They dressed me in black.

Not velvet, not silk—obsidian-dyed battlecloth, stitched with gold thread in the shape of an open eye. I didn’t ask for it. Didn’t need it.But the priest said, “If they see a king, they might hesitate before they betray him.”

I didn’t respond.

I already knew they would.

The council chamber was cold.

Twelve thrones of polished stone stood in a circle. One higher than the rest. The King’s Seat.

Mine now.

As I stepped through the arch, the whispering stopped.

They didn’t rise. They didn’t bow.

They watched.

Each of them a rival, a relic, or a snake wearing a crown of civility.

“He shouldn’t be here,” said one.

“He’s not of blood,” said another.

“The crown makes mistakes,” said a third.

The High Priest stepped in behind me, silent as breath.

“The crown does not make mistakes,” he said. “Only demands.”

I said nothing.

The room smelled of wine and old iron. The walls were lined with tapestries of past wars—victories they would never let me forget.

“Speak, boy,” the oldest noble barked. “Explain yourself. What gives you the right to—”

I blinked.

The torches dimmed.

And something ancient stirred.

A heat—not fire, but weight—pressed into the chamber. The stones in the floor vibrated.

And then…

My mouth opened.

But the voice wasn’t mine.

“ᚴᛖᛟᛚ... ᛊᚨᛞᚱᛖ ᚱᚢᛚᛖ...”

(Keol... sadre rule...)

A tongue I didn’t know.

A voice layered in echoes.

Low. Heavy. Eternal.

The council members paled. One dropped his goblet. Another whispered a prayer under his breath.

Only the High Priest understood—and he knelt.

“The Old Tongue,” he breathed. “From the Crownless Age...”

My chest ached. My eyes burned. But the crown pulsed.

And the voice continued—

“Let them sit. Let them speak. But let them know… the flame listens.”

I collapsed forward, catching myself on the cold stone table. The council stared.

One noble—Lord Renor—stood. Tall. Too proud. Too slow.

“This is a trick,” he snapped. “A play by the priests. Magic and shadows—”

He didn’t finish.

His chair cracked. Split down the center.

A jagged flame mark glowed where he once sat.

The rest remained silent.

The High Priest stepped forward, voice calm but sharp:

“You’ve heard the will of the crown.”

I coughed—once, then twice. The burn in my chest faded slowly.

When I finally looked up, the nobles were watching me differently.

Not as a child.

Not even as a king.

But as something they didn’t know how to fight.

I wiped the blood from my lips and said—quiet, but clear:

“Then let’s talk about the future of your kingdoms.”