The Empire of Crayilaos once stood above all others. Its towers reached the clouds, and its walls ran so long that a man could walk for days beside them. The people lived with full stomachs and calm hearts. Crayilaos had wealth, peace, and a great army. But more than all of that, it had a king.
The king ruled with fairness. He listened to the poor and spoke humbly with the rich. The lands were united, and no border threatened war. He was called the Sun-King, for his warmth stretched across all his lands. And when the Sun-King passed away, the people wept as if the skies had fallen.
The heir was his only child: a boy named Gerald, later known as Gerald IV. He was a quiet boy, thin and thoughtful, often seen reading old books or walking alone through the royal gardens. Many believed he was not ready to rule. But the law was clear. The crown must pass to him.
The golden crown of Crayilaos was more than a sign of power. It was said to have been forged by the first kings and passed down for many generations. It shone like the sun, a symbol of strength and leadership. When it was brought to Gerald, now a man of twenty, the hall was filled with lords, knights, priests, and nobles.
The archbishop raised the crown above Gerald's head and said, "With this crown, you shall rule all of Crayilaos."
But Gerald did not bow his head.
He stepped back. "I will not wear it," he said.
The hall fell silent.
"I will not wear this crown, for I follow the Man Who Wore a Crown of Thorns. He saved the world through pain and sacrifice. How can I wear gold upon my head, when He wore suffering?"
The priests were stunned. The nobles shouted. The army commanders begged him to change his mind. But Gerald stood firm.
"I cannot rule with pride when my Savior ruled with humility."
That day, he walked out of the palace with the crown in his hands and left Crayilaos.
For nineteen years, Gerald wandered the world. He traveled to lands of snow and lands of sand. He met monks in high mountains, and warriors in deep forests. He crossed oceans and slept under the stars. He saw the hearts of men from many nations, and he listened more than he spoke.
All the while, he kept the golden crown hidden in a box wrapped in cloth.
He carried no guards. He wore no armor. He told no one who he was. Some called him a mad traveler. Others thought he was a prophet. But none knew he was the heir of Crayilaos, carrying the symbol of the greatest empire in his bag.
At the age of thirty-nine, he reached a place that no man had named. It was deep in the earth, between cliffs and rivers, covered in fog. There, he buried the golden crown beneath stone and prayer.
He wept as he did it. Not because he feared it, but because he knew the world would one day look for it.
When he turned forty-one, Gerald returned to Crayilaos.
But he returned to a graveyard.
The great empire he had once known was broken. There was no single kingdom. There were forty-five nations, all born from the pieces of Crayilaos. Brothers turned against brothers. Cities were walled off. Every lord claimed to be the true ruler. War filled the streets, and flags changed weekly.
Gerald walked through the ruins. No one knew him. He saw the palace burned. The books he once read were now ash. The gardens had become graves.
He climbed a broken tower and called for the people to listen. Some came. Not many, but enough.
"I am Gerald IV," he said. "I was your king, though I never wore the crown. I left because I could not wear it in honor of the One who wore thorns. I thought peace would remain, but I was wrong."
The people begged him to rule. They cried and said, "Take back the crown. Save us."
But Gerald looked to the sky.
"I cannot take what I gave up. But I will say this. The crown is still out there. Whoever finds it, and wears it, will be king of this land."
Those were his last words to the people.
And then he disappeared.
Some say he returned to the earth where he buried the crown. Others say he died in the forest. Some believe he became a monk, silent until the end. But one year later, the world learned of his death.
And the world began to move.
The crown, once thought gone, now became the most wanted thing on earth.
All forty-five nations of old Crayilaos sent their best soldiers, hunters, scholars, and thieves. They searched mountains, deserts, jungles, and caves. They dug through ruins and battled for maps. Some sought it for power. Some for faith. Some to burn it so no man could rule.
But it was not just Crayilaos that searched.
The eastern kingdoms sent spies. The northern tribes sent raiders. Even the great empire of the west, the Romans, took notice. The crown was now more than a symbol of Crayilaos. It was the key to ruling the world.
And fifteen years passed.
In the center of the Roman Empire, a boy named John Coyal was born.
His father was a soldier. His mother a seamstress. He grew up in the narrow streets of brick cities, running with other boys and stealing bread. But John was not like the others. He read every story he could find about the Crownless King. He studied every tale of the crown and its last journey. He believed, deep in his heart, that he was born to find it.
His friends laughed at him. "You're a rat from the street," they said. "What makes you think you're special?"
John did not answer. He only smiled. Because he believed that the world did not choose kings by blood or gold. It chose them by fire, annd John was ready to burn.
He trained with soldiers, stole from libraries, learned maps by heart. By the age of 17, he had made his plan.
He would find the crown.
And he would wear it.