The flames of Solaris no longer roared with pride—they flickered, weak and dying, smothered by the chill of betrayal.
Auron sat in the hollow throne room, his crown absent, his armor still stained from a battle that had never truly ended. His gaze drifted to the royal seal carved into the stone table before him—a radiant sun wrapped in chains. Once, it had stood for hope.
Now, it mocked him.
Elyndra had chosen Kael.
Not in anger. Not even in confusion.
She had chosen him with clarity.
Every heartbeat since that moment was a cruel echo. He had begged—begged—and she had simply watched him fall.
"I swore to protect her," he whispered. "I swore to be her light."
But light had failed her.
And Kael, the shadow who stole everything, now ruled her soul.
Before him, the ancient tome pulsed with an eerie, violet glow—its presence a curse and a promise.
"To reclaim what was stolen, one must break the chains of fate. Death shall be the key. Power shall be the price."
Auron's fingers hovered over the cursed script.
What use was honor, if it led only to loss?
He touched the pages.
The chamber convulsed. Shadows bled from the walls. Symbols etched themselves onto his arms like living brands, coiling into his veins.
And Auron welcomed it.
Across the city, from the tower of the Obsidian Keep, Kael stood at his balcony—arms behind his back, eyes piercing the horizon like a silent conqueror.
Beneath velvet sheets, Elyndra lay restless.
She had surrendered, yes.
But that didn't mean she was free.
Kael didn't turn when he spoke. "He touched the tome."
Elyndra's breath caught.
"How do you know?"
"I always know when someone crosses the line I drew."
She sat up slowly, the silk brushing off her skin. "Will he… change?"
Kael's smirk was unreadable. "He already has. But he won't become me." He turned at last, walking to her slowly, predator-like. "No… he'll become something far worse. A broken thing pretending to be whole."
His fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "He thinks you're worth saving."
She didn't pull away. But her voice trembled. "Am I?"
Kael leaned in, whispering at her lips, "Not to him. To him, you're a prize. But to me…"
His breath ghosted down her throat.
"You're mine."
And Elyndra—gods help her—felt herself want that truth more than any redemption.
The room pulsed with arcane fire. Auron gasped as power carved into him, searing flesh, unraveling spirit. His aura—once golden—shattered into jagged shards of violet and black.
The tome's voice hissed in his ears. "You are no longer the chosen. You are the condemned."
But Auron only smiled.
"I don't need to be chosen."
From the shadows, he emerged.
Draped in black robes stitched with symbols lost to time. A crownless monarch of forgotten worlds.
"Well done," the figure said with amusement. "You've finally chosen the only truth that matters."
Auron turned, unstable but burning. "Who are you?"
The man chuckled. "Oh, I have many names. But you'll learn to call me one thing above all…"
He stepped forward, eyes gleaming with ancient malice.
"Master."
Auron raised his hand, magic crackling through his veins. "You created Kael?"
"No," the man said with a grin.
"I unchained him."
The chamber dimmed.
The war had changed.
This wasn't about love anymore.
This was about legacy. About power.
And Auron—the once-golden prince—was no longer here to save the world.
He was here to remake it.
To be continued...