The heavy silence of the throne room presses in on me as I step forward, each footfall echoing in the vast, empty space. The battle with Tykhros feels like it happened a lifetime ago, though only moments have passed. His parting words still linger, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts: "The crown will consume you."
I shake my head. No. I can't afford to let that fear control me. The crown is mine to wield, not the other way around.
But still… the weight on my skull, the constant hum of its power, feels heavier. The temptation to let it consume me, to surrender to the cold embrace of its whispers, is there. It pulls at me, urges me to give in.
I halt before the throne, feeling its cold presence loom over me. The Silent Crown, its metallic surface gleaming even in the dim light, calls to me. The room seems to darken with its power, shadows stretching unnaturally toward me, but I resist the urge to sit. This is not the moment. Not yet.
As I stand there, a movement catches my eye. From the shadows, a figure steps forward, their silhouette faintly illuminated by the flickering torches that line the walls.
I instantly recognize the figure—a woman, tall, with flowing dark hair that cascades down her back like a veil. Her eyes gleam a vivid, unnatural gold, a reflection of the crown. Her presence is commanding, yet there's something unsettling about her, as though she's not fully human.
She steps forward, her gaze locked onto mine with a chilling intensity. "So, the Chosen One stands before the throne," she says, her voice smooth, but there's an underlying edge to it. "But you're not ready, are you?"
I straighten, eyeing her warily. "Who are you?"
She smiles, but the expression doesn't reach her eyes. "Ah, the questions always come too soon." She takes a step closer, her gaze assessing me with cold precision. "I'm Nyx. And I've been watching you, Soren."
My grip tightens on the broken sword hilt at my side. "What do you want with me?"
Nyx chuckles, a sound that feels like it's made of shadows. "What do I want? What I've always wanted—control. Power. The same thing everyone seeks in this world, and yet... it's always fleeting. That's where you come in."
I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. "What do you mean?"
She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You think the crown is the key to ruling this realm, but it's just a tool. A powerful one, yes... but it is not the true source of power. You will find that out soon enough."
I narrow my eyes, my pulse quickening. "And what happens when I find out?"
Nyx's lips curl into a slow smile. "That's up to you, Soren. Do you choose to use it for the greater good, or do you let the crown consume you, like so many before you?"
She pauses, letting the question hang in the air. "You can fight it. You can resist. But the crown always claims what is its own in the end."
The words hit me like a slap. The crown always claims what is its own.
I've heard that before, in Tykhros' final moments. Is it true?
"No," I mutter under my breath. "I won't be like the others."
Nyx tilts her head slightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "You'll learn soon enough that desire for power is a dangerous thing. But I'm not here to watch you fall, not yet. I have my own role to play."
Before I can react, she turns and walks toward the far side of the room, where a shadowy figure stands, shrouded in darkness. They're barely visible, but I can feel their gaze on me—cold, calculating.
Nyx stops, looking back over her shoulder. "Remember, Soren. Power is never free. It demands sacrifices, things you may not be willing to give up."
She vanishes into the shadows, leaving me alone once more in the vast, echoing throne room.
For a long moment, I stand there, the weight of her words pressing down on me. She's right about one thing: power always demands something. But the question remains: What will it take from me?
The crown pulses against my skull, as if sensing my doubts, urging me forward.
I take a step closer to the throne, my hand instinctively reaching for the Silent Crown once more. But this time, I pause, letting my fingers hover just above it. I have a choice to make, one that will shape my future.
Do I sit upon the throne, claiming the power that's been offered to me? Or do I resist, knowing the dangers that come with it?
I close my eyes and let out a slow breath. The answer is clear. Not yet.
I turn away from the throne, my resolve hardening. There's more to this world, more to the crown, than I understand. But I'm not ready to surrender to it. Not yet.