The Door Beneath The Throne

The mouth of the tunnel yawned wide beneath the collapsed stones of the throne chapel, hidden beneath roots thick as tree trunks and tangled with the bones of forgotten vines. Cold air drifted out from the black, damp passage, smelling of earth and old things.

No one spoke.

Asteria lit a shard of flame in his palm, casting an amber glow that barely reached the moss-lined walls. Tarn stepped in first, blade ready. Mira followed, then Seri. Cain came last, always watching their backs.

The descent began.

Down spiraling steps that crumbled with every step.

Through narrow veins of rock so tight they had to walk sideways.

Each footfall echoed like a drumbeat of fate.

---

Hours passed, or maybe more—it was hard to tell underground.

The deeper they went, the colder it grew. Even Asteria's flame flickered uncertainly now, as if something unseen exhaled around them.

Cain suddenly stopped.

He raised a hand.

> "Wait."

Everyone froze.

His head tilted slightly.

> "I feel something."

Tarn frowned. "Magic?"

> "No. Movement." Cain's eyes narrowed. "Someone's here."

Steel hissed free.

Asteria moved in front of Mira, his flame rising higher.

Then—

A shadow moved at the end of the tunnel.

Fast. Silent.

But not attacking.

Blocking their path.

Cain stepped forward.

> "Show yourself."

The figure stepped into the firelight.

Cloaked. Hooded.

Then—

He pulled the hood back.

> "It's me."

Valron.

Breathing lightly, eyes calm but serious.

His voice steady.

> "I'm back."

Silence.

Every hand remained on a weapon.

Asteria stepped forward, slowly. "Back?"

Valron nodded once.

> "I don't expect trust. I barely trust myself."

> "But I know where this path leads… and I won't let you face what's ahead without me."

Cain's grip didn't loosen. "Why now?"

Valron looked directly at Asteria.

> "Because I remembered who I was. Not what that voice wanted. Not the power I could take… but the people I bled beside."

He swallowed.

> "You."

Mira blinked, unsure.

Seri stepped beside Asteria. "You left us."

Valron's voice was quiet.

> "And I came back."

> "Not for forgiveness. For redemption."

> "If you'll let me walk behind you again, I will. But if not…"

He raised his hands, empty.

> "I'll walk alone. Just not against you."

Asteria's jaw tightened.

A pause.

Then—

He stepped forward and extended a hand.

> "Then walk with us."

Valron's breath hitched.

He took the hand.

The group still looked uneasy—but no one objected.

Cain gave a grunt. "Try anything funny, I'll gut you."

Valron smirked faintly. "Wouldn't be the first time you tried."

And just like that—

The path opened once more.

Together.

But this time with a shadow returned to the light.

And with every step, something deeper stirred beneath the palace.

Something waiting.

Watching.

Counting.

---

The hallway was long and silent—too silent.

Dust hung like a veil in the air, disturbed only by the soft tread of careful feet and the occasional flicker of torchlight from guards patrolling further down the corridor.

Asteria led them with sharp focus, his steps careful but sure. Cain walked beside him, eyes constantly scanning ahead. Behind them, Seri moved like a whisper, every step calculated.

They turned sharply down a narrow side hall carved into the mountain's deeper roots, where stone walls bore the fading sigils of an age long forgotten.

Ahead—a door.

Heavy. Ancient. Its frame etched with markings in a language none of them spoke aloud but all of them felt.

A pulse of energy radiated from it—steady and rhythmic, like a sleeping heartbeat.

> "This is it," Asteria murmured.

Valron placed his palm against the stone beside the door.

> "There's someone inside. Magic... thick. Like it's waiting."

> "The seer," Seri whispered. "It has to be."

Mira, Tarn, and Valron stepped back, taking defensive positions around the hallway's bends and arches.

> "We'll keep watch," Tarn said, checking the edges of his weapon.

> "Call if anything shifts," Mira added. "And be quick."

Asteria nodded. Then, with a careful push, the ancient door creaked open.

A pulse of warm light spilled from within.

He stepped inside, followed by Seri and Cain.

---

The room was circular and cavernous—an old sanctuary built beneath the throne, long abandoned by time but untouched by decay. A ring of candles burned though no one had lit them, and strange runes pulsed faintly on the walls.

And in the center—

A woman sat in a low wooden chair, cloaked in layers of twilight-colored fabric.

Her skin was parchment-thin, wrinkled like old river stone, but her eyes—

Her eyes burned with clarity.

Ancient. Knowing.

Waiting.

She didn't flinch or rise. She only smiled gently as they entered.

> "So," she said, her voice like wind rustling through leaves, "you've come at last."

Asteria stepped forward, stunned. "You know who we are?"

> "I knew you would come," she said. "Though I did not know when. I've waited in this place for many years. Guarded by prophecy. Sustained by magic older than the palace above us."

She raised a hand slowly, pointing to Asteria.

> "And you... child of fire and storm. The one who carries a crown that was never meant to fit."

Cain tensed slightly. "You mean Asteria?"

The old woman nodded, her gaze never leaving Asteria.

> "The Prime... without a royal name. The spark that should not exist."

Asteria stepped closer.

> "That's why I came."

His voice wavered, but only slightly.

> "Why me? Why do I have the power of the Prime if I don't come from the royal line?"

The old woman's smile didn't fade—but it deepened with sadness.

> "Because not all thrones are inherited."

> "Some... are born from broken worlds."

She looked past them now, eyes far away, as if seeing the threads of history tangled in the air.

> "And if you are ready, Asteria… I will tell you the truth."

> "About the Primordials."

> "About the royal lie."

> "And about the war that was never meant to end."

---

The corridor remained still—until the echo of boots approached from the far end.

Tarn raised two fingers—a silent signal.

Three guards turned the corner, casually talking amongst themselves. They didn't expect anyone this deep within the palace.

Big mistake.

In a fluid motion, Mira vanished into the shadows and reappeared behind the last guard, striking him in the neck. Tarn lunged forward, driving the hilt of his blade into another's gut. Valron, swift and silent, caught the third by the throat and slammed him against the wall, knocking him cold.

The bodies hit the ground in near-perfect unison.

> "Hide them," Mira whispered. "Quick."

They dragged the unconscious guards into an alcove behind a collapsed statue, masking their presence.

But then—

A glint of movement.

A fourth guard had turned the corner just a second too late.

He saw it all—eyes wide with terror.

Valron moved.

Too late.

The guard bolted down the corridor.

> "Wait—!" Tarn hissed, but the man was already out of reach.

A dagger flew—grazing his leg, not enough to stop him.

And far down the hall—

Another figure appeared at the top of a staircase.

Anith.

One of the inner sentinels. Eyes sharp. Robes of the palace's elite guard.

He saw the fleeing soldier.

He heard his breathless shout.

He looked up—and locked eyes with Valron.

Then he drew his blade.

And bellowed—

> "INTRUDERS!"

The sound rang through the corridor like thunder.

---