Crossing the threshold of the Primordial Crown felt like being unmade at the marrow and stitched back together with needles of ice.
There was no up, no down, no sound of rushing wind—only a deafening, suffocating silence that pressed against Aurelia’s eardrums until her skull ached. The blinding white radiance of the ascent dissolved abruptly into an infinite, obsidian expanse.
They did not land; their boots met a surface as smooth and black as polished onyx, extending endlessly beneath an open, dead cosmos. Above them stretched a sky devoid of warmth, choked with the corpses of extinguished suns that hung like hollow, grey pearls in the velvet dark.
Aurelia collapsed to her knees, choking on air that felt ancient, dry, and heavy with the scent of petrified dust.
The Five Shards inside her core flared in agony, contracting violently as if the absolute zero of the void sought to extinguish their light. A sharp cry slipped past her lips, blood welling in her mouth as the astral backlash ripped through her veins.
"Aurelia!"
A heavy, leather-clad arm hauled her upright, dragging her back against a wall of blistering heat. Malakor fell to one knee beside her, his chest heaving like a bellows, his dark great sword clattering against the glassy floor. He didn't look at the dead stars or the impossible horizon; his entire world had narrowed to the woman shivering violently in his grip.
"Look at me. Breathe," he demanded, his voice thick and rough with strain. He ripped his ruined gauntlet away, pressing his bare palm against the base of her throat where her pulse fluttered like a trapped sparrow. "Channel it into me. Don't fight the expanse alone."
Aurelia leaned her forehead against the curve of his neck, breathing in the familiar, grounding scents of iron, smoke, and his dark skin. "The weight here... it's tearing at the seals. The Shards want to return to the First Throne."
"Then we make them kneel," Malakor growled, shifting his weight to pull her entirely onto his lap, wrapping both arms around her waist to anchor her against the crushing gravitational drag of the realm. His hands were scorching against her cold armor, an island of furious life in a graveyard of dead worlds. "You didn't bow to the drakes or the sorcerer kings, Aurelia. You don't bow to a dead god's tomb."
His lips found the corner of her jaw, pressing a fierce, possessive kiss into the tender hollow beneath her ear that sent a shockwave of heat through her frozen blood. The dark-fire radiating from his soul surged across the boundary of their skin, wrapping around her shattered core like bands of tempered steel, forcing the discordant Shards back into alignment.
A ragged gasp tore from her throat as the pressure eased, replaced by the heavy, electric hum of their mingled magic. She lifted her head, her fingers curling into the collar of his ruined tunic, pulling him down until their foreheads rested together.
"You're bleeding again," she whispered, her thumb tracing the dark crimson line trailing from his temple down his sharp cheekbone.
A wolfish, dangerous smirk curved his mouth, his amber eyes burning with unholy fire in the gloom. "I bleed better when I'm angry. And this place is trying my patience."
He rose, effortlessly pulling her up with him. Her boots found their footing on the obsidian glass, the silver light beneath her skin steadying into an armored gleam.
As they turned toward the expanse, the true architecture of the realm revealed itself.
Rising from the sea of black glass three leagues ahead stood a colossal citadel, carved from the spine of a fallen primordial dragon whose bones spanned mountains. At the apex of the skeletal fortress, towering above the ribcages of forgotten titans, rested an empty throne carved from a single shard of abyssal diamond.
Hovering directly above the throne was a sixth light—a jagged, pulsing sliver of pure void-fire that mirrored the five astral fragments locked inside her chest.
"The Sovereign Shard," Aurelia murmured, the breath catching in her throat. "The keystone of the First Throne. The ancient texts said it was lost when the heavens fell."
"It wasn't lost," Malakor said, his great sword whispering as he lifted the heavy dark-steel blade, resting it across his broad shoulder. His gaze narrowed on the path between them and the skeletal citadel—a causeway lined with thousands of kneeling statues clad in ancient imperial plate, their bowed heads slowly beginning to lift. "It was waiting for someone strong enough to claim all five pieces and walk into the dark to take it."
The sound of cracking stone echoed across the obsidian sea as the statues rose, ancient eyes igniting with violet fire.
Aurelia unsheathed her ancestral blade, starlight and shadow dancing along the edge in lethal perfection. She looked at Malakor, finding only ruthless hunger reflected in his stare.
"Then let us take the crown," Aurelia said, stepping forward onto the causeway.