Chapter Eighty-Six: The Catacombs of the Forgotten Crown

The descent began at dusk.

Ael stood before the mouth of the Obsidian Hollow, a great rift in the cliffs of the western deadlands. Jagged stone fangs framed its entrance, and a chill deeper than death oozed from the abyss below. Torches refused to burn near its edge. Even the wind seemed to turn away.

"This place," Lyra said, her voice barely above a whisper, "was once part of the Old Empire, wasn't it?"

Elric nodded grimly. "The final seat of the death kings. When their gods abandoned them, they sealed themselves beneath the earth… and crowned their bones."

Ael stared into the dark. He felt it again—that tug deep in his chest. The shard was calling.

This one would not be won with reflection or memory.

It would be taken.

From the dead.

—

The tunnel narrowed quickly as they moved down, forcing them to walk in single file. The air grew dry and sharp, thick with the taste of copper. Orn had warned them:

"This shard is held by a king who never passed on.He remembers you, Ael.He remembers what you took."

Ael didn't know which dead king that referred to.He'd killed many.

But as they reached the first gate—a massive arch carved from black bones—it clicked into place.

Emperor Vaerrak.

The final warlord of the forgotten south.

The man Ael had defeated in his previous life by shattering his soul, rather than simply killing him.

No grave was ever built.

Only chains and silence.

Now his tomb reeked of old hatred.

—

They passed through stone halls engraved with runes that pulsed with dull red light.

Statues lined the corridors—once regal, now melted into grotesque forms, as though mourning their forgotten purpose. The deeper they went, the heavier the silence became. There were no vermin. No echoes.

Just the heartbeat of something ancient waiting below.

Eventually, they reached the Hall of Thrones.

It was vast, circular, and untouched by time.

Seven thrones lined the chamber—six empty.

One occupied.

The figure seated upon the seventh throne was skeletal, draped in royal robes that hadn't decayed, with a crown of fused iron nailed into its skull.

His eye sockets burned with pale violet flame.

"Ael Rynhart…"

The voice didn't echo—it pierced.

"You return to finish what your cowardice left behind."

Ael stepped forward. "I'm not the same man who broke you."

Vaerrak rose.

His steps were slow, deliberate—royal.

"You are the same. I see it in your soul. The shard you seek is mine. You bound it here when you shattered my essence. You feared what I would become."

The undead emperor raised a staff of bone and obsidian.

Around him, the other thrones cracked open.

And the six other kings began to rise.

—

Elric cursed under his breath. "You didn't just imprison one tyrant. You cursed an entire pantheon!"

Ael readied his blade.

"I didn't come to reason."

Lyra raised her staff, fire spiraling at her fingertips. "Then let's put them back in the ground."

The battle began.

—

Vaerrak's magic was ancient and cruel—he conjured chains made from the memories of his victims. They struck Ael's armor and sent him reeling, visions of screaming innocents flashing in his eyes.

Elric dueled one of the risen kings—a blade-dancer lost to time—while Lyra kept the others at bay with waves of elemental fury.

But they were being overwhelmed.

Until Ael did the unthinkable.

He lowered his sword.

He walked straight into Vaerrak's binding circle, letting the soul-chains wrap around him.

"I'm not here to kill you again," Ael said.

Vaerrak sneered. "Then you have already lost."

"No." Ael closed his eyes. "I'm here to take back what I left behind."

He reached deep into the shard buried in this tomb—an anchor of hate he himself had created.

And he did what he once thought impossible.

He forgave himself.

The chains cracked.

The violet fire dimmed.

Vaerrak's form trembled. "What… have you done…?"

"I've released you," Ael whispered.

From behind the throne, the shard shimmered into view—glowing silver, flecked with violet.

The shard of atonement.

Ael seized it.

The chamber exploded in light.

When the glow faded, only dust remained.

The thrones were empty.

And Emperor Vaerrak was gone.

—

They emerged from the Hollow at dawn.

Ael didn't speak for a long while.

Finally, he said, "The past can't be undone. But it can be faced."

Lyra put a hand on his shoulder. "You've faced more of it than most ever do."

Elric grunted. "And we've got three more to go."

Ael looked to the horizon.

Three shards remained.

One in the sea.

One in the sky.

And one… beyond life itself.