The Prince of Thorns

"Some thrones are not inherited they are stolen from the bones of those who dared to resist."

Descent of the Crownless Prince

The air split open.

No grand entrance. No horn.

Just a pulse like the heartbeat of a dying god.

From the breach stepped Isareth, the Prince of Thorns.

He wore no crown his head was encircled instead by a living halo of twisted metal and thorns, each one pulsing with red runes.

His eyes glowed with voidfire. Not light absence.

Flanked by two warlords in silver-black plate and one veiled woman draped in living shadow, Isareth took in the chamber.

"So… the boy lights a flame and thinks himself a god."

His voice carried history the kind they never wrote down.

The Flame

Aelios stood before the Naming Flame now burning brighter than ever.

He raised his right hand.

And the fire answered.

It curled up his arm, down his spine, over his chest names etched into his skin like scripture.

Each one a soul lost.

Each one a rebellion silenced.

Now... they were with him.

"You erased them from your books," he said, his voice echoing.

"But not from the world."

He stepped forward, and the flame followed twisting into a blade of pure memory.

The Sword of the Forgotten.

Memory vs Monarchy

Isareth flicked his fingers.

His warlords attacked.

Aelios met them head-on his sword singing with names that screamed justice.

The first warlord swung

and was split down the middle as the flame cleaved through his cursed armor like it was made of ash.

The second tried to call darkness

but the sword seared through the spell itself, unraveling the lie before it formed.

And then Isareth moved.

Seren's Choice

In the shadows, Seren stood frozen.

Isareth had once knighted her.

Had once whispered that her loyalty would be her greatest weapon.

Now, she saw him for what he was:

A man who gutted truth and wore its skin.

And before her Aelios.

Not a hero. Not a saint.

But something real. Something burning.

She unsheathed her blade.

And for the first time in years…

She pointed it at Isareth.

"You lied to me."

He turned, casually.

"I shaped you. That's not the same."

"No," she said. "You broke me. And now I remember what I was before."

She stepped beside Aelios.

"Let's break him next."

Revelation Beneath the Vault

As they fought, the vault trembled.

Then something deep cracked.

The flame flared backward lighting up the far wall.

A hidden door revealed itself, covered in ice and markings from before the kingdom's birth.

Virelya touched it and her blood was recognized.

The door parted.

Behind it:

A throne of light, floating above a spiral of celestial glyphs.

And beneath it a giant heartbeat.

"This vault… it wasn't just a tomb," Aelios said.

"It's a cradle."

The Flame

Aelios and Seren faced Isareth at last.

The Naming Flame surged with the power of ten thousand souls.

"Do you hear them?" Aelios roared.

"They scream not for vengeance…

But for truth."

He raised the blade.

It shattered into a thousand fire-arcs, striking down the shadows, the warlords, the lies.

And finally

Isareth bled.

Not much.

But enough to show… he wasn't immortal.

"This isn't over," the prince spat.

"No," Seren said. "It's just begun."

The Throne

The chamber settled. The vault glowed.

And the throne that ancient cradle pulsed with new life.

Aelios stepped near it…

but didn't sit.

"I don't want a throne," he whispered.

"I want the truth to live longer than those who silenced it."

The Codex closed itself gently.

The flame dimmed… but did not die.