Chapter 18 – Within the Beast
Crownless King: The Heir of the Forgotten Throne
Chapter 18 – Within the Beast
The instant Kael crossed the threshold into the colossal heart of the Leviathan, the very fabric of reality twisted and shuddered around him.
Not a sensation of agony.
Not an overwhelming brightness.
Not even the familiar cadence of magic.
Simply… memory.
He found himself suspended in a surreal state of weightlessness.
Free from the constraints of gravity. Breath escaping him in silenced gasps.
Enveloped by shimmering layers of mirrored glass, each pane reflecting a multitude of alternate versions of his own visage.
One version wore an ornate crown, glimmering with the weight of authority.
Another figure stood encased in a mantle of ash, a solemn reminder of devastation.
A third was engulfed in flames, staring defiantly into the void.
One more was smiling radiantly, filled with joy and hope.
Yet, no reflection returned his gaze.
"WHERE IS BALANCE KEPT?"
the Leviathan inquired.
Its voice no longer resonated like thunder, shaking the ground beneath his feet.
Instead, it reverberated within his very bones.
It penetrated the depths of his thoughts, intertwining with his consciousness.
Kael found himself silent, his voice evading him in this celestial space.
Words felt insubstantial and utterly irrelevant in the presence of such weight.
Instead, he stood in quiet contemplation.
And in response, the Leviathan began to unfold.
A corridor manifested before him, vibrant and alive, metallic elements weaving in and out like a living organism, pulsating with heat and encoded energy. With each step Kael took, the sounds of his footsteps echoed through the corridors of history, each sound imbued with the echoes of ancient tales.
This was no mere library. It was far from the solemnity of a temple.
It was a haunting burial ground for every civilization that the Leviathan had obliterated in its relentless pursuit of balance.
The Empire of Ten Suns: reduced to ash and cinders.
The Weavers of Flameglass: consumed by watery graves.
The Seraphim Forge: plunged into silence, their songs forever muted.
And at the terminus of this mournful corridor, he discovered:
A grand chamber, constructed from flawless white stone, encircled by countless names engraved into the surface.
These were not just the titles of kingdoms or realms.
But the names of individuals—of lives lost.
Kael edged closer, an inexorable pull guiding him towards the brilliance of the names.
One name shimmered with extraordinary intensity, outshining the others.
"Kael Veyren."
And adjacent to it, a second name glowed with equal intensity.
"Seyra Veyren."
Softly, he breathed, "My mother…"
Once more, the Leviathan's voice resonated within the core of his being.
"SHE WAS THE LAST TO WALK MY CORE."
"SHE PASSED THE TEST."
"SHE REFUSED THE CROWN."
Kael felt a constriction in his chest, a mixture of pain and pride surging through him. "She knew of this place?"
"SHE BOUND HERSELF TO BALANCE."
"AND PAID THE COST."
The very chamber appeared to shift and breathe in tandem with his mounting emotions.
A vivid image materialized before him—Seyra, younger than he remembered, flames licking at her back, the heavy Crown clasped firmly within her hands.
She stood resolute before the Twelve, the governing council of her time.
And, just behind her, was a small infant—Kael himself, helpless and unaware of the weight of legacy resting upon his mother's shoulders.
She whispered, a memory echoing through time:
"If I take the Crown, the world burns again."
"So I leave it to my son."
"Let him choose fire, or peace."
And with those final words, she turned her back on grandeur and walked away.
At dawn of the following day, the Leviathan sealed itself once more, a silent witness to her sacrifice.
Kael Fell to His Knees
"She… chose me."
Not to ascend to power. Not to dominate through force.
But to make a different choice, one that could rewrite the fate of many.
The Leviathan imparted its wisdom one last time.
"IF YOU SEEK BALANCE…"
"YOU MUST UNDERSTAND THAT THE FLAME YOU BEAR WAS NEVER MEANT TO DESTROY."
"IT WAS MEANT TO DECIDE."
"YOU ARE NOT THE END."
"YOU ARE THE SCALE."
From a distant ridge, Seris and Tarin beheld the unfolding spectacle as the Leviathan's chest fractured, releasing streams of golden, radiant light.
And then—
Kael emerged.
His eyes burned with the intensity of dawn breaking on the horizon.
In one hand, he gripped the Crown, shimmering with potential.
In the other, a flickering flame hovered—powerful, yet unspent.
Neither weaponized. Instead, they symbolized the choices yet to come.
He had transformed in that moment.
Not elevated to a deity.
Not merely glorified.
But harmonized with his true self.
Seris turned to Tarin, her voice barely a whisper as she gazed upon him, brimming with curiosity. "What did you witness in there?"
Kael met her gaze—steady and resolute, a newfound strength radiating from him.
"My mother."
"My purpose."
"And a war older than the Twelve."
To be continued...