Chapter 11 – The Crown Meets the Blade

Crownless King: The Heir of the Forgotten Throne

Chapter 11 – The Crown Meets the Blade

The sky above them bled hues of copper and rust as the somber presence of the Hollow March settled ominously over the horizon, signaling the arrival of something both dreadful and magnificent.

Kael stood resolutely upon the fractured remains of an ancient bridge, a relic from a time when hope still danced through the threshold of this world. The bridge led to the heart of the ley-channel spire, a towering structure pulsating with unspent energy. Below, the earth cracked and trembled, a sinister hum rising from the depths as if the land itself was aware of the impending confrontation. Behind him, Seris clutched her twin daggers with a fierce grip, the knuckles of her hands whitening in preparation. Each dagger glinted with a promise of lethal intent, ready to pierce the darkness if necessary. Not far away, Tarin stood with palpable anxiety, his fingers dancing nervously as he crafted a dispersal ward, an act filled with the electric tension of silent panic.

And looming before them—a singular figure descended, a living nightmare clad in memories of lost nobility.

He didn't simply fall through the air; he descended with purpose, as if the very laws of gravity bowed to his will. Clad in tattered royal armor that whispered of grandeur long forgotten and draped in a flowing cloak woven from shadows and solid remnants of ash and steel, he appeared like an apparition summoned from the depths of despair. His face was concealed behind an eerily beautiful porcelain mask, marred only by a single rune pulsating with a dull, stillborn light—an unsettling reminder of what he had once been.

In his grasp, he wielded a sword of intimidating length, easily matching the span of Kael's own body.

Yet, despite the menacing presence of this weapon, the most horrifying aspect of the being before them was not the physical blade. No, it was the abyss that lay within him.

This was no longer a man of flesh and spirit. This was a hollow shadow, a crown shackled by the will of others—burned into submission, stripped of free will.

Seris's voice was barely a whisper, breaking the heavy silence that enveloped them. "This one's called Valian. He was King of Eshros once. A ruler who willingly laid down his throne for the hope of peace. But the Twelve twisted his fate, turning him into one of their Hollow Marchers."

Kael narrowed his gaze, determination hardening his features. "Can he still think for himself?"

Tarin answered, his voice laced with a grim acceptance. "He can remember."

"Good," Kael replied, stepping forward with renewed resolve. "Then he'll know what's coming for him."

The air around them seemed to split, charged with the tension of impending conflict.

Valian remained silent. There was no grand proclamation, only the swift, predatory movement of flesh and steel.

In a flash, he covered the distance between them, a mere twenty meters, his blade carving through the stone with a terrifying ease as he charged, his focus unbroken.

Kael instinctively raised his hand and felt the familiar warmth of the crown ignite in brilliance. The gold-silver fire surged up his arm, illuminating his skin, not as a curse to be resisted, but as a power to embrace.

He commanded it—a bold declaration of his intent. In response, a protective barrier flared to life around him. Valian's blade struck with force, shattering Kael's ward like glass, but Kael was already in motion, spinning away deftly and unleashing a blast of raw memory-flame into the chest of the Hollow King.

The force of the impact sent Valian staggering back, just a fraction of a step—an opening, however small, that Kael yearned for.

"Kael!" Tarin's voice cut through the chaos as he uttered the sigil phrase, channeling light from beneath the bridge, illuminating their surroundings like a beacon of hope. Seris, swift and agile, leapt into the fray, her daggers slicing the air with promise, each strike targeting the vulnerable flanks of their foe.

But Valian remained impenetrable, each blow failing to find purchase against the hardened armor that encased him.

Every strike from Seris bought Kael precious seconds—moments that were rapidly draining like sand through an hourglass.

Kael gripped the crown behind his back tighter, and this time, the power didn't resist him—it flowed, unrestrained, through his very being, intertwining with his essence.

The flames began to dance, curling and twisting, morphing into shape—a sword not of flesh, but of memory. This was a blade forged not from ordinary metal, but from the pure remnants of remembered power, a weapon wielded once by the first Crownless, now grasped by his rightful heir.

With purpose, Kael strode forward, engaging Valian on the devastated bridge. The clash of metal echoed around them, a symphony of chaos—sparks flew with each collision, a frenetic battle of memory against a soulless obedience, flame meeting silence in an ugly yet beautiful spectacle.

In that frenetic moment of combat, Kael caught a fleeting glimpse into Valian's tormented soul: he saw a king once proud, now reduced to shackles of his own making; he saw a city enveloped in flames, a sacrifice made in the name of peace and mercy; a crown relinquished and, with it, the slow hollowing out of a once-great man.

For a brief instant, Kael faltered, his conviction wavering against the tidal wave of memories that surged before him.

Valian saw this hesitation and capitalized on it.

The blade arced through the air, tearing through Kael's shoulder with brutal force, sending him crashing to the ground. Blood poured forth, splattering against the stones beneath him—a stark contrast to the ashen battlefield.

Yet, Kael did not scream.

He rose to his feet, driven not merely by willpower but fueled by a righteous wrath that coursed through him like wildfire.

"You were a king," he hissed, his voice carrying a weight of unyielding conviction. "You were once a protector of your people."

Valian paused—just for a heartbeat, a fleeting moment in time where the echoes of the past shimmered behind his mask.

That single instant was all Kael needed.

With renewed strength, he raised the memory-sword high and drove it through the fragility of Valian's mask—the last barrier separating man from machine.

The Hollow King fell.

There was no cry of pain, no grand explosion of energies unleashed.

Only a chilling silence followed, permeating the air.

And then, he crumbled to ash.

Valian dissolved into dust, spiraling away on the wind, a ghostly remnant of a life extinguished.

With his defeat, the temperature of the air dropped, a sharp reminder of the devastating loss they had just witnessed.

Kael collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, the world spinning around him as fatigue washed over him like a wave.

Seris hurried to his side, her instinct for care igniting in the midst of chaos. She pressed her palm against his wound, her brow knitted in concern. "You fool," she muttered sharply. "You're bleeding like a fountain. What were you thinking?"

Kael's gaze remained fixed on the ash scattering into the wind, each particle a tiny echo of Valian's life lost.

"...He hesitated," he finally breathed, the weight of realization sinking into the depths of his soul.

Tarin nodded slowly, his expression grave yet thoughtful. "He remembered who he once was. That flicker of acknowledgment was your greatest weapon."

Kael clenched his fists in quiet resolution, a raging fire igniting within him. "I won't allow the Twelve to do this to anyone else. No more hollowed lives, no more crowns stripped away."

Elsewhere—at the edge of The Broken Skyroad,

Seyra Veynn walked alone, each step reverberating through the deserted expanse.

Her chains had been unshackled. The crown she once bore now burned cold under her spine, an echo of past torment.

As she moved, she felt the tumult through the leyline, a visceral connection to the ley-channel spire—she felt the death of Valian, the fall of a king.

And for the first time in three long decades—

A smile crept onto her lips, a glimmer of hope igniting within her heart.

"He's learning," she spoke softly to herself, a whisper carried away by the soft winds.

Her gaze shifted upward, toward the stars that twinkled with infinite possibilities.

Toward Kael.

And she murmured:

"Soon, heir.

We shall see who the crown has truly chosen."

To be continued...