The storm finally broke, leaving silence thick as stone.

Adrielle stood between Alex and Maren, her hands shaking as the coin burned hotter—like it was no longer hers to hold.

Above them, the creature lowered its head. Its crown of broken bone and ash glowed faintly, like an ancient monarch judging its heirs.

Maren stepped forward, his voice low, fervent.

“This is what it means, Adrielle. The crown chooses. If you claim it, you’ll command the veil itself.”

Alex pulled her back sharply, his chains rattling in warning.

“No. That’s not a gift—it’s a shackle. You saw what it did to Eren. It doesn’t choose—it consumes.”

But the creature’s gaze was locked only on Adrielle. The air vibrated with a whisper not of one voice, but thousands overlapping—stories, memories, curses.

Wear the crown. Become the last memory made flesh.

Her knees buckled as the crown of ash began to crumble, drifting toward her, as though gravity itself had chosen her.

And in that moment, she realized:

This was not about the veil breaking.

This was about who would rule what came after.