Chapter 13 – Seraphim Zero

Crownless King: The Heir of the Forgotten Throne

Chapter 13 – Seraphim Zero

There was no warning at all.

No brilliant flare lighting up the twilight sky, an omen of her approach.

No subtle ripple coursing through the leyline—no indication that something extraordinary was about to occur.

Not even the faintest whisper or murmur, a soft rustle that would suggest her imminent arrival.

It was as if the very air held its breath, an expectant hush falling over the world. The atmosphere thickened suddenly, like a great beast had inhaled a massive lungful of air, leaving the realm feeling suspended in an anxious stillness—forgotten was the exhale, the release, that would return life to its usual rhythm.

And then—

She emerged through the shattered, charred gates of Rhaemir, stepping forth from the ruins that had once represented something grand.

She didn't simply walk.

No, she glided with an ethereal grace, a fluid motion that transcended the physical barriers of the ground beneath her.

Her boots barely, if ever, kissed the ash that littered the earth—an echo of decay transformed beneath her prowess.

Clad in a sleek, form-fitting bodysuit intricately laced with ancient runes that seemed to pulse with a light devoid of warmth, she was a figure of paradox. Her hair cascaded like a torrent of white fire, alive with vivid highlights meant to dazzle, braided with threads of shimmering gold that caught the dying light in a way that seemed almost magical. Her eyes were void of irises, a reflective silver surface polished to perfection, capable of revealing the very essence of any soul courageous enough to meet her gaze.

She was not beautiful in a conventional sense.

She was terrifying in her presence—an entity designed to etch an unforgettable memory into the minds of those who beheld her.

An inscription graced her collarbone, forged in stark black:

SERAPHIM–00

Kael sensed her arrival long before his eyes caught her form.

The leyline shivered around them, twisting and bending, warping toward her as though it were obedient to her very essence, as if gravity had momentarily decided she was far more worthy of its affection than the world itself.

Beside him, Tarin released his spellwork, the air crackling with the dissipated energy that once charged his hands.

Seris, however, took a bold step forward, her blades in hand, ready for an encounter that felt inevitable.

Her eyes widened, but not in fear as any sensible human would have reacted.

Instead, it was recognition that painted her expression.

"…It's not possible."

Kael shot a side glance toward her, taken aback. "You know her?"

Seris's jaw tightened, a war of emotions raging behind steely composure.

"No," she replied with a clipped tone.

But the way that she said it—the flicker of uncertainty, the subtle inflection—implied a resounding yes.

Seraphim Zero came to a halt, an imposing figure stationed twenty feet away from them, her very presence radiating a captive energy that seemed to tingle the air with electric tension.

Her voice emerged as a whisper, deceptively tranquil. It held a flatness, a cool beauty akin to the sharpened edge of a blade poised for violence.

"Designation: Crownless.

Bloodline confirmed."

"Judgment authorized."

Kael, feeling the weight of her words, raised his hand instinctively. The crown flared from behind his back, forming an ethereal half-arc of memory-light that illuminated the gloomy surroundings. "I'm not running," he declared, his voice steady yet fueled by fierce determination.

She merely tilted her head.

"No. You're not."

She pointed—her finger not directed at Kael.

But at Seris.

Time itself seemed to freeze, suspended in disbelief.

Kael turned sharply to her. "What's she talking about?"

Silence hung heavily, Seris offering no response.

"Seris…" Tarin's voice came out as a hesitant whisper, echoing with urgency.

Kael focused entirely on her, irritation beginning to ignite within him. "Tell me."

Seris wouldn't meet his gaze, her attention anchored firmly elsewhere.

But when she spoke, her voice sliced through the air, sharper than any blade she wielded.

"Her name was Elira."

"She was my sister."

In an instant, the silence shattered like fragile glass, the realization splintering their world apart.

Tarin swore under his breath, disbelief lacing his tone.

Kael felt his stomach lurch, the revelation knocking the wind out of him. "Wait—what?" he gasped.

But before he could process her words, Seraphim Zero—now identified as Elira—was already in motion.

Not merely walking; not running, either.

She vanished in an instant and reappeared behind them, a wraith-like specter of death.

Seris barely managed to deflect her first vicious strike. The clash of their metal resonated through the crumbling cathedral remains, sending a shockwave that rattled the very stones of their surroundings. Kael jumped back instinctively, flames igniting along his arms, the crown-light flaring to life behind his eyes.

Elira didn't show the slightest hint of hesitation.

She did not blink.

She became the hunter.

Their battle ignited the twilight sky, illuminating the chaos that unfurled below.

Seris was undeniably faster, her movements full of urgency and precision.

Yet Elira was not human anymore.

Her motions were akin to prophecy—flawless, relentless, chillingly cold.

Every spell Seris attempted to unleash seemed futile, countered seamlessly before it could fully manifest. Each shadow-step she took transformed into a trap, ensnaring her in a web of torment where escape was merely a taunt.

Kael could barely keep pace, torn between the duality of shielding Tarin and attempting to disrupt the furious tempo of a battle that had been brewing for a decade—two pasts clashing in the present.

Because Seraphim Zero had not been dispatched simply to eradicate Kael.

She had come to punish Seris.

In the glaring light of combat, Kael pieced together the unspoken truth.

He noticed the way Seris faltered, not from fear.

But rather from deep-set guilt.

From haunting memories, like shadows of the past clawing their way to the forefront.

Elira had once been Seris's younger sister—snatched away by the Guild after Seris had fought for her own freedom. Labeled unfit for conventional programs, Elira had been transformed into a brutal prototype created for the ruthless application of loyalty and obedience.

"They said I died," Seris's voice broke through the haze as she barely deflected another of Elira's lethal strikes, one that nearly shattered her ribs.

"But you were the one they buried."

Elira did not flinch.

Her response was cold, devoid of warmth or humanity.

"You ran. I was forged."

"That's not the same thing," Seris retorted, her voice trembling as the mirrored memories of their shared past loomed large between them.

"It is now," Elira countered, her determination unyielding, casting aside the remnants of their former closeness.

Kael could no longer bear the weight of their shared sorrow and animosity.

With a mighty roar, he channeled the full essence of the crown.

Not simply manifesting a sword this time—

But creating a shield of flickering memory.

Each pulse of energy radiated from a name the Guild had desperately tried to erase from existence.

Ardyn. Valian. Seyra. Elira.

He hurtled himself between the estranged sisters, deflecting Elira's lethal strike just moments before it could plunge into Seris's heart.

"Enough!" Kael bellowed, his voice ringing with authority. "If you want me, then stop hiding behind the wounds of someone else's pain!"

For a fleeting moment, Elira paused, her relentless advance faltering.

And in that instant—more profound than any physical blow—she hesitated.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her features.

A tremor rippled through her, hinting at a name buried deep within her, struggling to crawl free from the depths of her hardened persona.

"Enough!" Kael bellowed, his voice reverberating through the air with a mixture of anger and desperation. "If you truly desire me, then cease your cowardly refuge behind the suffering of another!" The intensity of his words pierced through the charged atmosphere, creating a moment of raw clarity.

Elira faltered, caught in the sudden revelation.

For the very first time, a shadow of doubt crept into her mind, unsettling her like a whisper in the dark.

A flicker of realization darted through her thoughts.

A tremor of unspoken fear rippled beneath her skin.

A name—long buried and nearly forgotten—stirred within her, straining against the confines of her consciousness, yearning to be freed from the depths of her memory.

But before she could grapple with the emergent feelings—

A chilling sigil flared to life across her collarbone, its sharp, glowing lines igniting in a catastrophic sequence.

Self-extraction protocol activated.

Kael reacted instinctively, lunging toward her in a desperate attempt to bridge the widening chasm between them—but time was no longer on their side.

With a blinding flash of crimson light—

And just like that, Elira was gone, leaving nothing but an echo of what had been and a void that felt all-consuming.

In the wake of the explosion, Seris found herself standing amidst the remnants of chaos, enveloped in swirling dust, her body marred by a dozen cuts and bruises testament to the battle that had just unfolded. Each wound a painful reminder of loss and longing.

Her gaze drifted toward the spot where Elira had once stood, vanished into thin air, and in a voice barely above a whisper, she uttered words that slipped through the tumult—words that Kael couldn't quite grasp in the haze of the moment.

He moved closer, positioning himself beside her, his own heart heavy with confusion and grief. "You alright?" he asked, concern lacing his tone.

For an agonizing stretch of silence, she held her thoughts hostage, the weight of sorrow pressing down on her like an unbearable burden.

And then, at last, she spoke—

"She was just ten when they took her." There was an unmistakable edge of regret in her voice.

"And I was the one who urged her to flee."

"She didn't get far, did she? She was lost."

Kael placed a hand on her shoulder—not as a gesture of comfort, but rather as a testament to shared understanding and acknowledgment of pain that transcended time and healing.

For they both knew that some wounds do not simply mend; they burrow into the soul, transforming themselves into the very reasons that fuel our existence, haunting us relentlessly.

Elira found herself kneeling once more in the shadow of the majestic thrones, her heart heavy and her spirit dimmed. Her once-vibrant eyes now appeared dull, reflecting the despair that washed over her like a tidal wave. Her fingers trembled, betraying the turmoil within her as she sought the strength to articulate her thoughts.

Then, the voice emerged from the shadows, an echo that filled the vast chamber, asking her a question that felt both monumental and trivial:

"Did he falter?"

With a quivering breath, she gave her reply, barely louder than a fleeting thought.

"No."

"He stood resolute between us."

"He bears the weight of more than just fire."

There was a pause, a moment suspended in time that felt heavy with significance.

Then, unexpectedly, a smile crept across the unseen face of the voice.

"Ah, he carries names."

In that instant, Elira understood the profound truth—it was not merely her soul at stake, but a nexus of identities, hopes, and memories that beckoned to be acknowledged, carried forth by the one who dared to stand in defiance of the darkness.

To be continued...