The throne room stretched endlessly, its ceiling lost in smoke, its walls shifting like dunes of pale bone. The floor beneath Rose's boots was warm, as if something alive pulsed far beneath it. She stood at the heart of it all, the jagged crown of iron searing her scalp with every heartbeat, the sword heavy in her grip.
Before her, the silhouettes knelt. Thousands of them, their heads bowed, their forms rippling like candle shadows. And together, their voices thundered in a chant that made the walls tremble:
All hail the betrayer queen.
The sound was suffocating. It filled her chest, her ears, her veins, until she wanted to tear the crown from her head and smash it to the ground. But she could not. Every time her hands brushed against the crown, fire lanced through her skull, forcing her to her knees.
The crown wanted her. Needed her.
The sword pulsed in agreement, its carvings glowing brighter, its weight binding her to the dais like shackles. She realized, with a sick twist of her stomach, that she was no longer simply its bearer. She was its vessel.
Rose raised her head. "I'm not your queen."
The chant faltered for the briefest moment, then swelled louder, drowning her protest.
"I said I am not your queen!" she screamed, her voice cracking.
Silence fell like a blade. Every silhouette lifted its head in perfect unison. Their faces were blank voids, yet she felt their attention pierce her like knives.
One of them rose. Taller than the rest, broader, with the outline of shattered armor across its chest. When it spoke, its voice was Singh's.
"You wear the crown. You are the queen."
Rose staggered back a step. "You again. Why won't you leave me?"
Singh's shadow smiled, its teeth too sharp. "Because I am you. And you are me. Every queen is only a reflection of the first oath."
The other shadows rose behind him, row upon row of figures. Some held swords, others daggers, others only their hands, dripping with unseen blood. All stared at her.
"You are our sovereign," Singh intoned. "Command us."
Rose's throat tightened. "And if I refuse?"
The silhouettes swayed as one, like a field of dead grass in a bitter wind. Singh's smile widened. "Then we command you."
The crown flared, its jagged edges searing into her scalp. Rose cried out, clutching at her head, but the pain only deepened. The whispers rushed back, louder than ever, a thousand voices hissing: Rule. Rule. Rule.
She staggered to her knees. The sword pulsed in her grip, and her arm lifted against her will. The legion of silhouettes bowed again, waiting, silent, breathless.
One word burned in her mind, planted by the crown. Speak.
Rose clenched her teeth, fighting the pull, but the word tore free anyway, a whisper that echoed like thunder.
"Rise."
The legion obeyed. Thousands of silhouettes surged upright in perfect unison, their weapons glinting faintly in the ashen firelight. The sound of their movement was like a storm—shuffling feet, rattling steel, the low moan of endless throats.
Rose staggered back, horrified. She hadn't wanted to command them, hadn't meant to. But the crown twisted even her resistance into obedience.
Singh's shadow approached, towering over her. "You see? The crown bends you. The sword speaks through you. There is no defiance, only delay."
"No," Rose gasped, her fingers tightening on the hilt. "If I must rule, then I'll rule my way."
Singh's grin turned cold. "Then let us see how long your way survives."
The throne room shook. The walls split apart, crumbling into dust and smoke. Beyond them lay not halls but a battlefield—a plain of ash stretching to the horizon, littered with broken banners and shattered weapons. Skeletal ruins jutted like teeth from the ground.
The legion marched through the crumbling walls, spilling out onto the plain, thousands strong.
Rose was dragged with them, the crown pulling her steps, the sword burning in her grip. She tried to resist, to plant her feet, but her body moved like a puppet's.
When she reached the plain, the whispers in her head grew clearer. Not voices, but orders. Kill. Burn. Betray.
Her stomach churned. This was what the crown wanted: a queen of slaughter, a sovereign of endless treachery.
"No," she muttered. "Not me."
The legion halted as one, awaiting her word. Rose's chest heaved, her breath ragged. She felt their hunger pressing against her like heat from a furnace.
And suddenly, she realized: they weren't just waiting for her. They were starving for her.
If she commanded betrayal, they would feast. If she refused, they would turn on her.
A laugh escaped her throat—bitter, cracked. "So that's it. Rule by betrayal, or be betrayed."
Singh's shadow stood at her side now, his smile cruel. "At last you understand. You are the crown, Rose. The queen of knives. There is no throne without blood."
Rose turned to him, her grip tight on the sword. "Then maybe it's time the throne fell."
She drove the blade into the ashen ground.
Light exploded outward, white and searing, a shockwave tearing across the battlefield. Silhouettes screamed as their forms unraveled, smoke ripping from their bodies. The ground split, rivers of fire gushing up through the cracks.
The crown screamed in her skull. The whispers became shrieks, furious, desperate.
Singh staggered back, his form flickering. "Fool! You defy eternity!"
Rose rose to her feet, blood running down her face from the cuts the crown carved into her scalp. "Eternity doesn't scare me."
The battlefield writhed. The sky above split open, revealing not stars but a yawning abyss, its depths crawling with shadows. The legion screamed, their loyalty shattering, their forms surging into chaos. Some lunged at her, their blades raised, while others tore at one another, driven mad by the broken command.
Rose wrenched the sword free of the ground, its carvings blazing with light and fire. She swung, cleaving through silhouettes that burst like glass into smoke.
But there were too many. For every shadow she cut down, ten more surged forward. Their weapons struck her armor, slicing her skin, though none drew true blood—only marks that burned with the heat of betrayal.
The crown howled in her mind. Submit! Rule! Kill!
She snarled through clenched teeth. "I'll lead, but not your way."
She thrust the sword high, its light piercing the abyss above. "If I am queen, then I command this: betray the crown itself!"
The battlefield froze.
The legion shuddered as though struck by a great wind. Their heads twisted upward, their eyes flaring with pale fire. A thousand voices screamed at once, not in rage but in agony.
The crown seared hotter, its jagged edges burying into her skull until she thought it would split her head open. Blood poured down her face, but she did not stop.
"Betray it!" she roared again. "Betray the oath! Betray the curse!"
The legion convulsed. Some dropped their weapons. Others turned their blades upon themselves. Shadows tore apart in spirals of smoke.
Singh staggered back, his form unraveling. His smile was gone, replaced by fury. "You cannot—this is blasphemy—"
Rose pointed the sword at him, her face a mask of blood and fire. "And yet here I stand."
The plain split wide, a chasm of light swallowing the battlefield. The legion fell screaming into it, their voices twisting into echoes that faded into silence. Singh's form shattered, his scream stretching into eternity before it too was gone.
The crown cracked, shards of iron falling into her bloodied hair. The whispers faltered. For the first time since she had touched the sword, there was silence.
Rose dropped to her knees, the sword falling beside her. She gasped for breath, every muscle trembling, every wound burning.
She had done it. She had broken the cycle.
Or so she thought.
The silence shifted.
From the chasm of light came not peace, but a deeper darkness. A shadow rose, vast and formless, blotting out what little sky remained. Its voice was not many but one, deep and resonant, older than Singh, older than the sword itself.
"You misunderstand, child. Singh was not the first. The crown was not his to make. He was only chosen, as you are chosen now."
Rose lifted her head weakly, the sword trembling in her grip. "What are you?"
The shadow spread across the battlefield, its form shifting like storm clouds, its eyes opening in the abyss.
"I am the Betrayal. I am the oath itself. The crown and the sword are but fragments of me. You cannot break me. You can only serve."
Rose staggered to her feet, blood dripping from her wounds. "Then I'll serve you… a deathblow."
The shadow laughed, a sound that shook the broken world. "Then come, betrayer queen. Betrayal against betrayal. Let us see who endures."
The battlefield collapsed into the abyss, and Rose fell with it—sword in hand, crown cracked but clinging to her skull, plunging into the heart of the true curse.