Fire.

That’s what the priest called it.

“Not the kind that burns wood,” he said. “The kind that burns blood.”

The kind that lives inside you, clawing for escape. They didn’t give me a sword. Not even armor.

Just a circle drawn in old ash.

“Control it,” the priest commanded, “or it will control you.”

I stepped inside.

The moment I crossed the mark, the crown pulsed.

Pain followed.

First behind my eyes. Then in my chest. Then—everywhere.

Break the seal.

Unleash me.

The crown’s voice was louder now.

Familiar.

Like it had always been there.

I tried to channel it—like the priest taught me. Deep breath. Focus. Form the flame, don’t fight it.

But the fire didn’t shape.

It screamed.

Magic erupted.

Golden arcs lit the walls, shattering stone sigils.

A rush of heat slammed me to the ground.

“Again!” the priest barked.

“Do not kneel to your own power.”

I got up. Bleeding. Shaking.

And stepped back in.

[The Third Attempt]

I closed my eyes.

Let the flame rise—not like a weapon.

Like a memory.

It worked.

For a second.

Then—

You are not the first, the crown whispered. You are not the strongest.

A flash.

The world melted.

And I wasn’t in the sanctum anymore.

⚔️ [Interlude: The One Before]

Mountains carved by dragons.

Black sky split by red lightning.

And on a battlefield of ash—

A boy.

Crowned. Barefoot. Surrounded by corpses.

Eyes glowing gold. Sword burning in his hand.

He turned.

Looked at me.

And smiled.

If you want to survive this…

He raised the sword.

…you’ll have to burn brighter than me.

[Return to Present]

I gasped.

Collapsed.

Smoke rising from my skin.

The priest knelt beside me, eyes sharp.

“What did you see?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t sure.

But I knew this:

I wasn’t fighting the crown.

I was competing with it.