In the Wailing Wastes, dawn crept over crimson dunes, painting the world in rust and shadow. Otoku knelt before a half-buried crown—a twisted circlet of blackened gold, etched with ancient runes. It pulsed with silent promise.
Noctis padded close, fur bristling. "That is his throne," the beast murmured in Otoku's mind. "The First Star-Eater's legacy."
He placed a trembling hand on the crown's hot metal. Memories surged—visions of a boy crowned in flame, armies kneeling, skies fracturing. The weight of ages pressed on Otoku's chest. He could seize that power… become a god.
But as the horizon trembled, he remembered Lirael's final words: "To master the loop is not to end it, but to choose its meaning."
He closed his fist around the crown and, with a sharp exhale, shattered it against a dune. Metal fragments sang through the air, tumbling into sand like dying sparks. The runes died with hollow clinks.
The ground quaked, revealing a hidden fissure. Otoku peered into the darkness—an iron gate bound by void-chains. Beyond lay a passage downward, where ancient secrets waited.
Noctis nuzzled his leg. "This road goes deeper," he said.
Otoku stood, dusting ash from his robes. "Then that is where we must go."
Above, the first bird song echoed through the broken sky—an uncertain promise of what lay ahead.