The Silent Crown

Deep in the North – The Kingdom Beneath Frost

While Ashren and Seris healed and planned among the ruins of Cael Thalor, the world above stirred.

Far in the frozen reaches of the North, beyond the jagged Borean Mountains, there lay a hidden realm untouched by the Gate War—Vhal Nyrr, the Kingdom Beneath Frost.

It had no standing army.

No open borders.

And yet, it watched.

For centuries, Vhal Nyrr had kept itself cloaked in ice and silence, guided by an ancient prophecy etched into the glacier walls: "When the blood of kings burns like flame, the Veil shall tear, and the Crownless shall rise."

---

The Queen Who Knows

Queen Elanra sat atop a throne carved from living permafrost, her skin like moonlight, her gaze hard as steel.

She had not spoken to the outside world in over a decade.

Until now.

"He has awakened," she said, voice echoing in the Grand Ice Hall.

Her advisors stirred. "You speak of the Flame-Born?"

"No. I speak of the Heir of Ash. The boy born from exile and vengeance. The one the Gate fears."

She stepped down from her throne and approached the altar of Eyes—twelve mirrors of polished obsidian that shimmered with faint memory traces.

One showed Ashren atop the ruins, fire wreathing his hands.

"He is not ready," an elder protested.

"He will be," Elanra replied, "because we will make him ready."

---

The Gift Sent South

That night, a single rider departed Vhal Nyrr—clad in white armor, bearing a relic sealed since the first fall of the Hollowborn.

It was a blade made of glacial soulsteel—Nyssir, the Thorn of Frost. It could cut not only flesh, but memory.

It would find Ashren.

And with it, a message:

"You are not alone."

---

Meanwhile – Malric's Court

King Malric stood at the edge of the Obsidian Balcony, overlooking the ever-burning fields of Draedrath. His war priests knelt behind him, chanting prayers in a forgotten tongue.

The Forgebound's failure had cost him dearly.

But he smiled.

Ashren had grown bold.

Predictable.

"Let him gather allies," Malric murmured. "Let him bleed for them."

He turned to his scribe. "Write to the Hollowborn. Tell them the Heir of Fire walks toward his end."