The Crown of Fire was glowing softly under the flickering light in the room. Despite that, it emitted a dangerous radiance that only spelt trouble. Ezekiel could see why the object has a long and bloody history. As the legend said, the crown was bewitching for anyone's eyes.
What he didn't understand, however, was why the crown was with his grandmother.
"I don't understand," Archer voiced out Ezekiel's exact thoughts, "what is the crown doing here?"
Ezekiel's grandmother ran her hand slowly across the glass box, deep in thought. It was as if she was contemplating the cost of telling them the truth.
"The crown was never stolen," She said, interrupted by a chorus of 'what?'s. She motioned for everyone to take a seat.
