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Chapter 52: The Key to the Veil
Last Updated:
2025-03-30 04:48:05
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The Howling Throne Chapter 53: The Shattered Veil
The silence after the explosion of power was suffocating. Elior forced himself to stand, his limbs heavy with the weight of what had just happened. The key was gone. The Veil was broken. And Erythos,No. Not yet. But soon.The sky overhead still churned, a swirl of distorted stars and inky voids where the heavens had been torn asunder. Myrra gripped her staff tightly, her knuckles white. Bram groaned from where he had landed, shaking debris from his shoulders.Sienna was the first to move toward the shattered pedestal. The woman in the dark robes, the one who had touched the key, was gone. Vanished. Either swallowed by the surge of magic or transported elsewhere by its power. But her words remained, echoing in the space Erythos would soon claim.Elior clenched his fists. "We need to get back to Dawnfire. Now."Rael, still breathing hard, nodded. "If the Veil has been broken, the council needs to know. They need to start preparing."They mounted their horses without hesitation, spurrin
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The first clash of steel shattered the silence. Elior barely had time to parry as the scarred man lunged, his curved blade a blur of motion. Sparks flew as their swords met, and the force of the impact sent tremors up Elior’s arms.Behind him, the others had already engaged the Forgotten Hand. Myrra struck first, slamming her staff into the ground. A ripple of force sent one of their enemies stumbling, but another darted in, daggers flashing. She twisted away, deflecting the strike with a muttered incantation.Sienna danced through the fray, knives glinting like fangs in the firelight. She moved with deadly precision, slashing a robed figure across the thigh before pivoting to hurl a dagger into another’s throat. A choked gurgle, and the assassin collapsed.Bram fought like a battering ram, plowing through opponents with sheer brute force. His greatsword cleaved through the air, scattering foes like brittle kindling.Rael fought at his side, his movements swift but methodical. Unlike
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Elior’s heart pounded as Erythos’s words settled over them like a shroud. Destroy the Crowns, and Erythos would fall, but so would the world they were trying to save.Silence stretched in the Hall of Kings, heavy with the weight of the impossible choice before them. The flickering torchlight cast deep shadows across the ancient stone, twisting the unreadable expressions on his companions' faces.Bram was the first to break the silence. “There has to be another way,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion. He was still gripping his greatsword, but the force of Erythos’s attack had left his arm trembling. “Some way to bind him again.”Myrra, her eyes locked on the inscriptions at the altar’s base, shook her head. “The Veil is broken. We can’t undo that.” She turned to Elior, her gaze intense. “But we still have the Crowns. If we act now, we control what happens next.”Sienna stood apart from the group, her face unreadable. “Destroying the Crowns would collapse the very forces holding the
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Elior gasped as he awoke, choking on dust and the taste of iron. His entire body ached as if he had been torn apart and pieced back together in a way that no longer fit. The air around him was thick with silence, an unnatural, suffocating quiet that made his skin crawl.Where was he?He forced his eyes open. The sky above him was wrong. It wasn’t the deep, endless blue he had known, nor was it the swirling darkness that had heralded Erythos’s return. Instead, it was fractured, shattered into shifting plates of sky, some showing the golden glow of dawn, others the eerie, endless black of night. It was as if the heavens themselves had splintered, caught between worlds.Elior pushed himself up, wincing as his muscles protested. The Hall of Kings was gone. In its place was an expanse of jagged rock and floating debris, pieces of stone and earth suspended midair as if gravity itself had forgotten its purpose. The air smelled of burnt magic, sharp and electric.His mind raced. The Crown had
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Elior kept his grip firm on his sword as they trudged through the Hollow Realm. The fractured sky above them shifted unpredictably, dawn and dusk colliding in strange, swirling mosaics of light. The ground beneath their feet was unsteady, floating shards of stone and earth reforming with each step. Every breath felt heavy, laden with the remnants of magic that had been torn apart.No one spoke for a while. Even Bram, usually quick to fill silence with his dry humor, kept his eyes scanning the horizon warily. Myrra walked with purpose, but Elior could see the way her fingers twitched over her staff, her grip uncertain. Rael, his expression tight, kept glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting something, or someone, to appear.Elior exhaled sharply. "We need to figure out what this path of the First actually means."Myrra nodded. "The First King was the only one who ever spoke of destroying the Throne. If this place exists because we broke the Crowns, maybe he knew what would happen a
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Elior’s breath came shallow as he stared at Sienna, standing against the fractured backdrop of the Hollow Realm. The power emanating from her was suffocating, pressing against his skin like a storm about to break. Her silver eyes gleamed, not with malice, but with something far more dangerous: certainty.“Sienna,” he said carefully, gripping his sword. “What have you done?”She tilted her head slightly, as if surprised by the question. “I’ve accepted the truth.” Her voice was calm, unwavering. “The world as we knew it is gone. The Crowns were never salvation. They were shackles. Now, we have the chance to build something new.”Rael stepped forward, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘we’? You abandoned us.”Sienna let out a quiet sigh. “You think too small, Rael. This isn’t about us. This is about what comes next.” She turned her gaze to the ruined throne behind them. “The Hollow Realm exists because the world was built on a flawed founda
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The Hollow Realm trembled.The jagged ground beneath Elior’s feet cracked further, pieces of stone breaking away into the abyss below. The fractured sky above twisted, dawn and night swirling like an unsteady reflection in shattered glass. The throne loomed behind him, an ancient, unfinished thing waiting for its new ruler.And Sienna stood before him, power crackling at her fingertips, her silver eyes unreadable.“I won’t let you take the throne,” she said.Rael’s sword was already in his hands, but Myrra placed a hand on his shoulder, silently urging caution. Bram stood rigid, gripping his greatsword, his muscles tense with restrained fury.Elior stepped forward. “Sienna, this isn’t the way.”She shook her head, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “Isn’t it? Look at this place, Elior. It’s broken, just like our world. The Crowns were never meant to exist, and yet we fought for them. Killed for them. And for what?”“To free the world from Erythos,” Myrra said.Sienna’s expression dar
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Elior gasped as the weight of the Hollow Realm collapsed around him, his body reeling from the choice he had made. He had reached for the throne, felt the raw power surge through his veins, and then, nothing. The world had shattered like fragile glass, reforming in an instant, yet something was wrong.He opened his eyes to a sky that was neither fractured nor whole. It stretched infinitely in all directions, a swirling expanse of color and shadow, like a dream caught between waking and oblivion. The air was thick, humming with a pulse that resonated through his bones.Where was he?He turned sharply, his gaze searching for the others. They were there, Rael, Myrra, Bram, and Sienna, all suspended in the strange, shifting void, their bodies grounded but their outlines flickering like candle flames.Rael was the first to stir. “Elior?” His voice was distant, as if carried by a wind that didn’t exist. “What… what just happened?”Myrra pressed a hand to her temple, eyes narrowed. “We were
Last Updated : 2025-03-30
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The Howling Throne Chapter 125: The Last Dawn
The morning was quiet.For the first time in centuries, the world stood untouched by magic. No whispers of power hummed in the air, no lingering remnants of the forces that had once shaped destiny. The battle had ended, but the silence it left behind felt heavier than war.Elior stood at the heart of the ruins, his sword planted in the shattered ground. The bodies of those who had fought and fallen lay scattered around him, the echoes of their final moments still fresh in his mind.Myrra, who had been with him since the beginning. Bram, whose laughter had once made the darkest nights bearable. Freya, who had returned only to be taken once more.And Sienna.The wind moved through the ruins, stirring the dust. It carried no magic, no voice of the gods—only the weight of what had been lost.A faint groan pulled Elior from his thoughts. He turned to find Velora slumped against a broken pillar, her face pale, her body barely holding on.He knelt beside her. "Velora."She opened her eyes, s
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The sky above the ruins bled shadow and light, twisting in a chaos that defied reality. Where the veil had once held firm, now only a gaping wound remained, spilling its horrors into the world.Elior stood at the edge of the abyss, his sword trembling in his grasp, his breath ragged. Across from him, Sienna hovered above the cracked earth, her form wreathed in shifting darkness. Her golden eyes, once fierce with ambition, now pulsed with something else, something vast and unknowable.She had become its vessel.The force that had slumbered beyond the veil now coiled within her, filling the hollow spaces left by her lost magic, binding itself to her very soul. The entity did not speak in words, nor did it rage like the gods of old. It did not need to. It simply was, and it would remake the world in its image.A consuming will. An endless hunger.And Sienna had let it in."Elior," she said, her voice layered, as though more than one presence spoke through her. "You don’t have to fight me
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The moment Sienna’s fingers brushed against the unseen force, the world trembled. It was not a simple shift in the earth, not the groan of stone settling after centuries of silence—this was something else. A deep, resonating shudder rippled outward from the ruins, traveling through the bones of the world itself.Elior felt it as a pulse beneath his feet, a vibration in his chest that made his breath hitch. The air thickened, weighted with something ancient and wrong. The torches lining the ruined temple flickered violently, their flames bending toward Sienna as if drawn by an unseen tide."Sienna, stop!" Elior lunged forward, seizing her wrist and yanking her back. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, her golden eyes wide with shock."I… I didn’t mean to.." she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.The stone beneath them cracked. A fissure split through the floor, black mist hissing out like breath from a slumbering beast. The world itself seemed to recoil, and then—A shoc
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The ruins were breathing.Elior could not see it, but he could feel it, the slow, rhythmic pulse of something ancient beneath the stone. It was not the heartbeat of a slumbering god, nor the distant echo of Erythos' severed power. It was older. Deeper. A presence that did not simply exist but had always been.The whispers were everywhere now, slithering between the cracks in the walls, curling through the air like smoke. They were not words in any language Elior knew, but he understood them nonetheless.This was not a place of worship. It was a tomb.And the dead were stirring.Sienna stood at the edge of the ruins, staring into the yawning darkness beyond the shattered archway. The pull was stronger here, an invisible tether wrapping around her ribs, drawing her forward.She should have been afraid.She wasn't.Far behind them, the capital was unraveling.Rael sat in the royal chambers, hands clenched around the arms of his chair as voices clashed around him. The council was in chaos
The Howling Throne Chapter 121: The Stirring Dark
The wind howled through the fractured streets of the capital, carrying with it the scent of ash and the echoes of whispered fears. Elior stood at the palace balcony, watching the uneasy city below. Torches burned like scattered stars in the night, illuminating gathering crowds, desperate, restless, searching.They had fought for this world, yet standing here now, he wondered if they had merely unchained something far worse.Behind him, the council chamber erupted into another round of arguments.“We need action,” a noble snapped, his voice edged with panic. “If magic is failing, we must restore it—by any means necessary.”“And how do you propose we do that?” another countered. “Rituals? Blood sacrifices? We do not even know what is causing the unraveling.”Rael stood at the center of the storm, jaw clenched as he faced the gathered lords and scholars. “I understand your fear,” he said, voice steady despite the chaos. “But we will not turn to desperation. We need answers, not reckless
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The first signs of unraveling came in silence.Not the quiet of peace, but an unnatural stillness, a void where the hum of magic should have been.Elior felt it first as they rode through the city, making their way back to the palace. The air itself seemed thinner, as if the breath of the world had been stolen. He glanced toward Myrra, who clutched the remnants of the First King’s records in her hands, her expression tense.The streets were shifting. The capital, usually filled with merchants, performers, and spellcasters weaving their craft, had grown eerily subdued. Those who once relied on magic to shape their daily lives, the street magicians conjuring flames, the scribes who penned glowing runes, now stood idle, their gifts failing them.And then there was the whispering.It came in the wind, barely discernible, like voices speaking in forgotten tongues. Elior stiffened as a cold breath swept past his ear, the words twisting in ways his mind could not fully grasp."It is waking…"
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The capital was unraveling.Elior had known it from the moment they passed through the gates.The sky hung heavy and gray, as if the heavens themselves hesitated to move forward into a new day. The streets, once bustling with life, were thick with uneasy silence, broken only by hurried whispers and the occasional sharp cry of panic. Mages clustered in groups, their robes in disarray, their hands twitching as they attempted and failed to summon even the simplest of spells. Merchants and nobles alike watched with growing dread, their power, both political and literal, slipping through their fingers like sand.Magic was fading. And the world did not know how to survive without it.Rael strode ahead of the group, his expression unreadable, but Elior could see the tension in his shoulders. He was returning not as a warrior, not as a wandering hunter, but as the late king’s son, one who would have to answer for the chaos left in their wake.The palace loomed before them, its towers once gle
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The battle was over.But dawn did not break with celebration.A pale light stretched across the sky, hesitant and thin, casting its glow over a ruined battlefield that still reeked of celestial fire and scorched stone. The remnants of divine fury clung to the air, unseen but heavy, pressing down on the weary figures that stood amidst the wreckage.Elior ran a hand over his face, his fingers coming away stained with blood, his or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure. His sword, the weapon that had struck the final blow, felt heavier than ever at his side. The world should have felt lighter, freer, but something was wrong. The victory felt hollow, the silence too deep.Myrra knelt among the shattered remnants of the ancient tome, her fingers tracing the fading ink of the First King’s records. The final words were barely legible now, as though the knowledge itself had begun to wither.She exhaled sharply, gripping the pages. “The seal worked.” A tremor ran through her voice. “But something....
The Howling Throne Chapter 117: Ashes of the Divine
Silence.Not the peaceful kind that follows a battle well won, nor the stillness of an early dawn. This was the silence of something broken, something vast and incomprehensible that had been ripped away, leaving only a hollow absence behind.The battlefield was unrecognizable. The ruins, once ancient and imposing, were reduced to charred fragments, their sacred stones blackened by the celestial fire that had consumed Erythos. The air was thick with the scent of ash and the lingering echoes of divine fury. Even the sky, once torn open by the god’s awakening, hung heavy with dark, unmoving clouds, as if the heavens themselves had yet to understand what had just transpired.Elior stood in the center of it all, his sword still clenched in his shaking hand. His body was battered, his limbs aching from wounds he had no memory of receiving. The weight of exhaustion settled over him like a crushing tide, but he could not move, not yet.Erythos was gone. Severed. Banished from the world foreve
