"The truth of a crown is not in its gold, but in the blood that carried it."
The air inside the chamber had shifted. The red glow that once throbbed from the sword now softened into a deep, steady pulse that mirrored a heartbeat. Lior stared at it in silence. Every rhythm seemed to echo inside his chest, as though the blade itself recognized him.
Kael approached warily. "You are not thinking of touching it again, are you?"
Lior's gaze never left the weapon. "It called to me."
"Most cursed things do," Kael muttered.
Lior extended a hand, and the air began to hum louder. When his fingers finally closed around the hilt, a surge of warmth spread up his arm. It was not the burning pain of corruption but something deeper, something that felt like recognition.
The sword felt heavy yet alive, as though breathing through him. The runes that lined its blade flared to life, shifting shape until they formed an ancient crest: a crown above a bleeding heart.
Kael stepped back. "What in the gods' name is that?"
"The mark of my family," Lior whispered. "The House of Serath. I saw this crest once, in the ruins of the capital before it fell."
Kael frowned. "I thought your family died during the uprising."
Lior nodded. "So did I."
A low hum filled the chamber. The sword began to glow brighter, and the walls responded. Carvings that had long been dull came alive, revealing scenes of kings kneeling before a flame, of cities built beneath banners of light, and of that same flame being consumed by darkness.
Kael's voice softened. "What is this place really?"
Lior exhaled slowly. "A tomb. And a throne."
The moment he said it, the ground trembled. Cracks formed along the floor, spreading outward like veins of fire. From those fissures, faint red light began to seep through.
Kael tightened his grip on his sword. "I am beginning to think this entire valley hates us."
Lior did not answer. The light beneath the floor pulsed again, this time brighter, and then a circle of molten symbols ignited beneath the altar. The air thickened with heat and memory.
A voice rose, deep and commanding. "Who dares claim the blade of kings?"
The two men spun around, but the voice came from everywhere at once. The shadows gathered into form until a towering figure stood before them. He wore armor etched with the same crest as the sword. His face was hidden behind a crown that looked as if it had been forged from blood itself.
Kael's instinct was immediate. "Lior, that is not your family."
Lior's heart pounded. "No. That is my ancestor."
The figure's eyes glowed faintly gold. "My blood lives still." His voice carried both pride and sorrow. "But you are far from the throne that once was ours."
Lior took a cautious step forward. "The throne is gone. The city burned."
"Because I allowed it," the figure said, and his words shook the chamber. "I sought to wield the flame of the gods, but pride made me blind. I bound our lineage to this curse, and the world forgot our name."
Kael lowered his blade slightly. "Then he is the one who created this nightmare."
The king's head turned toward him. "And who are you, mortal wanderer, to speak of kings and curses?"
Kael held his ground. "Someone who watched good men die for the mistakes of rulers."
The ghost regarded him for a long moment, then faced Lior again. "You carry the last echo of our power. Will you repeat my failure, or will you redeem our blood?"
Lior gripped the sword tighter. "If redemption means breaking the curse, I will see it done."
"Then prove your right to wield what was mine."
The air roared like thunder. The king's spirit raised his hand, and the sword in Lior's grasp trembled violently. A blinding surge of light erupted, and the two were thrown apart.
Lior hit the ground hard, the sword sliding from his hand. Before he could reach it, the spectral king seized the weapon.
Flames burst along the blade's length, turning it into a weapon of pure radiance. The heat was unbearable, yet Lior rose to his feet. He could feel the same light burning inside him, fighting to awaken.
Kael shouted, "Lior!" and tossed him a piece of metal that had fallen from the altar. It was half of an ancient emblem, shaped like a crown.
Lior caught it instinctively, and the world changed.
Suddenly he was no longer in the chamber. He stood in a vast throne room filled with fire. He saw men kneeling, banners falling, and his ancestor upon the throne, clutching the same sword, blood dripping from his hand as he cursed the gods for abandoning him.
Then he saw a child, his ancestor's son, being carried away as the walls collapsed. That image burned itself into Lior's mind.
When he blinked, he was back in the present. The king's ghost towered before him once more, sword blazing.
"I destroyed my world to protect it," the king said. "Would you do any less?"
Lior straightened. "I would not destroy it. I would heal it."
The king struck, and their blades met in a clash that shattered the air. Sparks filled the room, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. Each blow felt like striking against history itself.
Lior's strength faltered, but he refused to yield. He could feel the presence of every ancestor within him, every drop of blood that had carried their curse.
The king pushed him back once more. "You are not ready."
Lior gritted his teeth. "Neither were you."
He drove forward with every ounce of strength he had left. The sword flared with light, brighter than before, and pierced through the spectral armor.
The king staggered, then smiled faintly. "So the blood remembers."
The flames began to fade. The king reached out, placing a hand over Lior's heart. "Then carry the burden better than I did."
When he vanished, the sword dimmed, leaving only the faint hum of energy.
Kael rushed to his side. "Did we win?"
Lior's gaze lingered on the weapon. "No. We were judged."
The chamber fell into silence again. The cracks in the ground sealed, and the red mist beyond the gate began to fade.
Lior sheathed the sword carefully. "It is not over. The curse still lives. But now I know where it began."
Kael sighed. "And I suppose that means we are heading straight into it."
Lior gave a faint smile. "You said it yourself, Kael. Most cursed things call to me."
Kael groaned. "Then may the gods pity us both."
The two men ascended the stairs, leaving the empty chamber behind. Above them, the valley began to breathe again, its red mist thinning until sunlight broke through for the first time in centuries.
And in the silence that followed, the sword pulsed once more, as if listening.