Its voice is soft yet unyielding, resonating in the depths of my mind like a ripple across still water.
"Rise."
The command is simple, but it carries a weight that makes my limbs tremble as I push myself to my feet. My vision adjusts to the dim light of the throne room, though it feels sharper now, as if I can see not just the physical, but the cracks in the fabric of reality itself. Shadows crawl across the walls, alive and restless, bowing to my presence before melting away.
I glance down at my hands, no longer trembling but steady, brimming with an unfamiliar energy. The Silent Crown hums faintly, its icy touch spreading through me like an awakening. For a moment, I feel invincible. But the whispers return, urgent now.
"Go to the Hall of Origins."
I don't need to ask where it is. The crown seems to plant the knowledge in my mind, guiding my steps with an invisible thread. The grand doors of the throne room swing open as I approach, revealing a corridor of obsidian stone lit by floating orbs of pale light. The walls are etched with countless names—names I somehow know belong to the rulers before me.
Their voices seem to echo faintly in the silence, fragments of warnings, regrets, and triumphs swirling together like a tempest.
"The crown will test you."
"Do not falter."
"Beware the cost."
Each step forward feels heavier than the last, the weight of their failures pressing against my chest. Yet the whispers of the Silent Crown keep me moving.
At the end of the corridor, a towering archway looms, carved with the same pulsating symbols as the figure's mask. Beyond it lies the Hall of Origins—a circular chamber with a domed ceiling that seems to stretch infinitely. In its center, a black pedestal rises from the floor, cradling a single object: a shard of crystalline light, pulsing like a heartbeat.
I hesitate, staring at the shard. The crown's whispers grow louder, more insistent.
"Claim it. It is the key to understanding your power."
My hand extends almost involuntarily, fingers brushing the shard's surface. A blinding surge of energy races through me, and suddenly, I'm no longer in the Hall of Origins.
I'm standing in a battlefield drenched in ash and blood. The air is thick with the acrid scent of fire and despair. Armies clash around me—faceless figures wielding weapons of light and shadow, their cries of anguish blending into a cacophony of chaos.
At the center of it all stands a figure crowned with the Silent Crown, their face twisted in agony and fury. It's me, yet not me. My future? My end?
The crowned version of myself turns, locking eyes with me. Their voice, a distorted mirror of my own, cuts through the din.
"Do you see now? The crown is not just power—it is responsibility. Every choice you make will echo through eternity, shaping the fate of Ardellia and yourself."
I want to speak, to ask what happens if I fail, but they step forward, gripping my shoulders with an intensity that feels all too real.
"The shard you hold is your first trial. It will show you what you must sacrifice to wield the crown fully. Are you ready to bear its weight?"
I'm back in the Hall of Origins, gasping for air, the shard glowing faintly in my palm. The Silent Crown whispers again, softer now, almost tender.
"Decide."
And I understand. To claim the shard is to accept the first of many sacrifices. It will strip away something vital—something I may never regain. But to refuse it is to reject the crown's power and doom Ardellia to chaos.
My hand tightens around the shard. What part of myself am I willing to lose for this world? For its people? For my destiny?
I decide...