Echoes in the Throne Vault
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There were seven wards beneath Elaren's palace.
Each older than the throne above it.
They weren't meant to keep invaders out.
They were built to keep something in.
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It took three days to plan their infiltration.
Riven, Kael, and Lyra moved in disguised as servants—shrouded in borrowed uniforms and court etiquette. Liora remained behind, weaving illusion spells to delay the Eclipse's scrying eyes.
Therrin gave them the final path: a staircase hidden beneath the main atrium—sealed by royal glyphs and silence oaths long forgotten.
They descended on the night of the new moon.
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No torches were lit.
No breath dared echo.
Just stone. Ancient. Cold.
The Vault was not part of the original palace. It was older—carved into the bones of the land itself.
Lyra pressed her hand to one wall.
"This is older than the Valen line."
Kael frowned. "Then what's it guarding?"
Riven didn't answer.
Because deep inside… he already knew.
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They reached the final gate by midnight.
Six mirrors stood in a semicircle, each inscribed with a different name. All of them royal.
Valenhart.
Drayven.
Osvarra.
The old dynasties.
But the seventh mirror stood shattered.
Its inscription long erased.
Just a jagged edge. No reflection.
Only a faint whisper in the back of Riven's mind.
> "Do you remember?"
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Lyra stepped forward. "This is where the Fourth Seal rests?"
"No," Riven said. "This is where it began."
Kael scowled. "You're talking in riddles again."
Riven knelt before the broken mirror.
His pendant—once cold—began to pulse faintly.
And then…
The wall behind the mirror shifted.
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It opened into a chamber of silver light.
No torches.
Just runes.
Etched into the walls, the ceiling, the floor.
Glowing with power that hadn't faded in centuries.
At the center, a dais.
A single pedestal.
And floating above it—
Not a Seal.
But a book.
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Bound in obsidian.
Laced in silver.
Its pages turned themselves, even without wind.
Riven stepped closer.
His name was written on the cover.
> "The Last Chronicle of the Crownless."
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He touched it.
And the world broke.
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He was in Valenhold again.
The night of the fire.
But not watching from memory—within it.
He saw his father speaking to Seris.
But not in anger.
In alliance.
> "We'll give them the boy," the king said.
> "They'll never see the real heir coming."
Riven staggered back.
"No…"
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A new vision.
Lyssa—hidden in the west wing. Given the true Seal. His mother whispering:
> "Your brother will be the sword."
> "You will be the crown."
Another break.
Seris standing before the Eclipse elders.
> "The boy believes I betrayed him."
> "That belief will be our weapon."
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Riven collapsed to his knees as the vision faded.
Kael grabbed him.
Lyra crouched beside him. "What happened?"
"They lied to me."
"To everyone."
He looked up, eyes blazing.
"I was never the only heir."
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At the edge of the room, the Fourth Seal began to stir.
It wasn't a weapon.
It was a truth.
Shaped like a crown—cracked and bleeding shadow.
It hovered before him.
Waiting.
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Kael stepped back. "Don't. Not until you're ready."
Riven rose.
His voice was steady.
"I'm not ready."
He reached for it anyway.
The moment his fingers touched the crown—pain ripped through his spine.
Not from the Seal.
From everything he'd forgotten.
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The flames.
The scream.
Lyssa's hand slipping from his.
Seris whispering, "Forgive me."
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He screamed.
Then stood.
The Seal vanished into his chest.
The fourth brand etched itself into his arm—this one not glowing, but smoking.
A curse burned into his bones.
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Lyra grabbed him as he collapsed.
Kael turned toward the entrance. "We need to go. Now."
Because above them—
The Eclipse had arrived.
And they weren't coming for the Seal.
They were coming to kill the last lie.
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Far above, Seris sat in a shadowed carriage rolling toward the palace.
She traced a line of blood along her wrist and whispered into the flame of a black candle:
> "He remembers."
> "Then it begins."
> "The fifth Seal shall be war."
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