Part B
Night settled without mercy.
No stars showed themselves. Clouds hung low and thick, swallowing the sky until the world felt smaller, tighter—like it was slowly closing in.
The camp barely slept.
Every sound made people flinch. A snapping branch sent hands to weapons. A child coughing made three adults turn at once.
Kael lay awake near the dying fire, staring at the shapes of trees overhead.
The Crown pulsed.
Not loudly.
Not urgently.
Patiently.
As if it knew dawn would come whether he wanted it to or not.
He turned onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut, but images pushed through anyway.
A battlefield soaked black with ash.
Men kneeling with heads bowed.
A throne of fractured stone.
And him—always him—standing at the center, expression calm while the world burned quietly around his feet.
Stop, he thought.
The visions faded, but the feeling remained.
That frightening sense that some part of him understood exactly how that future was supposed to happen.
A soft crunch of footsteps approached.
Lyra lowered herself beside him, wrapping her cloak tighter against the cold.
"You haven't slept," she said.
"Neither have you."
She gave a faint breath that might have been agreement. "Scouts say the forward line has halted."
Kael frowned. "Why would they stop?"
"Because they're waiting," she replied.
"For what?"
She looked at him.
"For you."
The words settled slowly, sinking deeper than fear.
Kael sat up. "Then maybe I should go."
Lyra stiffened instantly. "No."
"If they're here for me—"
"They're here for the Crown," she snapped quietly. Then softened. "And they don't take what they want without breaking it first."
Kael rubbed his face with both hands. "People are going to die if I keep hiding."
"People will die faster if you walk into their hands unprepared."
He let out a shaky breath. "You keep saying 'their hands' like you know exactly what they'll do."
Lyra's jaw tightened.
"They'll crown you."
Silence.
Kael stared at her. "What?"
"They believe the Crown only obeys one bloodline," she said. "The last bearer vanished generations ago. The Dominion has been searching ever since."
"You're saying they think I'm—"
"I'm saying the Crown thinks you are."
He laughed once, short and broken. "That's insane."
"Magic doesn't care what makes sense."
The fire popped, sending sparks into the air.
Kael stood and walked a few steps away, his hands shaking.
All his life he'd been running—from hunger, from soldiers, from questions he never wanted answers to.
And now the answers were marching toward him with banners and horns.
"What if they're right?" he asked quietly.
Lyra looked up. "About what?"
"What if I can stop this war?" He swallowed. "What if the Crown isn't lying?"
Her voice dropped. "And what if it is?"
He didn't answer.
Because the truth scared him more than either possibility.
The Crown pulsed stronger.
Heat spread through his chest, warm and comforting in a way that made his skin crawl.
A whisper brushed the edge of his mind—not a voice, not quite words.
They fear what you could be.
Let them.
Kael staggered back, gripping a tree trunk.
Lyra was on her feet instantly. "Kael?"
"I'm fine," he lied.
But the world had shifted again.
The camp blurred, and for a moment he saw it as something else—soldiers in formation, torches aligned with precision, fear replaced by obedience.
The Crown's version of order.
He clenched his jaw. "It's showing me a future."
Lyra's voice shook. "What kind?"
"One where the war ends quickly."
"That sounds good," she said carefully.
"It ends because no one dares rise against me."
Her face went pale.
Kael backed away. "That's not peace. That's silence."
The whisper returned, stronger now.
Silence saves lives.
He dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
Lyra grabbed his shoulders. "Look at me. Don't listen to it."
He forced his eyes up.
Her face was streaked with dirt and exhaustion. Afraid—but still there.
Still human.
"That thing doesn't care who you lose," she said. "I do."
The whisper hesitated.
For the first time, the Crown's warmth flickered.
Kael clung to that moment like a rope over an abyss.
Then—
A horn sounded.
Not distant.
Not echoing.
Close.
Too close.
Shouts erupted across the camp. Fires were kicked out. Steel rang as blades were drawn.
"They're here!" someone yelled.
Kael rose, heart pounding.
From the treeline, torches flared to life.
Not dozens.
Hundreds.
Figures moved between the trees with frightening discipline, red symbols glowing faintly in the dark.
The Dominion had crossed the forest.
Lyra grabbed Kael's hand. "We have to run—now!"
They sprinted through the chaos as screams split the night.
Behind them, a voice boomed—deep, amplified by magic.
"Crown-bearer," it called. "Present yourself."
Kael slowed.
The Crown burned hot against his chest.
It wanted to answer.
Lyra pulled harder. "Don't you dare."
Another blast of sound shook the trees. Something exploded near the river path. Light flared.
People fell.
Kael stopped completely.
"If I keep running," he said, "they'll tear this place apart."
Lyra turned to him, tears bright in her eyes. "And if you stay, you might never come back."
He met her gaze.
"If I lose myself…"
Her grip tightened.
"I know," she whispered. "I remember."
He took a breath.
Not of courage.
Of acceptance.
"I'm not surrendering," he said. "I'm choosing."
He stepped forward.
The Crown pulsed violently.
Power rushed through him—not controlled, not clean—but real.
The Dominion soldiers froze.
The air bent.
Kael lifted his head, eyes reflecting faint gold light he didn't try to hide.
"I am not your king," he said, his voice carrying farther than it should have.
The forest fell silent.
"But if war is what you've come for," he continued, "then understand this—"
The ground trembled beneath his feet.
"I will not kneel."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then somewhere deep within the Crown—
something ancient smiled.