Chapter 6 – Throne of the Forgotten

The moment Aldric's fingers brushed the throne of bone, his vision fractured.

The ruins of Whitebridge vanished. The Lich, the corpses, the bloodstained streets—gone in an instant

.

He was falling.

No ground beneath his feet. No sky above.

Just endless darkness.

Then—pain.

Aldric hit something solid, his body crashing onto blackened stone. The impact sent a shock through his bones, his breath knocked from his lungs. He gritted his teeth, pushing himself up, his instincts screaming at him to move.

He was no longer in Whitebridge.

He was somewhere else.

The air was thick, heavy, carrying a scent that was neither smoke nor blood, but something worse—something ancient.

He looked up.

The sky was wrong.

It wasn't just dark—it was alive, shifting like liquid, twisting in unnatural patterns. Stars flickered, but not like the stars he remembered. They moved, blinking in and out like watchful eyes.

A slow, distant heartbeat echoed in the void.

Aldric exhaled.

Not real.

But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous.

He pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shoulders. His wounds from the Wight battle still ached, but the pain felt… muted. Distant.

Then, a voice. A voice that made the space shake, Ancient.

"You have finally arrived."

Aldric's grip tightened on his sword.

Ahead of him, beyond the blackened stone, a figure stood waiting.

The figure was tall, draped in flowing robes black as the void itself, their edges fading into the darkness like smoke.

Its face was hidden beneath a hood, but Aldric didn't need to see it to know—this thing wasn't human.

The air around it trembled, as if the space itself was struggling to contain its presence.

Aldric took a slow step forward, his instincts sharpening.

"Who are you?" His voice was calm, but his body was coiled, ready to strike.

The figure tilted its head slightly, as if amused.

"You already know."

Aldric's eyes narrowed.

Another game. Another test.

The Abyss had been guiding him since the moment of his rebirth, its influence lurking in the edges of his mind, in the strength of his blade, in the whispers of every skill he had awakened.

And now, he was standing in its domain.

Face to face with whatever had been watching him all this time.

Aldric exhaled through his nose.

"Then why bring me here?"

The figure chuckled—a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through the very ground beneath Aldric's feet.

"Because you are ready."

"Ready for what?"

The figure raised a skeletal hand, its long, blackened fingers wrapping in a slow beckoning gesture.

And behind it—the darkness began to shift.

Aldric turned, his eyes narrowing as the shadows peeled away, revealing something hidden beneath the void.

A second throne.

Not of bone, but of black iron, massive and jagged, as if it had been forged from the Abyss itself. Its surface pulsed, faint cracks glowing with a deep crimson light, like something alive was buried within it.

Aldric's breath slowed.

The figure's voice came again, softer this time.

"You stand at a crossroads, Aldric Everthorne."

It gestured toward the throne.

"You have already begun your ascent. But every king must decide what he will rule over."

Aldric didn't move.

The air felt heavier, pressing against his skin. His heartbeat was steady.

But something in his chest twisted.

He had spent his second life clawing his way forward, pushing through pain, betrayal, and battle. But until now, he had only been chasing one thing—revenge.

Kill Darion. Make him suffer. Burn his legacy to ash.

That had been his purpose.

Hadn't it?

Then why did he feel something else here—something deeper, something older—waiting for him?

He clenched his jaw.

"I don't care about ruling," he said finally. "I came back for one reason."

The figure chuckled again.

"Did you?"

Aldric's fingers curled into a fist.

"Enough riddles." His voice was sharp now. "What is this?"

The figure was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, it lifted its hooded head, revealing what lay beneath.

Aldric's hearth skipped a beat.

He was staring at his own face.

A perfect reflection—but hollow.

The eyes were missing, just two empty voids filled with endless darkness. The flesh was pale, almost corpse-like, but beneath it, something pulsed—like veins filled with abyssal power instead of blood.

Aldric took an instinctive step back.

His reflection did not move.

"You misunderstand," the hollow version of himself said, its voice layered—as if many voices were speaking at once. "This is not a choice between revenge or power."

The throne behind it pulsed again, deeper this time.

"It is a choice between what you were…"

A second pulse.

"And what you will become."

Aldric exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay still. His mind was clear, but he could feel it—the Abyss was watching.

And it was waiting for his answer.

Aldric forced his breath to calm down, his gaze locked on the hollow version of himself.

It stood motionless, watching him through empty voids where eyes should have been. Its expression—his expression—was unreadable, yet something about it sent a deep, primal unease crawling through his skin.

"This is not a choice between revenge or power."

The words echoed in his mind.

The black iron throne pulsed again behind it, the crimson veins within its metal beating in rhythm with something unseen.

Aldric's fingers twitched. The Abyss was alive here. He could feel it pressing against his skin, wrapping around his bones, whispering to him from the depths.

But he had learned to resist whispers.

He had learned to shut them out.

Aldric exhaled sharply. "And if I refuse?"

His reflection didn't blink. Didn't move.

Then, with slow, deliberate precision, it lifted a hand toward him.

Aldric tensed, readying his sword—

And suddenly, the world fractured.

Pain.

Aldric's body convulsed, his breath torn from his lungs as a force ripped through him.

It wasn't a blade, wasn't fire, wasn't something physical—

It was something deeper.

Something that reached inside him, past his flesh, past his bones, and into the place where his soul should have been.

Aldric gritted his teeth, refusing to scream. Refusing to break.

But the pain was relentless.

Flashes of memories burst through his mind—

Darion's betrayal. The blood dripping beneath him. The cold stone of the royal hall.

Then—

The Abyss.

The dark tomb where he had awakened, where he had died and returned.

His first kill. His second. The hunger that had grown in his chest with each battle.

The way it felt right.

The force holding him tightened, as if grasping onto those thoughts, those feelings—

As if searching for something hidden even from himself.

Aldric screamed and pushed back.

The moment he resisted, the grip on him snapped.

Aldric gasped, staggering forward, his knees nearly buckling beneath him.

The pain was gone.

His reflection still stood before him, unchanged.

But now, its voice was softer.

"You hold onto your past like a shield, yet you refuse to wield it as a weapon."

Aldric glared. "I decide what I wield."

The reflection tilted its head. "Do you?"

"Do you even have the power to do that?"

Aldric's jaw clenched, his fingers flexing around the hilt of his sword.

The throne pulsed again, a deafening heartbeat in the silence.

Then—

The reflection lifted its other hand, and the world shifted.

The world shifted violently, and Aldric was no longer standing before the throne.

He was somewhere else.

The blackened stone beneath his feet was gone, replaced by something softer. When he looked down, his blood ran cold.

He was standing on bodies.

A sea of corpses stretched endlessly in every direction. Men. Women. Soldiers. Lords. Some were fresh, their faces frozen in agony, their blood still flowing into the ground. Others were rotted corpses, their armor rusted, their flesh peeling.

And at the very top of the mountain—

Darion.

Aldric's breath stopped.

His former friend lay sprawled across the dead, his once-pristine armor shattered, his throat torn open.

And standing over him was Aldric himself.

Not the reflection. Not a phantom.

It was him.

His own hands dripped with Darion's blood. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths, as if he had been waiting.

Waiting for Aldric to see.

Aldric stepped forward, his boots sinking slightly into the flesh beneath him.

The other version of himself turned to face him.

This time, it had eyes.

And they burned with Abyssal fire.

"Do you understand now?"

Aldric didn't answer.

He could still smell the blood, the stench of death curling into his lungs.

This wasn't an illusion. This wasn't a game.

This was a possibility.

A future.

One where he had taken his revenge. One where he had cut down Darion, burned his legacy to ash, and slaughtered all who stood in his way.

And yet—

He felt nothing.

Not rage. Not triumph. Not even satisfaction.

The other Aldric studied him, tilting its head slightly.

"You thought this would be enough?" It chuckled. "Killing him? Burning his kingdom? It will never be enough."

Aldric clenched his jaw. "And what do you suggest?"

The other him stepped forward, placing a bloodstained hand against his chest.

The moment they touched, a voice roared through his skull.

"BECOME."

Power surged through him, raw and violent.

His mind was splitting—his body was breaking apart.

Something inside him called to the Abyss.

Aldric gritted his teeth, fighting to resist—

And then—

The world shattered again.

Aldric collapsed onto his knees, gasping for breath.

The power that had surged through him was still there, humming beneath his skin, coiling like a predator waiting to strike.

But it wasn't his.

Not yet.

He forced his shaking hands to stop, his gaze snapping back to the Abyss-forged version of himself.

It stood there, unmoved, watching.

Waiting.

Aldric exhaled sharply. "And if I refuse?"

His other self chuckled, the sound low and knowing.

"Then you will crawl through the dirt, grasping at revenge like a dying man reaching for water."

The sky rippled, the throne pulsing again.

"But if you accept what is being offered, you will rise above it. You will not simply be a warrior. You will be something greater."

Aldric stared at him. "And what is that?"

His reflection smiled.

"A king."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Aldric's fingers curled into fists.

This was what the Abyss wanted.

Not a mindless killer. Not a servant.

It wanted a ruler.

It wanted him to claim that throne.

His pulse thundered in his ears.

And for the first time since his rebirth—he hesitated.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Aldric had spent his entire second life clawing his way forward, fueled by vengeance, by the singular desire to make Darion suffer.

And yet—

This was the first time something else had been offered to him.

Not just power. Not just another tool for battle.

The Abyss was offering him a legacy.

His reflection stepped closer. The faint glow of the iron throne bathed its face in crimson.

"Why hesitate?" It tilted its head, mirroring the way the Lich had studied him before. "Is this not what you truly desire?"

Aldric didn't answer.

Because he wasn't sure anymore.

For the first time since he'd clawed his way out of the abyssal tomb, a seed of doubt lodged itself in his mind.

He had thought revenge was enough.

But the Abyss… it saw something more.

His reflection sighed. "You are still clinging to the man you were."

Aldric's fingers twitched. "And what of it?"

His other self stepped even closer, standing just inches away now.

And then it spoke, voice soft, almost pitying.

"He died, Aldric."

Aldric's chest tightened.

"The man who stood by Darion's side. The one who fought for loyalty, for honor. He died the moment your blood spilled across the stone floor."

The world shuddered.

Aldric swallowed hard, but the weight in his chest didn't leave.

He knew those words were true.

The man he had been was gone.

Burned away in betrayal. Shattered in death. Reforged in the Abyss.

So why did he still feel as if he was grasping at something that no longer existed?

His reflection stepped to the side, gesturing toward the throne of black iron.

"This is the only path forward. You cannot return to who you were. You cannot find peace in simple revenge. But if you take this throne… you will never kneel again."

Aldric's jaw clenched.

The words struck something deep inside him.

Because kneeling had been his greatest mistake.

He had followed Darion blindly, believing in brotherhood, in loyalty, in the bonds forged through blood and battle.

And in the end, it had meant nothing.

The iron throne pulsed again.

He could feel it now—the weight of it, the promise of it.

If he sat upon that throne, if he accepted the Abyss fully, he would no longer be a forgotten warrior chasing vengeance.

He would be something greater.

Something eternal.

A new king, born from the void itself.

A slow, steady breath left his lips.

The choice was clear.

And yet… something inside him resisted.

Aldric took a step forward. His reflection watched, expectant.

He reached out—

And stopped inches from the throne.

His heart pounded in his chest.

What am I doing?

The moment his fingers hovered above the blackened iron, something deep in his core screamed at him.

This is not the path.

Aldric clenched his fist, pulling his hand away.

His reflection's smile stutter.

"You hesitate again?" it asked, but this time, the amusement was gone. "Why? You know what waits for you outside this place. A world that will never remember you. A name that has already been erased."

Aldric lifted his gaze. His voice was steady.

"Then I will carve my name back into history with my own hands."

The iron throne shook. The Abyss itself shuddered.

His reflection stared at him, and for the first time, Aldric saw something in its face that he hadn't expected.

Not anger.

Not amusement.

Fear.

The void around him fractured.

The world began to break apart.

The throne crumbled.

And as the darkness collapsed, Aldric heard one final whisper, slithering through his mind like a dying breath.

"You were meant for more."

Then—

Light.