No soldiers clashed, no banners fluttered, no screams filled the court's vast chamber. The very air seemed to freeze around Kael as he stood at the center, his crimson hair plastered to his face, his blade dripping with the last traces of blackened blood. His chest rose and fell like the lungs of a dying god, each breath ragged, trembling with exhaustion and something darker—something that wasn't his own.
Around him, shadows writhed. They curled and coiled like serpents, the residue of the power he had unleashed. The Sovereign's body, still robed in gilded black, slumped limply to one side. The once unbreakable tyrant lay broken in a pool of blood and aura that pulsed unnaturally, as if unwilling to accept death.
Kael didn't cheer. He didn't roar in triumph. His eyes, glowing faintly with that terrible red light, flicked to the faces staring back at him—the soldiers, the courtiers, even his own companions.
Every one of them wore the same expression. Awe. Fear. Disbelief.
The throne of the Crimson Sovereign was empty.
"…It's done," whispered Lyra, her voice breaking the silence. Her bow hung loosely at her side, and her eyes glistened with the faintest touch of tears. She had fought through hell to reach this moment, yet now, staring at Kael, she seemed unsure whether victory was something to celebrate.
Aric, still holding his battered shield, took a hesitant step forward. His voice was steadier, though his gaze never left the blade in Kael's hand. "The Sovereign is dead. You've done what none of us thought possible."
Kael's fingers tightened on the hilt. His knuckles whitened, not from pride, but from the tremor running through him. His aura still raged, red-black arcs snapping across the floor. He had not yet mastered the thing inside him, the force that had surged when he cut through the Sovereign's defenses.
He felt as if the blade had devoured part of him along with his enemy.
The court remained frozen, hundreds of nobles and soldiers staring in stunned silence. Then, slowly, the murmurs began. Whispers rising like smoke in a ruined temple.
"He's killed him…"
"The Sovereign is no more…"
"What… what is he?"
Some fell to their knees, bowing as though before a god. Others shrank back, clutching at the edges of their cloaks, eyes wild with fear. Already, invisible lines were being drawn—those who would swear loyalty to Kael, and those who would plot his death the moment he turned his back.
Kael's gaze swept over them all. He saw their trembling lips, their darting eyes. None of them saw him as a man anymore. To them, he was something else now. A weapon. A monster. A savior.
He sheathed his blade with a sharp motion, the sound ringing out like thunder in the chamber.
"Leave," Kael's voice was low, hoarse, but it carried through the silence. "All of you."
No one moved. Not at first. Then, as if some unspoken command had been released, the court erupted into chaos. Nobles scrambled for the doors. Soldiers dragged the wounded. Ministers shouted orders that no one listened to. The Sovereign's once-mighty court collapsed into panic before his cooling corpse.
Kael didn't watch them go. His gaze lingered on the throne—the towering black seat from which the Sovereign had ruled for decades. Its shadow seemed heavier than the rest of the chamber, stretching long and unbroken, even without the tyrant who had cast it.
He knew that shadow wasn't gone.
A hand touched his shoulder.
It was Selene, her silver hair falling loose, her eyes searching his face. "Kael," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You need to breathe. It's over. You brought him down."
Kael turned to her, his red eyes softer now, but weighed with exhaustion. "Over?" he muttered. "No… this is only the beginning."
The companions gathered closer, forming a shield around him as the last of the courtiers fled. Aric, Lyra, Selene, and even grim-faced Darius, who rarely spoke, tightened their formation as though expecting another attack.
Because victory had not brought peace. Only silence.
And silence could be more dangerous than any battle cry.
Kael finally let out a slow breath, his shoulders easing slightly. He glanced at his friends—the ones who had followed him through fire and blood. The ones who now looked at him with something new in their eyes. Devotion. Fear. Doubt. Hope.
All tangled together.
"We'll leave this place," Kael said, voice steadier now. He lifted his blade and pointed it toward the massive doors of the court. "But remember this: the Sovereign may be dead, but his shadow will stretch long across this kingdom. Others will come for his throne. And they'll come for me."
Aric gave a grim nod. "Then we'll cut them down, one by one."
Lyra's lips pressed into a thin line. "Kael… you've changed. That power—what you did—"
"I know," Kael interrupted, his voice sharper than intended. Then he softened. "But I won't let it take me. Not while you're with me."
For a moment, the companions stood together in the ruined court, surrounded by the echoes of a fallen empire. The Sovereign's blood still stained the marble floor. His throne still loomed in silent defiance.
And Kael, crimson-eyed and shadow-crowned, stood at the center.
Not a conqueror. Not yet a king.
But something greater—and far more dangerous.
As they stepped out into the storm-washed night, the sound of distant bells tolled across the capital. Bells that had not rung in centuries.
The world knew.
The Sovereign was dead.
And Kael Rivenhart had slain him.