The greenhouse stood silent in the pale light of dawn, its cracked glass panes fogged with condensation as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the tangled ivy. It was 06:42 AM WIB on Tuesday, June 3, 2025, in the world beyond Eldoria, but within this magical realm, the passage of time was marked by the weight of a new era dawning. Kael Veyrin stood at the center of the makeshift refuge, the deep blue Veyrin crystal clutched in his scarred hand, its pulse a steady rhythm that synced with his heartbeat. His storm-gray eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his lean frame slumping beneath the tattered gray cloak, the forged Merivale crest now a relic of a past he'd outgrown. His jet-black hair, still tied back with a worn leather strip, was matted with sweat and grime from the battle in the Hall of Concord, and a fresh bruise darkened his jaw where King Vaelthar's blade had grazed him.
The alliance gathered around him, their faces etched with the toll of victory. Elara of House Draven sat on a rusted table, her crimson robe torn at the shoulder, her amber eyes softened with a mix of pride and concern as she watched Kael. Her freckled cheeks were smudged with ash, her long dark brown hair loose and tangled, the crimson ribbon lost in the chaos. Rylan, now steadier on his feet, stood beside her, his amber eyes mirroring hers as he adjusted the borrowed tunic that hung loosely on his frame. Lord Draven, their father, conferred quietly with Lady Seris of House Lirien near the entrance, their voices a low hum as they planned the council's next moves. Lir, Gav, and Mara rested nearby, Lir's spellbook open as he reinforced the greenhouse's wards, Gav's massive frame slumped against a wall, and Mara sharpening her dagger with a rhythmic scrape.
The king was imprisoned, his power broken, and the nobles now ruled in a fragile council, their banners raised over the palace. But the throne—the true throne of Eldoria—remained empty, its call echoing through the crystal in Kael's hand. The echo, the voice of his Veyrin ancestors, had grown louder since the battle, its tone no longer a whisper but a command: *"The throne is yours—take it now, or lose it forever."* Kael felt its pull, a deep yearning to reclaim his family's legacy, but the cost loomed large—the growing strain on his mind, the blood already on his hands, and the lingering threat of Prince Aric, who had vanished into the chaos, his promise of retribution a shadow over their victory.
"We can't wait," Elara said, her voice breaking the silence. She slid off the table, wincing as her burn-scarred hands brushed against her robe. "Aric is still out there, and the nobles won't hold the council together long without a leader. You broke the ritual, Kael. You have the right to the throne."
Kael's jaw tightened, the crystal's warmth both a comfort and a burden. "I don't want it," he admitted, his voice low. "I wanted justice for my family, for yours. But the echo—it's changing me. Every time I use Severance, I feel it taking over, pushing me to be something I'm not."
Rylan stepped forward, his expression grim. "I felt it too, in the sanctum," he said. "The Vaelthars' magic—it corrupts. The throne's tied to their ritual, even if it's broken. If you take it, you might lose yourself."
Lir looked up from his spellbook, his pale face drawn. "There might be a way to sever the connection," he said hesitantly. "A ritual to bind the echo to the crystal permanently, locking it away. But it's dangerous—it could strip your magic entirely."
Elara's amber eyes widened, her hand reaching for Kael's. "You'd lose Severance? After everything it's done for us?"
Kael met her gaze, the echo's voice roaring in his mind, but he pushed it back, focusing on her warmth. "If it means staying myself, staying with you—all of you—then yes. I'm not a king. I'm a survivor."
The decision settled over the group like a heavy cloak. Lord Draven approached, his crimson cuffs glowing faintly, his voice gruff but approving. "A wise choice, Veyrin. The council can rule without a throne. We'll forge a new path—together."
The ritual was prepared swiftly, the greenhouse becoming a sacred space once more. Lir drew a circle of runes on the floor, the crystal placed at its center, its blue light casting eerie shadows. Kael sat within, Elara kneeling opposite him, her hands on his shoulders as his anchor, her fire magic a steady warmth. Rylan, Gav, and Mara stood guard, their presence a silent promise of protection, while Lord Draven and Seris reinforced the wards outside.
Lir chanted, the runes glowing silver, the air thickening with magic. Kael closed his eyes, focusing on his identity—the slums of Veyrin Hold, his mother's lessons, the alliance that had become his family. The echo surged, visions of the throne flashing through his mind—a golden seat stained with blood, his ancestor's rebellion, the Veyrins' fall. It fought to stay, its voice a desperate plea: *"You are the heir—do not abandon us!"*
Elara's voice cut through, firm and grounding. "Kael, you're enough without it. Come back to us."
He clung to her words, the crystal flaring as the echo was bound, its voice fading into silence. The ritual ended with a soft pulse, the crystal dimming, its power sealed. Kael opened his eyes, the ache in his chest gone, but his magic was silent—Severance was no more.
The greenhouse door burst open, Lord Draven's voice urgent. "Royal scouts—Aric's forces are moving on the palace. We need to defend the council!"
Kael stood, his dagger in hand, the crystal now a mere keepsake. He was no longer a mage, but he was still a fighter. Elara's fire flared beside him, her smile fierce. "We'll do this together," she said.
The alliance rallied, joining the nobles at the palace, their banners united against Aric's remnants. The battle was brutal, steel and magic clashing in the golden halls, but Kael fought with a clarity he hadn't felt in months, his dagger swift, Elara's fire a shield at his side. Aric fell at last, his golden eyes dimming, the last of the Vaelthar line broken.
In the aftermath, the council forged a new Eldoria—no throne, no rituals, just a coalition of houses, with Kael and Elara as advisors, their bond unspoken but unbreakable. The crystal rested in a vault, a reminder of the past, and Kael finally felt free.