[ The Lower Ring – Black Archive, Capital Outskirts ]

Beneath the Dominion’s glittering towers, where sunfire lanterns didn’t shine, lay the Black Archive—a ruin cloaked in shadow, forbidden to all but sanctioned scholars and the Throne Historians’ Guild.

It was here, in secret, that Lucien Caelum walked alone, candle in hand.

Stone murals whispered of ancient kings. Dust clung to cracked glyphs. Stained tomes lined hollow shelves like the corpses of forgotten truths.

At the very heart of the archive stood a sealed vault door marked with an ancient sigil: a circle split open.

The Throne of None.

“They erased you,” Lucien murmured to the darkness.

“But they could not unmake me.”

He raised his hand—and the sigil pulsed.

A faint groan echoed as the vault door cracked open, dust and silence billowing outward.

Within lay nothing but a single black crown, hovering above a stone dais carved from bone and shadow. A faint mist curled around its base, shaped like wolves circling in sleep.

Lucien stepped forward, eyes lowered.

“I am no king. I have no crest. I serve no realm.”

He reached toward it—

And the crown vanished.

Reappearing—

—on his head.

Chains of light snapped. A ripple tore through the archive. Runes on the walls began to tremble.

Behind him, the voice of Thorne echoed, deeper than before.

“The Court remembers.”

[ Cut to: Capital — Silver Hall Council Chamber ]

At that very moment, the Thronelink Registry Flames roared to life in the council sanctum.

Clerics screamed as thousands of branded thrones flickered erratically—one by one, reacting to an invisible surge.

Then… the central seal—meant only for divine lineage—cracked.

And on its glass surface appeared a new glyph:

A crown, inverted. Ringed in ashes.

Lord Darvain rose from his seat, pale as bone.

“He’s claimed it.”

The Hall of Thrones fell into chaos.

[ Varnel Guest Manor – That Night ]

Elysia burst into the room, eyes wild. “Lucien—what did you do?!”

Lucien stood calmly, lighting a candle at the windowsill.

“I retrieved what was always mine.”

“You can’t just bind a Throne! Especially not one from the Vault!”

Lucien turned to her. “They left it behind. Called it cursed. Left it to rot.”

He stepped closer.

“It was not cursed. It was empty.”

She stared at him.

“A Throne… of None.”

Lucien nodded.

“That’s what they feared most. A throne that answers to no name, no blood, no kingdom. A throne that bends only to will.”

[ Vision Sequence – Flashback (Lucien’s Past Life) ]

A brief flicker: Lucien in royal garb, surrounded by kneeling knights bathed in ash and ruin.

A younger Elysia—another life, perhaps—kneeling beside him, her face twisted in betrayal… or worship.

A final image: Lucien ascending the Hollow Throne as the world below burns in reverse, time unraveling around him.

“Power is not given by blood,” his voice echoes, “It is taken by truth.”

[ Return to Present – Varnel Manor ]

Elysia steps back, voice trembling.

“You’re not just a pact-servant.”

Lucien bows faintly.

“No, my lady.”

He straightens, eyes glowing faint red, faint chains curling from his shadow.

“I am a court of one. And the world has remembered my name.”

[ End Scene: High Dominion ]

In a sealed tower at the Dominion’s peak, robed figures gather around a shimmering pool.

One speaks.

“The Hollow Monarch has returned.”

Another: “Shall we prepare the Endthrone protocol?”

A final figure, veiled in shadow, whispers:

“No. Let him rise. Let him gather his court.”

“Then we unmake him again.”