---
CHAPTER 23 — The Kingdom of Silent Crowns
The gates slammed shut behind them with a thundering finality that made Aren flinch. The sound echoed down the hollow streets, swallowed by a city that felt more like a tomb than a place where people lived.
Olaris—the City of Dawn—was dark.
Torchlight bled weakly against the stone, but every flame flickered as if afraid of the shadows it revealed. Buildings once grand now sagged, their roofs collapsed, walls etched with deep claw marks. Muted figures moved like ghosts along the streets, wrapped in cloaks, heads lowered, no faces visible. No laughter. No chatter. Not even footsteps echoed. The air itself felt smothered.
Lirien whispered, "This is worse than I heard…"
Reylan gave no answer, jaw locked tight.
Aren watched as a group of Wardens marched past them, each step perfectly synchronized. Their armor scraped the ground like chains. When one turned its head the wrong way—far too far—Aren's stomach twisted.
"Why are they like that?" Aren muttered.
Reylan stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Wardens were once volunteers. Elite protectors. But the kingdom began… modifying them. Binding metal and flesh. Fusing them with something drawn from the Forgetting."
Aren's pulse quickened. "The same forgetfulness that corrupts memories? That changes living things?"
Reylan nodded. "This kingdom embraced it instead of resisting it."
Aren felt a coldness grip him—not from fear alone, but from the stone walls themselves. It felt like something in the city's foundation was watching him.
The Warden guiding them halted suddenly at an intersection.
"THE SUMMONED ONE WILL PROCEED TO THE INNER SANCTUM. COMPANIONS WILL BE HELD IN THE OUTER HOLDING."
Aren stiffened. "Held?"
Lirien stepped in front of him immediately. "No. Wherever he goes, we go."
The Warden's head jerked violently. "OUTSIDERS DO NOT ENTER THE INNER—"
Aren spoke before it finished.
"Let them come with me."
The creature's twisted gaze settled on him. Aren felt the Relic at his hip thrum with a warning pulse, like a heartbeat quickened.
"REQUEST DENIED."
Reylan placed a hand on Aren's shoulder. "We separate for now," he murmured. "If we force the issue, all of us die."
Aren hated how true that felt.
Lirien hesitated, but then stepped closer. "We will find you. No matter what the king wants."
Aren nodded, swallowing hard. He forced himself to step back as two Wardens ushered Lirien and Reylan away down a dim corridor.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Aren felt alone.
---
The Warden led him deeper into the city. The homes became cleaner, then sharper, then unnervingly perfect. As if someone had stitched the buildings back together with magic rather than stone.
A massive gate rose ahead—far newer than the city around it, carved with symbols that twisted Aren's vision.
Two Wardens stood guard, but they didn't move like the others. Their armor was smoother, their posture more human.
The gate rumbled open without a single word spoken.
Aren stepped inside.
And froze.
The Inner Sanctum wasn't just a palace—it was alive.
Vines of silver light crawled along the walls, pulsing with mana. The floor glowed faintly in patterns that shifted underfoot, like walking on shallow water. Strange flowers grew from cracks in the marble, whispering faint, sorrowful tones.
At the center stood a throne carved from pure obsidian.
And on it, a man.
The King.
His hair was white—not from age but from something colder. His skin was too perfect, his eyes too still. His armor gleamed with the same fused metal as the Wardens, but his body moved freely, unnervingly fluid.
"Summoned One," the King said, voice smooth as water over stone. "At last, you arrive."
Aren's heartbeat stuttered. "You knew I was coming? How?"
The King smiled—beautiful and terrifying.
"This world told me."
He rose from the throne.
"And it tells me something more…"
He stepped down each stair with soft, deliberate grace.
"You do not belong to this era, Aren of Another Breath. You carry a relic that awakens only in times of disaster."
Aren's hand tightened around the Whispering Relic instinctively.
The King's eyes flickered toward it.
"That Relic," he whispered, "can heal the world. Or unravel it. And you, boy… you do not understand which destiny you are walking."
Aren swallowed, throat dry. "Then tell me."
For the first time, the King's expression shifted—something like hunger.
"I will tell you everything…
If you kneel."
Aren froze.
And deep within the Relic, something pulsed—a warning stronger than ever.
---