In the heart of the continent, buried deep beneath the ruins of a forgotten kingdom, the chamber of shadows breathed with life not its own. Thick with the scent of wax and ash, the air pulsed to the rhythm of unseen power—slow, steady, and coiled like a serpent waiting to strike.
The Hooded Lord reclined in his ancient throne of ebony and bone, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, a goblet of shadowwine nestled in his gloved hand. He swirled the contents lazily, watching the dark liquid glimmer with flecks of red and gold—blood and memory, mingled into vintage malice.
Before him, the grand mirror shimmered, its surface now still, like a lake after a storm. The images of Shin and Laverna and their devastating display at the Harvest Festival had faded, replaced by the flickering sigil of the ancient world—a fox entangled in chains, surrounded by thorns.
"So the little fox awakens," the Hooded Lord mused, his voice like silk drawn over razors. "How poetic. How... predictable."
Footsteps echoed in the gloom. The Hooded Lady returned, but this time she bore no wine—only a scroll sealed with bloodwax. She knelt before him and raised the scroll with both hands.
"Essaterra has opened," she whispered. "The crystal obeyed their bond. The oath was made."
He took the scroll without looking at her, snapping the seal and scanning its contents with glowing eyes. The shadows around his hood deepened, the brim obscuring every trace of his face except for the faint glint of sharp teeth curling into a smile.
"They think they have chosen their path," he said. "They forget who laid the stones beneath their feet."
He stood, and the chamber responded. Candles flared with violet fire. The air throbbed. Even the stone beneath his boots seemed to recoil from the weight of his presence.
The Hooded Lady dared not rise. "Shall we move forward with the Crown?"
He approached the mirror, placing a hand on its cold surface. It rippled at his touch, revealing a towering castle—the palace in Essaterra. And within, the throne.
"The King is already mine," he murmured. "The Crown is only a symbol. A relic. The people bow to what they fear."
He traced a single finger down the glass, and the image shifted—to Davis, then to Shin, then to Laverna, then to Zera. Each flicker is faster than the last.
"Let them rebel. Let them burn bright. Stars shine brightest before they collapse."
He turned away, the mirror fading into darkness once more.
The Hooded Lady stood finally, her voice trembling despite herself. "And if they reach you? If they learn the truth?"
He paused at the far end of the chamber, hands behind his back.
"Then the game ends," he said simply. "And the world remembers the name they buried."
The flames bent inward, shadows devouring the chamber.
"Voryn."
The hood never came down.
Only his laughter remained, echoing long after the light had died.