A Crown Without A King

The Hall of Echoes lived up to its name. Shadows whispered secrets from fissures in the walls, and the air thrummed with the dissonant hum of the Dragon Crown’s corrupted energy. David knelt before the obsidian pedestal, the relic’s sickly green light casting jagged patterns across his face. Sweat dripped from his temples as visions clawed at his mind: Jakarta Bay’s mangroves collapsing into sludge, Komodo’s dragons choking on ash, Thalia’s veins blackening as she channeled the land’s dying scream.

“The land screams through this Crown, David,” Thalia gasped, her palms pressed to the cold stone floor. Her hair, once streaked with silver, now shone fully white, and her eyes flickered between the present and the spirit realm. “You can’t hold its power much longer. It’s tearing you—tearing everything-apart-apart—apart.”

David’s grip tightened on the Crown. “If I let go, who stops Zara? Who protects Komodo?”

“You’re not protecting anyone. You’re feeding her.”