The dust of the battle had barely settled when Kael found himself standing alone in the ruins of the fallen throne room. The echoes of the battle reverberated in his ears, the cries of victory and defeat mixing into a mournful symphony. The air was thick with the scent of destruction, but it was not the devastation that haunted him—it was the faces of those he had lost.
Varian. Ryn. The gods.
He had destroyed the old order, torn down the walls that had imprisoned the world. But in doing so, he had become something different—a ruler, a king, burdened with the weight of a fractured world.
"Elara," Kael murmured, his voice hoarse, "where do we go from here?"
Elara stepped into the dim light, her silhouette framed against the crumbling remnants of the throne. Her expression was unreadable, but Kael could see the conflict in her eyes. She had always been a mystery, but now more than ever, her loyalty seemed in question.
"The world is broken, Kael," Elara said softly, her gaze drifting over the ruins. "And you're the one who broke it."
Kael's heart tightened. "I did what needed to be done. I freed the realms."
"You freed them from one prison," Elara replied, her tone edged with bitterness. "But you've built another. The gods may be gone, but the void they left is now yours to fill. And I don't know if you're strong enough to carry that weight."
Kael turned to face her fully, his eyes filled with a raw intensity. "I've carried the weight of the gods' betrayal for years. I can carry this. I must."
But Elara's words lingered in his mind as they walked through the ruined halls. Was she right? Had he merely traded one prison for another? And if so, what kind of king would he be? Was it even possible to rebuild the world without becoming the very thing he had destroyed?