"Before there were gods, there were kings.
And one of them remembers how to rise."
---
Far above the mortal sky, beyond even the Ninth Heaven, lies a place even the gods do not speak of.
It has no name.
Only a door.
Sealed in silence.
Bound by thirteen runes forged from screams.
And behind it—
He waits.
---
The vault trembled.
The light that spilled into it wasn't golden, or divine.
It was red.
Deep.
Old.
The color of truth that had bled too long.
A god stepped forward.
Not Zarikhael.
Not the Pale Matron.
But one older—one who had not walked among mortals in ten thousand years:
> "The Voice has returned," she said.
The figure in chains did not answer.
The gods around her exchanged glances.
> "She remembers," said another.
"The war begins again."
Still no response.
Then—
> "And Karna lives."
The chains groaned.
The vault grew colder.
And the Bound King spoke:
> "Then the world owes me blood."
---
⚔️ Meanwhile — In Ashmarch
Thunder cracked across the sky as scouts returned.
Aralyndra stood at the edge of the council tent, Karna beside her, eyes locked on the horizon.
> "Three cities fell silent," Kaelen said. "No smoke. No signs. Just... erased."
> "Erased how?" Thorne asked.
Kaelen unfolded the parchment.
It shimmered—spell-sealed ink that bled from every letter.
> "The name Astraeva was uttered," he said.
"And then... everyone inside vanished."
Silence.
> "It's begun," Karna said.
"The gods are waking their old weapons."
---
Inside the war tent, the map shimmered with flame-runes.
Twelve Fragments.
Nine Thrones.
One war.
And in the center—Astraeva's mark, now pulsing with gold.
> "If they wake him," Thorne whispered, "nothing will survive."
> "Who?" Aralyndra asked.
> "The one who knew the vows before even you sang them.
The one the thrones were built to cage.
The first king.
The true speaker."
---
🜃 Somewhere beyond the mortal map…
A valley where suns do not rise.
Where rivers flow backwards.
Where birds are born singing the names of extinct gods.
There—at the center of a dead kingdom—a man opened his eyes.
He had no skin.
No breath.
But he stood.
> "Astraeva," he whispered.
> "She remembers her voice.
So I will remember my sword."
---
🐉 In the Daggered Spires – South of the Folded Mountains
The first dragon bowed.
Not to a god.
Not to flame.
But to a girl.
Twelve years old. Eyes like night. Hair white as frost.
She held one of the Fragments.
And when she spoke, the dragon curled its wings in reverence.
> "Your voice is ancient," it said.
"Older than kings. Older than thrones.
You are not a child.
You are her echo."
---
⚔️ Back in Ashmarch – The First Fire March
Aralyndra stood before her army.
The Vowborn.
The exile-lords.
The last rune-singers.
The monsters who bled truth instead of blood.
They were not perfect.
They were not united.
But they were ready.
Karna raised his blade—the Fragment called Truthbreak.
> "This march," he said, "will be remembered not because we win—
but because we dared to rise."
Aralyndra raised her voice.
> "Let the gods hear us."
> "Let them fear us."
> "Let them try—one last time—to chain a voice."
---
And far, far above—
The Bound King smiled.
Chains snapped.
The vault door cracked.
And the stars began to shiver.