The Crown in the Shadows

"Then we show it," he said, "why we are never seen twice."

Zion stood at the edge of the war-scarred sky, watching as the divine and the mighty dispersed back to their corners of the universe.

The battlefield was behind him.

Now came the harder battle—home.

He returned to Bassoon, capital of Zantrayel, not as the warrior, not as the vessel of wrath—

But as king.

The People Were Waiting

Bassoon had stood firm during the war.

Its gates unbroken, its streets swept daily by those too old or too young to fight.

The people did not know the scale of what had been faced beyond the stars—

but they knew Zion had returned.

They gathered in silence as he walked through the grand corridor.

There were no cheers.

Only bowed heads.

Only prayers whispered under breath.

Only reverence.

He Sat Upon the Seat of Stone

The Seat of Stone, carved by Zion himself, not by artisans but by will and blade,

was a throne with no ornament, no crown, no pedestal.

It was earth and ash, melted by magic and shaped by memory.

He did not sit like a king.

He sat like a man who remembered every name of the fallen.

And from that seat came judgment.

The Problems of a Kingdom Left Behind

He read the reports. Piles of them.

Families executed by Ayira without trial.

Zafana arrested Ayira, holding her deep in the citadel vaults, awaiting Zion's judgment.

The faithless of Luruzt—those broken humans who chose hunger over hope—had been either slain or fled into the hills.

Internal conflicts brewing in the south, where one of the council members had gone silent and cut off grain shipments.

New cults spreading in the outer villages, calling the Hive's silence a sign of their god's favor.

Orphans of the war, flooding the streets and temple steps.

Zion's fingers tapped the stone throne.

One at a time, he spoke. Each word not loud, but unshakeable.

"Ayira will not die."

"Not yet. Her crime is real. Her pain is real. But judgment must come with light, not rage."

He ordered her to remain in Zafana's custody until he could speak with both.

"The traitors who fled to Luruzt's whispers…"

"Let their names be burned. Their lands taken.

But let not their children pay the same price unless they, too, whisper in hunger."

"Grain hoarders in the south."

"To be summoned. If they do not return, their titles are forfeit, and their homes given to the people."

"The orphans."

He looked to the priestesses—Ayomi and Elis in particular.

"Find them. Bring them in. Teach them the names of the Lwa who gave them a future."

"And to the cults of silence…"

Zion's eyes narrowed.

"Let them speak. Let them call the Hive their god.

But let them know—gods bleed. And I have the blade that opened their queen."

The Council Reconvened

His seven friends returned. They had fought as well—

their weapons still bore marks of blood and light.

But now, they spoke through their subordinates, warriors and messengers who bowed before the throne and read from scrolls etched in haste and stained in battle.

Kael's division oversaw the city wall expansion and outer defensive housing.

Tomo's teams continued water system fortification, already adapting with war lessons.

Riku's scribes compiled names of the wounded and those whose service had ended.

Olan's reforms ensured famine would never follow war.

Bren's ports handled the influx of survivors and new merchant lines.

Zaire's artists began creating a tapestry so large it would stretch the palace's inner dome.

But Jalen did not speak.

He sat silent, hand tight on the blade at his waist. His voice came low.

"Ayira… I have not seen her since. And no word has come of her health."

Zion's gaze met his. He said nothing, only placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

There would be time. Justice would not forget love.

That Night, He Walked Alone

No guards. No weapon. No priestess beside him.

Zion walked to the orphan hall.

He sat among the smallest children.

Told them stories.

Not of his victories.

But of the cost of forgetting who you are.

Of the grandmother who raised him.

Of the village that burned.

Of the first time he realized silence was not peace.

At dawn, he rose from the stone floor, children still asleep around him.

"I will build something the Hive cannot understand," he whispered.

"A people who remember