Elric sat against the cold cavern wall,his breath was still ragged from the vision.
Veyra paced like a caged wolf. "You were out for ten minutes. Your eyes were glowing. Don't ever do that again without warning me first."
Keera sat beside him, rubbing his wrist. "You said the throne was broken. What did it mean?"
"I don't know yet," Elric murmured. "But someone else is trying to claim it. And it's not the king."
Keera's ears twitched. "Not the king?"
"No," he said, standing shakily. "Something older. Something waiting for the bloodmarked to fail."
---
They didn't linger.
The Tree had gone still, but the air remained heavy—like something had been disturbed that couldn't be put back to rest.
As they ascended the spiral stairway, Elric's thoughts swirled.
Eliora. The pact. The vision of Lira bleeding…
He clenched his fists. "I need to go back to the clinic."
"Because of Lira?" Keera asked gently.
"Because of all of them."
---
When they returned to the village the next day, things were... louder than expected.
A crowd had gathered near the clinic. Villagers were murmuring, pointing. Sylas was standing on a crate, holding up a parchment with exaggerated flair.
"Ladies and gentlemen, worry not! The great and wise Healer Elric is on a... 'divine journey' to gather sacred knowledge!" he declared, beaming. "He shall return to us wiser, stronger, and probably grumpier!"
Elric sighed. "I left him in charge for two days."
Lira stepped out from the crowd, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.
"You smell like a tomb," she said. "Did you make more enemies or adopt more problems?"
"A bit from both," he replied.
Cai ran over and hugged him. "I missed you. The stars didn't feel right."
Elric knelt to pat his head. "The stars never are."
---
That night, after the clinic closed and the last patient left, the group gathered upstairs.
Elric spread out the notes from the watcher's ruins, laying them beside the old message from Selene and the sigil sketches.
Lira squinted. "You made a wall of creepy lore. Is this your version of interior design?"
"Shh," Sylas said, examining the patterns. "They're converging. The pacts. The Trees. The names. Everything leads to something called The Rooted Throne."
Keera frowned. "That sounds… royal."
"It was royal," Veyra said. "Long before this kingdom. The Bloodroot Pact wasn't just about power. It was a rebellion."
Sylas pointed to a symbol repeated across all the documents—three thorns wrapped around a flame.
"It's appearing more and more. I think it's the seal of whoever's trying to restart the pact."
Elric leaned back in his chair. "Or finish what Eliora began."
---
Later that night, as the others slept, Elric stayed at his desk, candlelight flickering over ink and parchment.
He opened Selene's bundle again.
At the bottom, wrapped in silk, was a final item he hadn't noticed before.
A ring.
Simple. Silver. With a small red gem that pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat.
He slipped it on.
And heard a whisper.
"The throne remembers."
He didn't sleep that night.
---
Far away, in a chamber lit by braziers of black flame, King Taran awoke from a dream.
He clutched his chest, gasping.
In his dream, a silver ring had shattered.
And a young man had stood before the throne—not to kneel.
But to claim it.
---