Pale Sea – The Drowned Citadel of Iskael
Salt winds howled through broken spires as the Queen of the Pale Sea stood before her reflection—distorted in dark waters. Waves crashed against the steps of the throne chamber, where coral and bone had replaced marble long ago.
Queen Seraphyne—tall, veiled, and veined with glowing blue sigils—ran her fingers through the tide that lapped at her ankles.
"She's waking," said the voice beside her.
It came from Veyl, her First Siren and bloodbound shadow.
"The girl?" Seraphyne asked, lips barely parting.
"No," Veyl replied. "The Queen's echo. In her. In the land. In the tides."
Seraphyne turned. Her black eyes gleamed.
"Then we don't have long."
Elsewhere – Aboard The Leviathan Spear
The Pale Fleet—twenty great living ships of scale and sinew—moved across the gray sea. They were headed toward Velmara, the heart of Aeryth's ruined empire.
Each ship was crewed by Ranked Bloodbearers, Seraphyne's elite.
Aboard the lead vessel, a ritual was taking place.
In a deep salt chamber, a man knelt before a great mirror carved from drowned glass. He wore a crown of barnacle and bone.
"I seek elevation," he whispered. "Let the rank be judged."
Seraphyne's voice poured from the mirror like a song made of crushing pressure.
"You were Wyrmroot. Show me now."
He screamed as salt filled his veins.
Blue flame erupted from his chest—then died.
Silence.
"Still Wyrmroot. Your ambition outweighs your depth. Hold."
He collapsed.
The ritual ended.
Understanding the Power Ranks
Across the known continents, all who bore the Queen's ancient blood—or sought dominion over the cursed arts—were measured by the Five Ranks:
1. Ember
The most basic spark. Practitioners could feel remnants of power, manipulate heat, truth, or emotion. Often soldiers, spies, or clerics.
2. Wyrmroot
The power took root—manifesting in flesh. Talents could bend elements, shape wounds, or manipulate bone and blood.
3. Veilborn
Marked by the Queen's shadow. These wielders could enter memories, twist identity, speak with the dead.
4. Hollowmarked
Rare. Their bodies existed partially outside time, partially within death. They could command armies with a whisper or destroy cities with weeping blood.
5. Crown Ascendant
Believed extinct. Only Aeryth wore the Crown Rank. Those who reached this level rewrote reality—but at the cost of becoming something inhuman.
Seraphyne's Vision
That night, Seraphyne stood at the edge of the deepest tide.
She had once called Aeryth sister—not by blood, but by bond.
They had shared power.
But only Aeryth had sought immortality.
When the Queen died, a pact shattered—a pact that held the Rift Beyond Flesh closed. Now, the world's skin was tearing.
And Eleanor… a girl bearing Aeryth's echo… was walking straight toward it.
"She doesn't know what she is," Seraphyne whispered to the tide. "And he's counting on that."
The False Heir.
If he claimed enough fragments of Aeryth's soul from the scattered temples, and if he seated himself upon the Hollow Throne, he wouldn't become King.
He'd become the Rift.
And the world would bleed salt forever.
Meanwhile – Eleanor & Ashryn Enter Marrowfall
Marrowfall was not a city.
It was a scar.
Jagged towers curved inwards, as if the stone had recoiled from something that once lived here. The sky above was permanently gray, as if ash had soaked the clouds.
Ashryn stepped lightly, sword drawn.
Eleanor said nothing.
The visions had grown louder. Every breath she took echoed with whispers. Every step closer to the heart of this place made her pulse throb.
Beneath her feet, the ground hummed.
Vault of the Crownless
They found it in the oldest ruin—marked with sigils so old they bled rust.
A great stone door, sealed by language no longer spoken.
But Eleanor understood.
She spoke it.
The door opened.
Inside was a library—not of books, but of teeth.
Skulls lined the walls, each bearing carvings that glowed faintly. This was no archive of knowledge.
It was an archive of memory.
Ashryn stepped back, unease plain.
"Where are we?"
Eleanor's voice was distant. "Where truths were buried in flesh."
A Glimpse of the Past
Touching one of the carved skulls, Eleanor was thrown into a memory:
Aeryth kneeling before five thrones—each representing a continent. She was offering them peace. Not through war, but through shared blood.
Each throne denied her.
So she offered them immortality instead.
Only one said yes: Seraphyne.
Back in Iskael
Seraphyne felt the ripple.
"She's touching the Vault."
Veyl emerged, blade ready. "Shall we send the Sirens?"
"No," Seraphyne whispered. "Let her learn. Let her see what we all lost."
She turned to the map—five continents, now shifting under shadow.
"If she survives Marrowfall, we may yet need her."
Final Revelation – The Rift's Whisper
Deep beneath the Vault, Eleanor found a final chamber.
Inside stood a mirror, untouched by age.
She approached.
Her reflection changed.
Not Eleanor.
Not Aeryth.
Something else. Eyes not of this world. Veins flowing backward. A voice not spoken, but inhaled.
"When the Five break again… the Hollow Throne will bleed."
The mirror cracked.
And across the sea, the False Heir smiled in his sleep.