Solin slept beneath a dying sky. His breathing was shallow, the red marks on his skin now faded to dull scars. Whatever power had driven him, whatever madness had taken root, it was gone.
Kairo stood over him. Silent.
Lira approached from behind, brushing ash off her shoulder. Her blade still drawn, just in case.
"He's not dead," she said.
"I know."
"He tried to kill you."
"I know."
Lira narrowed her eyes. "And now what? We let him come with us?"
Kairo didn't answer.
He wasn't sure.
Iri knelt beside Solin, holding a damp cloth to his forehead. Her small hands trembled, but her face was calm.
"He's not evil," she said softly.
Kairo turned to her. "You don't know that."
"I do," she said. "He's like me. Like you."
Kairo didn't respond.
Because he did know. That boy wasn't evil.
He was lost.
Just like Kairo had been.
Just like hundreds of others who had never survived the Rite. Who had been hunted down, killed, forgotten—just because of a power they never asked for.
Later, when the sky turned black, Solin woke.
He sat up slowly, holding his ribs. His eyes were tired. Quiet. The arrogance was gone.
"You should've killed me," he said.
Kairo shrugged. "Maybe."
Solin stared at him for a long time. "He really chose you."
Kairo didn't move.
"I felt it," Solin continued. "The moment our curses clashed. The throne shifted. The spirits pulled away from me and turned toward you."
"I didn't want it."
Solin smiled bitterly. "Doesn't matter. You have it."
Lira sat on a nearby rock, watching them both like a hawk.
"So," she said, "are you going to explain what any of that was? Or are we just guessing again?"
Solin coughed, wincing. "The Bone Throne isn't just a title. It's a seal."
Kairo tilted his head. "A seal?"
Solin nodded. "It holds something ancient. Something that was buried before kingdoms ever rose."
Lira's grip on her blade tightened.
"What kind of 'something'?" she asked.
"Magic. Real magic. Pure. Raw. Wild." Solin's eyes gleamed. "Not created by gods. Not controlled by humans."
"It's the source," Kairo whispered.
"Yes," Solin said. "And the one who sits on that throne? Becomes the vessel for that power."
Lira frowned. "So what? A god-killer?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what?"
Solin looked at Kairo.
"You become the breaker of fate."
Silence.
Even the wind stopped.
Then Kairo said, "That why you wanted it?"
Solin nodded. "The Bone King came to me when I was five. Said I'd destroy the world that rejected me. Said I'd be worshipped, feared. A king with no leash."
"And you believed him?"
"I wanted to."
Kairo clenched his fists. "I've heard his voice too. But I don't trust it."
"You shouldn't."
Solin met his gaze.
"He's not offering you power because you're strong. He's offering it because you're dangerous."
That night, they rested in the shadows of broken stones — remains of a forgotten battlefield. Swords stuck out of the ground like dying flowers. Bones lay scattered, picked clean by time.
Kairo sat alone.
Watching the moon.
Thinking.
His hands were shaking.
He didn't know if it was fear… or hunger.
Not hunger for food.
But for more.
For answers.
For truth.
For power.
The curse inside him whispered constantly now.
"Take the throne."
"You are worthy."
"All will kneel."
He pressed his palms to the ground.
"No," he whispered.
The voice laughed.
"You say that now."
Solin limped over and sat beside him.
"You hear him too?"
"All the time."
Solin stared out at the dead field.
"I think he used us."
"He did."
"But he's not done yet."
Kairo nodded slowly. "I know."
"Then what are you going to do?"
Kairo stood.
His eyes glowed faintly.
The wind blew his cloak back.
And for a moment—just a moment—the broken swords around him quivered.
"I'm going to find the throne," Kairo said.
"And when I get there… I'll burn it."
Far beyond the plains, in the hollow mountain where the Bone Throne sat…
The ancient figure leaned forward, its face wrapped in shadows.
Its voice rumbled through forgotten stone.
"Good."
"Let him come."
"Let him burn."
"Let him awaken what sleeps beneath us all."