The Fifth Throne sings of history not yet written. But before Asher can rule his city's fate, he must first witness the rulers who came before—each one a fragment of a world that tore itself apart.
The throne didn't release him.
It showed him.
The Vault fell away—not crumbling, not destroyed, but folded like paper around him. Space and time blurred, replaced by something colder than memory and older than fate: the Chronicle of Names.
Asher's body remained in Velvora. But his mind—his soul—was dragged into the Throne's bloodline.
A circle of five thrones spun slowly in the void. Each carved from different material: bone, flame, crystal, shadow, and dream. All empty.
Until one by one, they filled.
The First Throne: A man of lightless flame sat atop it—his body flickering like an oil painting peeling itself apart. The City of Beginnings, where even gods once knelt, had crowned him The Architect. His gaze bore the weight of an era. He whispered no names, only structures.
The Second Throne: A woman of mirrors and thorns, her veins flowing with silver, her eyes stained with regret. The City of Silence. Her title: The Warden of Forgotten Tongues. She was both queen and prisoner of her own story. She looked directly at Asher—and blinked, as if recognizing him.
The Third Throne: Empty.
But soaked with blood.
Dripping with vengeance. The throne itself shivered. A weapon was left embedded in its side, humming with fury. A message etched into the backrest:
"He died screaming. I was there. He deserved it."
The Fourth Throne: A child. Not a ruler. A survivor. The City of Ash and Feathers. He played with pieces of time like broken toys. He hadn't built a kingdom—he'd buried one. His title: The Last Witness. The only one left after his city burned.
And finally…
The Fifth Throne:The seat Asher stood before. His. Velvora's. The cursed one.
But there had been one before him.
A tall man cloaked in black feathers and cracked porcelain. Face hidden behind a blank white mask—the kind worn by the old church inquisitors. He never turned, never spoke.
He simply held out a scroll. Blood dripped from its edges.
Asher reached for it.
"If you read this, you accept the debt," the masked man said in a voice made of two people speaking at once. "This is not a gift. It is your name. It is your cage."
Asher took the scroll. It burned.
Visions exploded behind his eyes—
Velvora's original name: Vey L'vora, the City of Exiles.
The city's founder, cast out from the First Region for treason against the gods.
The pact with the succubi, made not for power, but survival.
The price: eternal corruption sealed into the city's name.
And one man who tried to rewrite history… and vanished.
"Your blood isn't yours.""Your name isn't real.""But your choice is."
The scroll vanished.
Asher gasped as the vision ended. His body crashed back into the Vault—sweat-drenched, dizzy, changed.
Lucien caught him. "What did you see?"
Asher looked up, eyes filled with too much.
"…I met the ones who came before."
Rosa and Danya watched him warily. Hark slowly backed away. The Vault was silent.
Until the Fifth Throne pulsed again—and shattered into ash.
Its final message was clear:
The game has begun.The others know.The world is waking up.
[End of Chapter 120]
---------------------------------------
Next Chapter:
Chapter 121 – "The Names That Burn"The first signal goes out from Velvora. In distant cities, rulers stir. And one of them just remembered Asher's name... from the day they died.