The Pact of Shattered Crowns

'Rhys'

The knocking was insistent, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that drilled into the haze of my dreams. I stirred, eyelids heavy as lead. Sunlight streamed through the window, painting the sterile white walls in gold. How long have I slept? Days? Weeks? Time had dissolved into the drip of potions and the murmur of healers.

"Rhys? Are you okay? May I come in?"

Celestia.

Her voice was an anchor, pulling me back from the edge of whatever void I'd been floating in. "Y-Yes," I croaked, wincing at the rawness in my throat.

The door swung open, and there she stood—Celestia Dawnveil, Sentinel General of Sentria, framed in sunlight. Her uniform was immaculate, black fabric tailored to military precision, a silver crescent moon pinned at her collar. The skirt fell just above her knees, practical yet oddly disarming, and her hair—gods, her hair—gleamed like spun wheat, defying the room's sterility.

She perched on the edge of the chair beside my bed, her posture rigid, but her smile softened the edges. "How are the wounds?"

I glanced down at the bandages constricting my torso. "Better. I think." The scar beneath itched, a relentless reminder of Umbra's fist. "Still feels like… like I'm held together by threads."

Her gaze lingered on the bandages, as if she could see through them to the ruin beneath. Then she leaned forward, elbows on knees, all business. "What happened after the fight? After Umbra…?"

The name coiled in my gut. Cold. Shadows. The wet crunch of bone. "I died," I said flatly.

Her breath hitched, almost imperceptible. "Died?"

"Yes." The word tasted like ash. "He tore through me. I felt it—the snap." My hand drifted to my chest, phantom pain flaring. "Then… nothing. Just… swimming. In this endless black. No sound. No light. Just… peace."

Her eyes narrowed. "Peace?"

"Until the voice."

"Voice?"

"A girl. She said… 'You're safe, Echo.'" I faltered, clawing at the memory. "Then I was somewhere else. A school. Sunlight. A girl with golden eyes. She… she knew me. Called me Rhys. But I—I can't remember her name—"

The frustration boiled over. I slammed a fist into the mattress, the impact jolting my ribs. Celestia's hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Enough." Her voice was steel, but her touch was gentle. "You'll undo the healers' work."

I slumped back, sweat cooling on my brow. "Who am I, Celestia? These fragments—they're not mine. Or are they? I don't even know what's real anymore."

She studied me, her gaze sharpening. A faint glow ignited in her irises—pale blue, like frost over a lake. The blessing.

"You're telling the truth," she murmured, more to herself than me.

"How?"

"I was born with a gift—a lie detector, if you will. The gods' cruel joke." She leaned back, the glow fading. "It sees through falsehoods. And you… you're a storm of half-truths and buried memories."

Silence settled, thick with unspoken questions. Echo. Golden eyes. A school that might not exist.

Finally, she stood, smoothing her skirt. "Rest. The princess has plans for you."

"Plans?"

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Let's just say… Isolde's Tower awaits."

"Who is Isolde?"

The question hung between us, brittle as glass. Celestia's smile faltered, her fingers tightening imperceptibly on the armrest. For a heartbeat, I swore I saw something flicker in her eyes.

"Right," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "You've been… asleep for the politics."

She leaned forward, the sunlight catching the silver crescent moon on her collar—Sentria's mark of command. "Isolde Veyrith. Tier 1 Sentinel. The 'Storm of the North.' She's… formidable."

The word formidable dripped with understatement.

"Her tower," Celestia continued, "is called the Storm's Maw. It's in the north of this castle we are in, not far away from here. It's in this capital just like the other three towers, each tower is in another direction. "

A cold knot coiled in my gut. "And the princess wants me to…?"

"To train there. Yes."

"Why?"

Celestia hesitated, her gaze drifting to the window where Aurorath's spires pierced the clouds. " Because you are half-human half-hunter. A human with Hunter's ash in his veins. Elysia believes you're a weapon waiting to be forged."

Weapon. The word slithered under my skin. "And you?"

She stood abruptly, her uniform crisp against the sterile white of the room. "I follow orders. But—" She paused, hand on the door. "—don't let Isolde see your fear. She feeds on it."

The week that followed was a blur of pain and potions. Mornings brought the sting of healing Force—a cool, electric current that knit flesh and bone. Evenings brought Celestia, she gave me delicious food and talked to me about all kinds of things.

By the seventh day, the bandages came off. The scar was a jagged crimson web across my chest, pulsing faintly with every heartbeat. Umbra's signature.

The doctor—a wisp of an elf with ink-stained fingers—grunted approval. "You'll live. Though whatever this is—" He jabbed a bony finger at the jagged scar marring my chest, its edges faintly luminescent, like veins of molten ore. "—isn't natural. Not entirely healed flesh, not entirely scar tissue. We'll need alchemical tests to be certain."

"Doctor," I interrupted, my voice steadier than I felt. "How old am I?"

He adjusted his wire-framed glasses, peering at me as if I'd asked him to recite ancient runes. "Sixteen. Seventeen in three moons, according to your bloodwork."

Sixteen. The number lodged in my throat. I'd imagined myself older—taller, broader, someone who'd earned the scars and hollows of a warrior. Not this… boy staring back at me in the polished infirmary mirror.

The doctor left in a rustle of parchment, muttering about "hybrid anomalies."

Celestia arrived as the sun dipped below the Vesper treeline, its dying light slicing through the window like a gilded blade. She lingered in the doorway, her silhouette haloed in amber. "Elysia wants you tonight. Before Isolde… acquires you."

The royal chambers were a labyrinth of shadows and gilded lies. We ascended a spiral staircase flanked by tapestries so vivid they seemed to breathe—scenes of elven spears impaling Hunters with obsidian claws, of child queens crowned atop pyramids of skulls. The silence between us thickened, until I shattered it.

"What happened after the war? Between elves and humans?"

Celestia's steps faltered. "No one won. Both kingdoms drowned in blood until even hatred grew too heavy to carry. The Pact of Shattered Crowns ended it—elves kept their forests, humans their cities. But the Hunters…" Her voice hardened. "Aurendor, the human realm, became a breeding ground for them. Their dead refuse to rest. Here, the Vesper trees… persuade lost souls to move on."

"And the Hunters who manipulated the humans? The ones who started it all?"

"The Order of the Eclipse?" She glanced at me, surprised I knew the name. "Gone. Vanished into myth. Though some say they still whisper in the dark, waiting."

Her tone left no room for further questions. We climbed in silence, the tapestries' embroidered eyes following us like judgmental ghosts. The Order of the Eclipse huh?

Elysia awaited us atop a dais, her throne a grotesque masterpiece of bone-white vines and silver thorns.

"Welcome, Rhys," she said, fingertips drumming the throne's armrest. "Let's discuss how you'll repay Sentria for its… hospitality."