Crownless King: The Heir of the Forgotten Throne
Side Story – Tarin: The Broken Oath
In a time long before he assumed the role of a sly spy; before he chose the path that would label him a traitor; and long before he perfected the art of flashing disarming smiles and spinning finely-crafted lies—
Tarin Vel Kaen was, at his very core, a child imprisoned in a cage not of iron bars, but rather ensconced within a shimmering edifice of glass and gold—an intricate labyrinth known as The Mirror Sanctum, situated deep in the heart of Vel'Therin's inner ring, a place where wealth and magic coalesced.
He was the sixth among a dozen orphans designated as "Ascendant Wards," each child snatched from the unyielding grip of the streets and pulled into the shadowy embrace of the Guild's High Arcanists. These sorrowful youths were not simply taken; they were sculpted—forged to become lethal weapons, obedient tools, and ultimately, the potential heirs to the Guild's formidable legacy.
In those cold, echoing halls, they trained him in silence, stripping away the innocence of childhood with each passing day. They drilled the art of deception into his bones before he could even form words in his mouth. They instilled in him a harsh truth: pain was not merely something to endure; it was a conduit to focus, and focus, in turn, was the key to survival.
Every Ward was assigned a designation. Yet, amidst his peers, Tarin emerged with a unique identity that transcended mere numbers—a moniker bestowed upon him by the other Wards: Ghostfire.
This name reflected the essence of his magic; it didn't ignite in raging flames but instead danced in flickers—subtle, mesmerizing, and profoundly deadly.
As he crossed the threshold to sixteen summers, Tarin had honed his skills in over seventy distinct forms of leybinding. This prodigious mastery did not arise from innate talent…
No, it was forged from desperation—a resolute refusal to be extinguished.
The Guild held no regard for accolades or encouragement. Existence was granted, but praise was an unattainable luxury. In their eyes, the value of a Ward was cast in black and white—failure was not tolerated. A Ward who faltered was not just reprimanded; they were eliminated, wiped from existence as if they had never drawn breath.
It was during this turbulent period that he stumbled into an unexpected encounter.
Not with another Ward. Not with a scion of the Guild.
But with a girl.
She had no business being in the Archives, yet she had audaciously sneaked in through a broken lift vent, climbing thirty stories just to uncover the truth buried within the tomes—real history that had been censored, polished, and rendered palatable for the masses.
Her name was Seris.
What distinguished her from all others was her approach: she was the first person to ask Tarin his name without any ulterior motive, without the intent to exploit his power or resources.
Initially, they weren't friends; in fact, the foundation of their relationship was built on mistrust.
She eyed him with skepticism; he struggled to comprehend her spirit.
However, as the days turned into weeks, their exchanges gradually evolved. Words that had once dripped with mockery transformed into a playful banter laced with challenges… and eventually, those challenges blossomed into full, unrestrained laughter. It was through this shared joy that they stumbled into something far more perilous—something that felt remarkably like hope.
In the shadows, they nurtured dreams—quiet, almost reverent aspirations of fleeing, of severing their bonds, of igniting a rebellion that would turn Vel'Therin into nothing more than smoldering ruins, forcing the Guild to face the dire consequences of its own hubris.
But they were young, and they were blinded by the pervasive watchfulness of the Guild, whose eyes were ever vigilant, scrutinizing every whisper, every gesture.
Then one fateful night, Seris simply vanished.
Taken, without a trace.
Tarin was informed that she had been apprehended for the alleged theft of highly classified records and was subsequently condemned to the Black Arc—the Guild's dreaded prison, a dark abyss from which few ever emerged.
When he summoned the courage to inquire about her fate a second time, the mentors who had shaped his existence only smiled, their expressions a mix of satisfaction and smug complacency.
"This is precisely why you mustn't form attachments," they told him, their words as cold as the steel of the chains that bound them all.
That night, a profound transformation occurred within him.
He did not shed tears—there was no time for that.
Instead, he set to work, meticulously plotting his next moves.
A month elapsed, and one night, the entire Mirror Sanctum was enveloped in an unnatural darkness that consumed it for six agonizing hours.
When the lights finally flickered back to life, a grim tableau revealed itself: three instructors lay lifeless on the floor, and in that moment, Tarin was nowhere to be found.
He had erased every trace of his existence, obliterated his Ward number, adopted a new name, and slipped away into the shadowy underbelly of the skylands—a realm where Guild spies morphed into information brokers and exiles transformed into fearsome monsters.
Yet what remained veiled from the eyes of the Guild was a profound truth.
Tarin wasn't fleeing from his past—
He was biding his time.
Waiting for the day when the Guild would finally splinter.
Waiting for someone—anyone—to rise up and challenge the Twelve.
And when the familiar energy of the Crownless surged through the leyline, akin to a tempest howling through the very marrow of the world…
He grasped the situation with a thrilling clarity that surged through him like an electric current, stirring his very core. In that moment of realization, everything fell into place, and he felt an undeniable sense of purpose rising within him. The weight of his thoughts settled, and a voice inside urged him onward with resolute determination.
It was a pivotal moment, one that bespoke of change and possibility, and he couldn't ignore the urgency that enveloped him. The words echoed in his mind with profound significance: "It's time." Time for action, for stepping into the unknown, for seizing the opportunities that lay ahead. The world around him seemed to vibrate with potential, and he knew that the moment had arrived for him to embrace his destiny and take that crucial leap forward.
So when he beheld Seris once more, alive and invigorated, her presence as dangerous and defiant as he had remembered, fiercely protecting a terrified boy who remained blissfully unaware of the power he wielded…
Tarin couldn't help but smile.
Because this time, perhaps, together they would ignite a conflagration strong enough to reshape the world around them.
-End Of Side Story-