marked by an ancient god, has no idea if he's walking into an alliance… or an execution.