Nothingness.
Not the dark of night, nor the gloom of shadows—this was the void before creation. Lion floated in its embrace, limbless, soundless, unsure if he even drew breath.
"You're frailer than I expected."
The voice came from everywhere at once, vibrating with ancient resonance. Forcing his consciousness to focus, Lion discerned a faint glow ahead—a figure with his face stood watching. But the eyes were pure, pupil-less black, twin pools of abyssal ink.
The Shadow Prince.
"Who are you?" Lion's voice rang oddly clear in the void.
The man smiled, a cruel twist of lips. "The half you were made to forget." He gestured, and the void birthed visions:
A massacre atop an obsidian throneA priest raising a bloodied dagger, the Crown of Light gleaming on his browSelene's mother screaming in sacred fire
"We are the last of the Shadowblood," the prince continued. "Sealed. Memory-hollowed. Turned into vessels."
Lion's temples throbbed, the images lancing his mind. "Vessels?"
"To cage it." The prince pointed at Lion's chest. The flesh there turned translucent, revealing the pulsating Shadowheart—and the six remaining golden chains buried deep. "The Crown was never holy. It's a shackle. The traitors used our hearts as locks, generation after generation..."
New visions unfolded: countless Lion-faced beings dragged to altars, their hearts carved out and slotted into the Crown's grooves.
"Does Selene know?" Lion rasped.
The prince laughed, the sound shaking the void. "That little pyromancer? She knows the Phoenix Ember can wake the Crown—not that it'll devour her first!" He stepped closer, his void-eyes reflecting Lion's pallor. "But you have a choice. Merge with me. Claim our true power. Before they sacrifice us..."
He leaned in, breath like cold smoke:
"We sacrifice them."
Reality crashed back.
Lion gasped awake on a beach of black sand. Calvin tended a fire nearby, while Selene knelt at the surf's edge, dripping luminescent fluid into the waves. Her left arm was half-crystallized, golden veins visible beneath cracking skin.
"Welcome back to the living," Calvin tossed a waterskin without looking. "Three days you've been out."
Lion sat up gingerly—his chest weighed differently now. The Shadowheart sat exposed, a knot of solidified darkness, its six chains rising and falling with each breath.
Selene returned, tossing a scale into the flames. They burned sudden green. "The dragonkin are watching. Good news: the Conclave and Church won't dare approach. Bad news—" She nodded at Lion's chest. "His Highness seems... awake?"
Her tone was light, but her gaze was that of a woman eyeing a live grenade.
Lion touched the Shadowheart—and felt the other presence stir. "He says the Crown is a trap."
"Of course prisoners hate their cages," Selene sneered. "But do you know what the Shadow Princes did? They ripped souls from—"
Calvin's sword snapped up.
The black sand trembled, forming miniature whirlpools. Cliffs in the distance shed boulders—the island itself was waking up.
"Ancient wards," Calvin spat. "Seems someone dislikes history lessons."
Selene traced three fiery symbols in the air. "No time. The sanctum's in the northwest caldera. The eclipse is tomorrow night." She studied Lion, her expression unreadable. "Only question now is—what's living in you? Ally? Or enemy?"
Lion didn't answer. The sea's reflection showed his eyes leaking tendrils of black mist.