The stone chamber's heat was unbearable. The air shimmered, heavy with incense and the singed tang of old blood. Crimson candles, placed in perfect geometric lines, cast tall, trembling shadows across the obsidian walls. The flicker of flame danced over runic symbols carved into basalt blocks—sigils of binding, of sacrifice, of dominion.
Elias lay unconscious on the altar, his breathing shallow. The silk-green cloth beneath him was stained in parts, darkening like veins spreading outward. Lucien paced near the threshold, the *Red Crown* cradled in his gloved hands. Its surface was not smooth metal—it was organic, thorned, glowing faintly like molten gold fused into flesh. Embedded in it were tiny lines that pulsed, throbbing with a life of their own.
A distant rumble shook the chamber—the foundation, or perhaps the world beyond. Elias's lashes fluttered. His chest rose, then fell, then rose again more firmly.
Lucien stopped pacing and turned.
"You must wake, Elias." His voice was smooth, but brittle under the pressure of expectation.
Elias's eyes cracked open. They glowed faint red in the dimness, as though the crown's embers had already begun to integrate with his being. He winced, raising a trembling hand.
"Lucien?" His voice was hoarse, swallowed by the chamber's weight.
Lucien approached, careful, as though approaching a wounded animal.
"You are changed," he said. "The Empire's ritual has done its work."
Elias tried to sit—but the runes beneath him flared, binding him. He froze. A surge of pain lanced through his veins.
"Don't fight it yet," Lucien cautioned, helping him adjust. But there was something unreadable in Lucien's eyes—relief, regret, ambition.
Behind them, the great double doors creaked. Kael emerged, footsteps echoing hollow and slow. His face was gaunt, haunted. The firelight flickered across shadows under his eyes.
He paused at the edge of the room, as though the threshold itself was a line he dared not cross.
"You came," Elias said, voice ragged.
Kael's eyes lowered. He glanced at the altar, then at Lucien.
"I had to."
The chamber went silent. Elias's breath came harder. He felt the blood-bound veins under his skin throb—power humming in his nerves.
Lucien raised the crown. Its thorns seemed to writhe.
"This crown must be placed upon you tonight, Elias. Only then will your soul be sealed to the Empire's will. Only then can you truly ascend."
Elias's heartbeat thundered.
"Ascend?" he whispered. "I didn't ask for this."
"You were chosen," Lucien said. "It was decided long before you were born."
He stepped closer, the crown glowing brighter.
Kael shifted.
"You're giving him poison and calling it birthright."
Lucien's lips curved into a thin, bitter smile.
"Perhaps. But blood is not poison—unless you taste it wrongly."
Elias gripped the edge of the altar, trying to steady himself. His veins felt like coals, burning from within.
"Let me speak," he said. "Let me decide."
Lucien hesitated. The runes on the walls pulsed like living hearts. The crown's glow tempered, as though the ritual paused, suspended. Elias realized: this moment was fragile.
Kael took a step forward.
"You don't have to force him. I'll wear it if you refuse."
Elias looked between Lucien and Kael, fear and longing warring in his face.
"Kael—"
Lucien shook his head, his voice tense.
"No. The wrong bearer risks everything. The seals break. The Emperor's wrath consumes the world you know."
He extended the crown. The thorns quivered, eager.
From the corners of the chamber, tiny embers rose—floating motes of light drawn to the crown's magnetism. The air hummed with a voice just beneath hearing, like an echo in the bones.
Elias inhaled. The air tasted of metal and ash.
"Put it on me," he said. "I'll bear it."
Kael's face tightened. He reached forward, but Elias stopped him.
"No. I must do this myself."
Lucien nodded solemnly, then kneeled before the altar. He placed the crown gently upon Elias's brow.
Pain exploded.
The chamber shook. A roar erupted inside Elias's head—fire, blood, stars collapsing. His eyes snapped shut. White light exploded behind his lids. He arched his back, a scream caught in his throat.
The crown's thorns sank deeper, weaving into bone. Molten gold surged into his veins. Symbols etched themselves beneath his skin, glowing.
Lucien blurred in his vision. Kael's shadow wavered. And then—silence.
Elias's eyes opened. The crown had fused to him. His body pulsed with unnatural, divine power. The runes on the walls lit up.
He gasped. The pain was gone. In its place: fire.
Lucien stepped back.
"You are the Crownbearer now. The Empire's blood flows through you. You carry the weight of all its will."
"Why me?" Elias whispered.
"Because no other can endure it," Lucien said. "And because the Empire's fate and yours were never separate."
Kael's voice cracked.
"You didn't ask for this. But I stay. Because I love you."
Elias looked at him—hurt, love, and duty colliding behind his eyes.
He stood slowly. The crown's light spilled from him.
Lucien knelt.
"Bow before your fate, Crownbearer."
Kael remained standing.
Elias turned to them both. His voice was quiet, steady.
"I bow to no one. But I swear this — to protect those I love, even if the Empire demands blood."
Lucien's expression flickered.
Kael whispered,
"Then we walk together — if you'll let me."
Elias nodded.
The crown hummed.
And in that moment, as flame and blood intertwined, the boy who had once knelt became the man they would follow — or fear.