Three days passed.
Each one heavier than the last.
Althar and his companions marched eastward—across broken canyons, through bloodstained ruins, and over blackened hills that still whispered with ghost-fire. The world around them no longer felt asleep.
Magic pulsed beneath the soil.
War was no longer a storm on the horizon—it was in the air.
And yet, in the shadow of a forgotten ravine, they found something no map had marked.
A city.
Not ancient.
Not ruined.
But alive.
Gates tall as mountains.
Walls of black obsidian, smooth and humming with spells.
And atop its central spire flew a banner none of them recognized—a golden stag bound in silver chains.
Ariya frowned. "That's not from any kingdom I know."
Seris' hands tightened around her grimoire. "Because it isn't. This city… it shouldn't exist. Not anymore."
Rorek spat into the dirt. "Well, it does. And it's watching us."
He wasn't wrong.
The moment they approached the gate, dozens of robed sentinels appeared atop the walls, bows drawn and eyes glowing faintly.
Then the gates creaked open.
And a voice echoed out.
"Enter, bearer of crowns. The City of Chains welcomes you."
Inside, they found order.
Too much order.
The city was pristine—every brick aligned perfectly, every soul moving in synchronization. No laughter. No street cries. Only silence and footsteps. The people wore grey robes and steel collars etched with runes.
It felt less like a city and more like a machine.
"A magical theocracy," Seris whispered. "And a controlled one."
A guide approached—young, smiling, but with dead eyes.
"Welcome, travelers. You walk among the Enlightened. The Chain of Balance ensures harmony for all. You are safe here, for now."
Althar narrowed his eyes. "And who leads this… harmony?"
The guide bowed. "Archon Veyla, Keeper of Equilibrium. She has waited long to meet you."
They were escorted to the heart of the city—into the Hall of Stillness, a palace of mirrors and floating runes. No guards, no threats.
Only her.
Veyla.
She was tall, robed in silver and blue, her hair white as moonlight, her eyes covered with a blindfold made of living thread. She stood atop a dais, hands folded.
And she smiled.
"I remember the day you died, King Althar," she said calmly. "The world sighed in relief."
Althar's expression didn't change. "And now?"
She tilted her head. "Now, the world begins to panic."
Ariya stepped forward. "Why build a city in secret? Why not join the world above?"
Veyla gestured to the mirror walls. They shifted, revealing scenes of chaos—marching armies, cities burning, kings declaring war over the crowns.
"We hid because we knew what would come. When the Seven were gathered again, the world would fracture. You are the catalyst. And the Chain of Balance exists to contain you."
Seris narrowed her eyes. "Contain? Or control?"
Veyla smiled. "What's the difference?"
Suddenly, the walls shimmered again—this time showing a vision of Althar standing alone on a battlefield, surrounded by corpses.
Ariya's corpse among them.
Rorek's. Seris'. Thousands more.
Althar stepped forward. "That hasn't happened."
"But it could," Veyla said. "And that's the danger you represent. The Mirror King was just your reflection. The crowns have changed you, haven't they? You feel… too much now."
Althar's jaw tightened. "What are you offering?"
She extended a hand.
"Stay here. Relinquish the Seventh Crown. Let us protect it—protect you. No more war. No more death. We will erase your name, and the world will heal."
Silence.
Ariya looked to him, heart thundering.
Rorek tensed.
Seris watched, unreadable.
And Althar…
He reached up.
Touched the Crown of Echoes above him.
He could hear the voices within it again.
Screaming.
Begging.
Pleading for peace.
But beneath that… was something deeper.
A single voice. His own.
"Keep moving. Even if it hurts."
He dropped his hand.
"No."
Veyla's expression darkened. "Then you choose war."
"I choose freedom," Althar said. "Even if the world bleeds for it."
The chamber trembled.
Chains shot from the walls, aiming for his limbs.
But Rorek was faster—his axe singing as it shattered the first wave.
Seris summoned fire, Ariya divine light.
And Althar…
Let the Seventh Crown flare.
The power of memories, of voices long buried, roared to life.
The Hall of Stillness cracked.
They fled through a city that turned against itself.
Automated soldiers. Spell-forged beasts. Walls shifting like living metal.
Veyla's voice echoed through the streets.
"You will regret this, King. The world was never meant to feel. It was meant to obey."
Althar looked back once—saw her silhouette burning behind a veil of golden flame.
Then he turned away.
Outside the city, they caught their breath.
Bruised. Bloodied. But free.
Althar stared at his companions—each of them scarred now by this journey.
"Let them come," he said softly.
"I'm done hiding."