The Floating Cathedral — Throne Chamber of the Seven Crowns
The world was bleeding upside-down.
Starlight rained upward instead of down, pooling across the ceiling like molten galaxies. The cathedral's ribs—massive arches of bone-white stone—pulsed as if breathing. Every inhale dragged the air inward with a low, subsonic WUUUUM that vibrated Kael's teeth.
The throne at the center waited.
A mass of black iron and memories.
Alive. Watching.
Waiting to choose.
And below it—
Veyra and Lirien were dying.
Veyra First
Veyra's thorn-armor was shredded, blooms torn away to expose raw muscle beneath. Thorns still sprouted from her skin in jagged, cracked angles, each pulse of her heart sending cracks of red lightning across her vines.
She staggered but didn't kneel.
—Stay up, stay up, don't let them see you fold.
Kael could feel the mantra screaming inside her.
A golden spear, lodged through her abdomen, pinned her to a slab of star-stone behind her. The spearhead had gone through her stomach, out her back, into the wall.
Veyra still bared her teeth in a smile too sharp to be comfort.
"Still breathing," she laughed, blood bubbling from her lips.
"Annoying, right?"
The Council watched from above like vultures.
Seraphine Second
Seraphine lay on her side, robes soaked in silver-blue blood—her blood, her magic. Her ribs were exposed on one side where Belladonna had torn her open with a rose-spine the size of a scythe. Her organs pulsed visibly under the shattered cage.
The wound whispered.
Her magic bled out like a leaking nebula.
Seraphine still clenched her staff. Barely.
"Don't—" she pleaded, voice breaking, "don't go near the throne alone…"
Her body trembled violently.
She's dying. She knows she's dying.
Kael tasted iron in his mouth—his own blood, from how hard he was clenching his teeth.
Kael — Internal Monologue (Rising Abyss)
I can save them.
I can't save them both.
The throne doesn't take kings. It takes sacrifices.
If I claim it… one of them dies.
If I don't… both die.
His pulse roared in his ears.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM.
Like a colossal heartbeat syncing to his.
I am so tired of stories demanding blood.
I am so tired of choices shaped like coffins.
I refuse.
The Abyss inside him stirred.
Not hunger—
Not power—
Recognition.
The Mother of Mourning Descends
A veil of a thousand grieving voices flowed down from the ceiling, congealing into a shape. Lyria, the Mother of Mourning, landed with no sound except the shattering of warmth.
Her fingers were bone-thin.
Her presence smelled of cold candles and open graves.
She moved toward Veyra first.
Veyra's vines tried to rise. They withered instantly.
"You," Lyria murmured, "break beautifully."
She reached for Veyra's heart.
Veyra didn't scream.
She only scoffed through blood.
"Touch me and I'll make your funeral look cute."
Lyria smiled—a slow, motherly curve full of doom.
Kael Moves
Kael didn't remember drawing Wrathbinder.
He only remembered the sound:
KRRRRRR—CHAAAANG
His blade struck Lyria's arm, cleaving through the spectral veil to reveal screaming faces woven beneath the cloth. They wailed, shrill and maddened, as they melted into smoke.
Lyria recoiled.
"You protect them," she observed, voice layered with thousands of whispers.
"You will break for them."
Kael's voice was raw steel.
"I won't."
Lyria tilted her head.
"You already are."
The Throne Reacts
The Throne of Memory trembled.
A dozen spines of black star-metal unfolded like blooming knives. They pointed at Kael, at his chest, at his heart.
CHOSE.
CHOOSE.
CHOOSE.
The word rang through his skull like swords grinding together.
He dropped to one knee.
Not from weakness.
From the weight of every life he ever failed tightening around his throat.
I lost everything in the Hollow.
I'm not losing them.
Not again.
The Throne demanded blood.
But Kael gave it something else:
Refusal.
Kael's Choice
He tore open his own shirt. Pressed Wrathbinder's edge to his chest.
"Kael—!" seraphine screeched, coughing blue fire.
"Don't you dare—!" Veyra barked, thorns flaring.
Kael ignored both.
He sliced across his sternum.
Deep.
Deliberate.
Blood cascaded down his torso—black, shimmering, full of tiny stars.
He lifted his heart toward the Throne.
"You want sacrifice?" he announced.
"Take mine."
The cathedral went silent.
Every saint froze.
Even the Throne hesitated.
The Abyss Awakens DIFFERENTLY
Something ancient crawled out of Kael's wound—
not a monster,
not hunger—
A shadow shaped like him.
It gently touched the throne.
The Throne didn't consume it.
The Throne knelt.
The Crowns Finally Feel Fear (Foreshadow)
Aurelius's molten eyes widened.
Belladonna's rose armor wilted.
Caelum's storms stilled.
Vesper's embers flickered.
Nocturne's stitched eyes trembled.
Lyria stepped back.
Dominus whispered the words none of them ever wanted spoken:
"…He is rewriting the price."
Kael Rises
His blood floated upward like a reversed waterfall.
It formed wings behind him—
wings made of pure night, full of constellations that had never existed.
His chest wound sealed with a noise like stone grinding over bone.
Kael looked at the throne.
Then at Veyra.
Then at Lirien.
And finally at the Seven Crowns.
"This throne isn't made of who I sacrifice," he vowed.
"It's made of who I protect."
The Throne Answers
It extended its spines toward him.
Not to pierce.
To offer.
A seat forged not from loss—
but from defiance.
A throne built by refusing the narrative that demanded grief.
Kael placed one hand on it.
The entire cathedral screamed.
Stars shattered.
Reality twisted.
The saints recoiled in absolute horror.
Because for the first time in thousands of years—
Someone had taken a throne without killing anyone to earn it.
Kael's Final Internal Monologue
This throne belongs to who I save.
My throne.
My story.
My rules.
Come try to take it from me.