The first thing I felt… was cold.

Not the chill of air.

But a stillness beneath my skin.

Like something in me had gone quiet… so something else could listen.

I opened my eyes.

The walls were white stone. Smooth. Unmarked. No windows. No sound.

Just a chair. A basin of water. And the crown—still resting on my brow, weightless and watching.

I sat up.

My body ached, but not from wounds. From change.

The priest was already there.

“Welcome back,” he said.

His voice was too calm.

Like he’d been waiting for something… or someone.

I looked around.

“Where are we?”

“The Sanctum,” he replied. “A place built for kings before they were crowned.”

He stepped forward, stopping just outside the circle of light cast by the wall torches.

“You were in the mirror for three hours.”

“It felt like forever.”

“Perhaps it was,” he said.

I stared at the water. My reflection stared back—but only just.

The edges of my face shimmered like I was being rewritten.

Elsewhere in the Citadel...

Nobles whispered behind gilded curtains.

“He’s not a boy anymore.”

“He’s not a king either.”

“Then what is he?”

“A threat,” someone muttered. “And threats must be handled.”

Back in the Sanctum, the priest held out something.

A scroll. Red-sealed. Old.

“This is the history of the Crown’s last bearer.”

“The Crownless,” I murmured.

“Yes,” he said, without surprise.

“He was no king,” I said.

“No,” the priest agreed. “But he was what came after kings.”

I stood. Slowly.

My boots touched the stone like they remembered this place better than I did.

The torches behind me flickered.

One snapped—not from wind. From pressure.

The priest noticed.

His lips pressed into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“The Crown is fusing with you, Kael.”

“I feel it.”

“Then you must learn to quiet it… before it speaks too loudly in a room full of knives.”

Just then, a knock.

One of the king’s old advisors entered—robes too large, eyes too sharp.

He bowed. Too low. Too slow.

“Your Highness… I bring news from the royal council. We seek your audience.”

“Do they seek answers?” I asked.

“They seek… assurance,” he said, trying to sound respectful.

But I could feel it. Fear curled behind his words.

I stepped forward.

The advisor’s robe fluttered.

The torches dimmed for half a heartbeat.

His lips parted, but no words came.

His hand rose to his throat.

Eyes wide. Gasping.

I blinked.

And it stopped.

He fell to his knees, panting. Trembling.

I hadn’t touched him.

Hadn’t thought anything.

The crown had.

And it wasn’t asking permission anymore.