Chapter 16: A Crown for the Damned

The world had an unnerving quiet.

There was not so much as a stirring of the wind on the desolate plains after the fall of the Hollow. The land lay shattered, created by ash and bone, painted with crimson, and littered with the artifacts of a world that had eaten gods and men alike.

Kaelen's heart languished more than the dagger on his back. With each step into the ruins, his boots sank deep into fetid blood. His muscles protested. As for his soul… he wondered if it was even his anymore.

Next to him, Lyra moved quietly, soot smearing her face with a darkness they shared. The original glee had left her eyes in the moment of Aeris' death, but now there was not even a sliver of victory. There was nothing to celebrate; so much was lost.

Their third comrade, Darren, followed behind-limping along with a crudely made splint strapped to his left arm. His familiar scowl was absent, replaced by an unsettlingly worse state of being: silence.

And worse still, there were no gods in the sky, for the first time in a long age.

The reality of what was to come was their burden alone.

The Summoning Grounds.

They came upon the shattered remnants of Evergrave. Once a marvel of the empire, now just a corpse.

The Summoning Grounds was in the center, a massive circle of blackened stone where kings received their wreaths and the traitor their pyres. The weathered runes still pulsating, faintly, beckoning the blood and oaths.

Kaelen moved closer to the center altar, forming a ring forty feet across. On the altar, rested the Ashen Crown.

Constructed of the bones of dead gods, cold and unremitting power radiating off of it like heat from a forge, both headwreath and bind, the only remaining binding agent in this splintered world.

Darren hissed, "You're not considering it."

Kaelen said nothing.

Lyra stepped closer, leaning slightly forward, "You swore to be the one to break the chains. Not the person to claim them."

"I made that promise," Kaelen said quietly. "But this world… it cannot survive without a guiding hand. The gods are dead, the clans aren't united, and the treaties seem no more than dust. If we allow the opportunity to pass us, we lose everything we bled for."

Lyra held his gaze. "I will not love a tyrant, Kael."

"Then don't," he said. "Love a man who is desperate enough to stop the bleeding."

He reached for the Ashen Crown.

A Trial of Loyalty

The moment he touched bone, the earth began to shake. The spirits of the dead rose in a ring around them, dead kings, lost lovers, oaths kept and broken.

They made an ethereal wall of fire.

A voice rose over the noise.

"Only bloodworthies may claim the Ashen Throne."

Kaelen gritted his teeth. "Then test me."

One by one, the spirits came.

His father, the man Kaelen had slain with his hand.

Old comrades, men Kaelen had failed to save.

The faces of children, burned in the wars he had raged.

Each one threw itself at him, not with blades but with memories, with guilt honed to a fine edge.

Kaelen nearly buckled under their weight, blood spilling from his nose.

He kneeled.

Lyra started forward, but Darren pulled her back. "He has to do this."

Kaelen's breath came in short gasps.

"I... am not a good man," he grunted. "But I am the only man left standing."

He rose, shaking, with trails of blood smeared across his face.

"I accept what I've done. I will carry it."

The spirits wavered.

And then they all bowed.

The light from the crown faded.

Kaelen raised it, and the phantoms were gone.

A New Oath

Kaelen faced them.

"I will not rule as the gods ruled," he said. "No throne of tyranny. No blood tax. No claim by birth and no claim by name."

He placed the crown on his brow.

"I swear to rebuild this world, not for kings or gods, but for an ending and the beginnings."

Lyra's face softened. A single half-formed tear rolled down her cheek.

Darren nodded sharply.

"What's next?" he asked.

Kaelen looked east.

"Now, we reclaim what is ours."

The Gathering Storm

The word spread faster than the wildfires.

The God-Eater was dead. Aeris had fallen. The Hollow was shattered.

Kaelen Veyne wore the crown of ashes.

In battered cities and burnt villages, broken clans and scattered armies were stirring: Some came for revenge. Some came for hope. Some came because it was more appealing than dying alone.

By the time they reached the plains of Varrek, a host had gathered.

Thousands.

Men, god-bloods, outcasts, forsaken.

Kaelen stood atop a blackened hill. At his side was Lyra, and Darren gazed warily from a few steps behind.

"You sure about this?" Darren asked.

Kaelen smiled grimly, "I'm not sure about anything anymore."

Lyra slipped her hand into his.

"Good," she whispered, "neither am I."

He raised his sword.

And in unison, the army roared.

"Ash to ash!"

"Blood to blood!"

"We follow the Crownless King!"