Chapter Twelve – The Bone Crown
(Raven's POV)
They bowed.
Twelve Elders, cloaked in shadow and blood, bent their heads to me.
Behind them, wolves with eyes like molten gold crouched low, their hackles raised—not in threat, but in reverence. The forest around us held its breath. Even the wind dared not move.
I stood at the center of the clearing, my boots sinking into the mossy earth, the mark on my chest pulsing like a second heart. Darius stood at my side, silent, his silver eyes flicking between the Elders and me.
I should have felt triumphant.
I felt sick.
My voice was a whisper. "What is this?"
Elder Lysara lifted her head. Her face was pale and sharp, her eyes like shards of obsidian. "This is your coronation."
I took a step back. "No. No, I didn't ask for this."
"You didn't have to," said Elder Virek. "You were born for it."
"I didn't choose this," I snapped.
"You were chosen," Lysara said. "By blood. By fire. By the Hollow itself."
I shook my head. "I'm not your queen."
"You are," Virek said. "Whether you accept it or not."
Inside me, something stirred.
A voice. My voice. But older. Wilder.
They're right. You feel it, don't you? The pull. The power. The throne is yours.
I clenched my fists. No. I'm not like them.
You are them. You are more. You are the storm they tried to chain.
I turned to Darius. "Tell me this isn't real."
He looked at me, pain flickering in his eyes. "It's real."
"You knew?"
"I suspected. I didn't want to believe it."
I laughed bitterly. "So I'm what? Some kind of monster messiah?"
"You're not a monster," he said. "You're a reckoning."
The Elders stepped aside.
Behind them, a path opened through the trees—lined with torches, leading to a stone altar carved with runes that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Atop it sat a crown.
Not gold. Not silver.
Bone.
It was made of fangs and antlers, twisted together with sinew and shadow. It pulsed with power, humming like a living thing.
I stared at it, heart pounding.
Take it, the voice whispered. It's yours.
I took a step forward.
Darius grabbed my arm. "You don't have to do this."
I looked at him. "Don't I?"
"You can walk away."
"Can I?"
He didn't answer.
Because we both knew the truth.
I stepped onto the path.
The torches flared as I passed, casting long shadows that danced like wolves. The forest seemed to lean in, watching. Judging. Waiting.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
Memories surged—blood on my hands, screams in the dark, the girls in the catacombs. The collar. The Hollow. The mark.
I reached the altar.
The crown pulsed.
I reached out.
My fingers brushed bone.
And the world shattered.
I was falling.
Through fire. Through ice. Through memory.
I saw myself as a child, running through the forest, wolves at my heels. I saw the lab, the chains, the needles. I saw the Elders standing over me, chanting, carving the mark into my skin.
I saw the other girls—screaming, dying, dissolving into ash.
I saw Darius, younger, softer, watching me through the glass.
I saw myself—older, bloodied, crowned.
I saw the world burning.
I hit the ground hard.
The forest was gone.
I was in a throne room made of bone and shadow. The walls pulsed like veins. The floor was slick with blood. Wolves circled me, their eyes glowing.
At the far end of the room sat a throne carved from a single massive skull.
And on it sat… me.
Or something that looked like me.
She smiled. "Finally."
I stared. "Who are you?"
"I'm you," she said. "The part you buried. The part they feared."
"You're not real."
"I'm more real than you've ever been."
She stood, descending the steps. Her eyes glowed gold. Her hands were claws. Her smile was all teeth.
"You've been running from me your whole life," she said. "But I've always been here."
"I'm not like you."
"You are me."
"No."
She circled me. "You think you're better? Kinder? Softer?"
"I'm not a killer."
She laughed. "Aren't you? What about the guards? The Hollow? The girls?"
"I didn't want to—"
"But you did."
I turned away. "I had no choice."
"There's always a choice," she said. "And you chose power."
I clenched my fists. "I chose survival."
She stopped in front of me. "Then survive. Rule. Take what they owe you."
She held out the crown.
"Put it on," she said. "Become what you were meant to be."
I stared at it.
It was beautiful.
Terrible.
I reached out.
My fingers closed around it.
And I remembered everything.
I was back in the clearing.
The Elders watched in silence.
Darius stood at the edge, eyes wide.
I held the crown in my hands.
It was warm.
Alive.
I looked at the Elders. "What happens if I put this on?"
"You ascend," Lysara said. "You become what you were born to be."
"And if I don't?"
"You die," Virek said simply. "And the world burns."
I looked at Darius.
He didn't speak.
But his eyes said everything.
I'll follow you. Even into the fire.
I took a breath.
And placed the crown on my head.
Pain exploded through me.
The mark on my chest flared, searing white-hot. My bones cracked. My skin split. My scream tore through the forest, shaking the trees.
Wolves howled.
The Elders chanted.
And I burned.
My body twisted, reshaped.
Claws. Fangs. Wings of shadow.
I rose into the air, surrounded by fire and ash.
I saw everything.
The Order. The Hollow. The lies.
I saw the world as it truly was—broken, bleeding, begging for a queen.
And I answered.
When I landed, the forest was silent.
The crown sat on my brow, fused to my skull.
The Elders knelt.
Darius approached slowly, his eyes wide. "Raven?"
I turned to him.
He flinched.
I looked down at my hands—clawed, glowing, inhuman.
"I'm still me," I said.
"Are you?" he asked.
I smiled. "I guess we'll find out."
Inside me, the voice purred.
Long live the queen.