A black tower rose from the earth like a blade stabbed into the world's spine.
It had no doors.
No windows.
No shadow.
And yet the heirs gathered.
Each had received the same summons: a scroll etched in fire, bearing three words — You are chosen. None could refuse it. Not without consequence. Not without being hunted by the others.
Caelan stood at the edge of the summit chamber, stone beneath his boots warm to the touch. The air shimmered faintly, warped by residual power. The tower's heart pulsed with something ancient — not alive, not dead. A relic of the Weave's first forging.
And around him, they came.
Seven.
One by one, they entered. Not through doors, but through tears in the Weave. Cracks in space. Threads unraveling just long enough to let something through.
Ardynna, Flame-Crowned.She strode in like a queen before her coronation, clad in robes of molten silk, her hair flowing in an unseen breeze. She did not look at Caelan. She did not need to.
Valen, the Hollow Prince.Tall, pale, silent. A mask of bone over his face, a jagged rune carved down his throat. The Eclipsed Veil whispered nothing about his Soul Fracture. It was hidden.
Syris, the Warden of Chains.Bare-chested, with skin laced in glowing restraints that moved when he did. He grinned at Caelan like they were old friends. They weren't.
Maerel, the Dream-Eater.She did not walk. She floated, barefoot, eyes closed, trailing blue smoke that smelt of sleep and rot. Her lips moved constantly, whispering to someone unseen.
Tarn, the Crimson Twin.And her sister, Tira. Two bodies, one will. They moved in mirrored steps, each one echoing the other's presence through blood sigils carved into their arms. When they spoke, it was in unison.
And lastly—
Caelan. Ash-Bound.He stood among monsters. Among kings unborn.
A low thrum filled the air. The Weave itself reacting.
Then, the Concord began.
An obsidian flame erupted in the center of the chamber. It pulsed once — then projected a spiraling map of the known world. Cities shimmered like fireflies. Borderlines shifted and bled. And above it all, a single word, etched in red light:
WAR.
Valen's voice was soft, ghostly. "They know we exist now."
"Let them," Syris chuckled. "Let the kingdoms rally. Let the Orders tremble. They cannot cage us again."
Ardynna spoke, calm and cutting. "We were born of prophecy. But prophecy is not loyalty. I will not bow to fate nor to any of you."
Maerel giggled in her sleep. "The threads scream your name, Ardynna. But they whisper his." She opened one eye. It was black. "Ash-Bound."
All eyes turned to Caelan.
He said nothing.
Ardynna's gaze was sharp. "You've touched the Veil more deeply than any of us should have. Your power stinks of the old blood. What did you see?"
Caelan stared at the map.
"I saw a throne," he said.
"Eclipse-born do not kneel," Tira said.
"We take," Tarn added.
Valen tilted his head. "Then let us begin."
The obsidian fire flared.
The map changed. Seven seats appeared around it, each one linked to a kingdom — and a legend. The throne at the center remained blank. Untouched. Unclaimed.
The Crownless Concord had only one law:
To sit upon the central throne, one must first carve their name into history — through blood, through flame, through conquest.
The council ended with no alliances. No unity.
Only the promise of war.
As they left, one by one, Caelan lingered. The black fire hissed at him, as if recognizing him now.
Not as heir.
But as threat.
[Eclipsed Veil: Authority Parameter Unlocked]Dominion Progression: InitiatedPath Selected: Sovereign Without Chain