CHAPTER 5 — The Weight of Silence
The rain hadn't stopped since the thirteenth bell tolled.
Every drop seemed to whisper a name he had long forgotten.
Erevan stood beneath the towering spire of Veyra's Great Hall — the same hall where his execution had been celebrated thirteen years ago.
The banners still hung, though faded, and the marble floor still bore the faint brown stain of his blood.
"Poetic, isn't it?" he murmured, eyes tracing the ceiling's cracked fresco. "The kingdom that killed me built a cathedral to pray I'd stay dead."
His shadow laughed before he did.
The doors slammed open.
A dozen armored inquisitors stormed in, their sigils glowing gold — the Lightbound Order, sworn to the Queen's command.
Their leader, Ser Altren, drew his blade, its edge humming with sanctified power.
> "By decree of Her Majesty," he thundered, "you are bound to the silence of death, impostor. Surrender the relic you wear."
Erevan smiled, slow and razor-thin.
> "Impostor? I would agree—if I weren't still wearing the head you all tried to separate from my shoulders."
A ripple of unease spread among the soldiers. The Crown pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat under glass.
Erevan took one step forward.
The torches dimmed.
Another, and the air thickened—like the world itself was holding its breath.
Then came the third step.
The bells began to ring again.
Not from above the cathedral.
But inside their skulls.
The inquisitors froze, hands clutching their heads as whispers poured through their ears — not words, but memories. Their own memories, twisted backward, looping in reverse until the screaming began.
Erevan's eyes shimmered silver.
> "The Crown doesn't kill," he said softly. "It edits."
One man dropped to his knees, eyes blank.
Another raised his sword to his own throat, whispering forgive me to someone long dead.
Altren, trembling, pressed forward through the chaos, blood trailing from his ear.
> "Monster! What have you become?"
Erevan tilted his head, smiling faintly.
> "Efficient."
With a flick of his hand, silence fell.
Total, perfect silence. The air itself seemed to recoil.
The inquisitors froze mid-motion — suspended between life and dream — and as Erevan walked past them, their bodies dissolved into pale threads of light that coiled back into the Crown.
He sighed.
> "Thirteen years, and still no one listens."
From the shadows above, a woman's voice spoke — calm, deliberate, and achingly familiar.
> "You didn't come back for vengeance, Erevan. You came back because you're afraid to be forgotten."
He looked up.
A hooded figure stood on the rafters, the faint silver of royal embroidery catching the light.
> "Ah," he said, a smirk touching his lips. "Sister."
The hood fell away — revealing Princess Elayne, heir to the throne that was once his. Her eyes were the same storm-gray as his own, but colder.
> "Mother thinks you're a ghost," she said. "I think you're a symptom."
> "And you?" he asked, his grin fading. "Do you think you can cure me?"
She drew her blade — silver-white, forged in divine light. The Saintsteel Saber.
> "No," she said, leaping down. "But I can cut out the disease."
The Crown pulsed.
For the first time, Erevan laughed.
A low, quiet laugh that cracked the silence like lightning.
> "Then let's see," he said, "which of us Heaven remembers."
As their blades met, the cathedral lights shattered—
And for a moment, all of Veyra saw a dead prince and a living princess locked in battle beneath a rain of silver fire.
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⚙️ Chapter End Teaser:
> The Thirteenth Crown awakens its first true ability —
Memory Reversal.
Every truth erased becomes a lie reborn.
And the first lie he chooses… is his own death.