The city that forgets its ghosts
will soon be ruled by them.
Ravenmark.
From a distance, the capital looked unchanged — proud towers cutting the sky, the silver banners of the Crown fluttering in the wind, the outer walls weathered but unbroken.
But Ash saw it the moment they passed through the gates.
This was not the city he remembered.
The people no longer moved with purpose. They hurried, eyes downcast, whispering of disappearances, of a sickness in the air no healer could explain. The guard patrols were heavier. The merchants quieter. Even the wind had changed — cold where it should have been warm.
"It's like the city is holding its breath," Kael muttered beside him.
Ash said nothing.
But inside, something twisted.
He could feel the shadow.
They made for the inner ring — past the old cathedral, past the Flamekeepers' dismantled shrine — until they reached the district of the High Houses. A place of marbled estates and iron-fenced gardens, where power wore perfume and daggers hid behind wine.
Ash knew these streets. Knew the men who ruled them.
Once, he'd bled for them.
Now, he returned as something else entirely.
They stopped outside a manor shrouded in ivy — less grand than its neighbors, but with eyes watching from every window. It belonged to Lord Elias Varien, a quiet ally of Ash's old house, and one of the few nobles who hadn't bent knee to House Velron.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "We're trusting this man?"
Ash dismounted. "We're not here for trust. We're here for truth."
Inside, the manor was quiet. Tense.
They were led through dark halls until they reached a stone chamber sealed by a dozen sigils — each older than the kingdom itself. A servant unlocked it with a whispered prayer and withdrew in silence.
Only one man waited inside.
Old, but sharp. Dressed plainly, but the air around him carried weight. Lord Elias turned to face them, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with something like hope.
"Ash Draven," he breathed. "So the rumors were true."
Ash gave a curt nod.
"The capital is bleeding. And I need to know why."
Elias gestured for them to sit.
He poured wine, untouched himself.
"They've opened something," he said softly. "In the catacombs beneath the Hall of Kings. Something buried by your ancestors. Something even the priests feared to name."
"They call it The Black Crown."
Ash stiffened.
Kael paled. "Vaeroth."
Elias nodded grimly.
"The nobles of Velron believe they can control it. That it will give them dominion over the other Houses. Over the throne. Over death itself."
"But the rituals… they've begun to change people."
"Servants with hollow eyes. Courtiers whispering in dead tongues. And last week, three children vanished near the eastern chapel. When they were found, their hearts had turned to ash."
Silence.
The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, a bell tolled once — a heavy, metallic sound that never rang during the day.
Ash stood.
"We need to go beneath the Hall. Tonight."
Elias hesitated.
"If you go there, you'll be hunted. The Crown Guard has fallen under House Velron's control. And worse… something else guards the catacombs now. Something not born of man."
Ash's voice was cold, steady.
"Then I'll bury it."
That night, as the moon rose blood-red over the rooftops of Ravenmark, Ash and Kael slipped through the sewer veins of the city — toward the bones of the old kingdom, where secrets had slept too long.
As they moved deeper, Kael whispered:
"You think Seraphine felt this? The darkness rising?"
Ash didn't answer at first.
Then, quietly:
"I think the world is remembering what we buried."
"And some things… remember us too."
Beneath them, in a chamber sealed for centuries, black water dripped onto bone
A symbol carved in blood began to glow.
And far above, in the highest tower of House Velron, a noble woman watched the stars shift and smiled.
The crown would rise again.
And with it — the end of kings.