Chapter Nine: The Crownless King
The sky above the Vale was the color of fire-washed iron, a pale and unnatural hue that burned without warmth. Winds whispered through the broken swordstones as Kael and Andrew stood at the edge of the world, where the land gave way to mist and myth.
Kael's heart was still echoing with the weight of the name Ashren.
But Andrew's voice was calm. Low. Carved with old memory.
"You knew him as Ashren. But that wasn't his true name. His real name… was Andreas one of the 6 swordmasters."
Kael turned sharply. "You told me he wasn't a king."
Andrew met his gaze. "He wasn't… to the world. But to those who followed, those who feared him, those who loved him—he was more than a king. He was the Emperor of the Last Empire. Ruler of Dream Land."
Kael frowned. "Dream Land? That's a myth. A name from children's stories."
Andrew stepped forward, boots grinding against ancient dust. "That's the lie they left behind. The Empire wasn't made of gold or peace. It was carved in blood. Dream Land was the last true kingdom before the collapse—before the Pale Eye poisoned the continent."
He looked out over the Vale, jaw tightening.
"Andreas… your father… was my brother in arms. My friend. My rival. The most dangerous man I've ever known."
Kael was silent.
Andrew continued.
"He was brilliant. Cold. Hungry. Not for food or fame—but for conflict. He lived for it. Andreas had a gift for war. He could read a battlefield like you read a book. Saw opportunities where others saw walls. Conquered not with pride, but with precision."
His tone darkened.
"But when it came to land—power—he never hesitated. He'd spill rivers of blood for an inch of ground. And yet… in a council chamber, in the hush before a war? He was colder than steel. Cleverer than any king. He played lords like pieces, moved borders like lines drawn in sand."
Kael swallowed. "Why doesn't anyone know he ruled?"
Andrew turned to him.
"Because he made sure they wouldn't."
He let that sink in.
"Andreas didn't want a legacy. He didn't want statues. He wanted impact. He ruled from the shadows, using puppet rulers, empty thrones, false names. No historian could pin him down. He erased himself from the records—because his empire wasn't meant to last. It was meant to change the world, then vanish."
Kael's voice was barely a whisper. "Why?"
Andrew stared at him long and hard.
"Because he knew what was coming. He knew about the Pale Eye."
He gestured toward Kael.
"And he knew you'd need a clean name. One without the weight of his war."
The silence after was deep. Wide as the continent itself.
Then Andrew said, quietly:
"I loved him like a brother. And I watched him die."
Kael's chest ached. "How?"
Andrew didn't answer right away. He just looked away, into the horizon, where a sliver of twisted sky marked the Pale Eye's reach.
"When the time comes, you'll know."
Then he turned back.
"But now you understand, Kael. You're not just carrying Veilrend. You're carrying Andreas. His will. His sins. His blood."
He stepped closer.
"And the continent will not forgive you for it."