Crown’s Whisper

Oenrust Island — The Ancient Temple. The wind carried salt and silence through the ruins, brushing over moss-choked stones and cracked spires that jutted like broken teeth from the earth. The ancient temple on Oenrust Island stood half-buried by time, its once-grand pillars now bent by centuries of storms. Vines clung to its bones like old regrets, and the air shimmered faintly—not from heat, but power.

David stepped through the shadowed archway, the Crown cradled in his hands. Every footfall echoed like thunder in the quiet. The floor beneath him was etched with concentric circles and dragon glyphs, the same that adorned the Crown—scales coiled around celestial orbs, teeth gnashing at unseen foes. He could feel it: the temple recognized him. Or rather, the Crown did.

He stopped before a great slab of basalt carved with Komodo dragons facing inward in a spiral formation. His fingers hesitated, then brushed the edge of the relic.

A pulse. Like a heartbeat. Then—visions.