The royal palace had many rooms.
But only one was forbidden.
Below the throne. Beneath marble and gold. A spiral staircase of obsidian descended into cold silence. Torches didn't burn here—only ghostlight hovered, reacting to breath and blood.
Princess Avalith stepped onto the final stair, cloak brushing the cracked stone.
The door before her pulsed.
Not from magic.
From memory.
She pressed her hand to the seal.
It opened with a sound like weeping metal.
Inside was not a library.
It was a tomb.
Ancient runes lined the walls, etched by those long erased from history. Chains hung from the ceiling. A single pedestal rose in the center, holding a book wrapped in black flesh stitched shut with golden thread.
The air didn't welcome her.
It warned her.
But she stepped forward anyway.
She'd come alone.
No guards. No servants. No mentor.
Only silence—and a truth she could no longer ignore.
She reached for the book.
And it opened.
Not with her touch, but with her presence.
Pages turned on their own, faster than wind.
Then stopped.
A single page.
A single prophecy.
Drawn in old tongue, written in blood older than any dynasty.
Her black eyes scanned the lines.
_"And in the final breath of the sixth cycle,
the Hollow Crown shall walk among men.
He will wear the shape of a child.
But within him dwells absence—
The failure of the gods to create soul.
A vessel of nothing.
Not life. Not death.
But the memory of both.
He who cannot be held by time.
He who devours names.
He who ends crowns.
He will smile only once.
And the world will forget how to bleed."_
Avalith's breath caught.
She read it again.
And again.
The words didn't change.
But the feeling did.
Colder. Heavier. Familiar.
Because she had felt it before.
That absence.
That silence behind Noven's eyes.
The way the world warped around him—not just in power, but in nature. Like reality itself wanted to look away.
She had thought it curiosity.
Maybe something more.
But now…
A voice echoed from the doorway.
"You shouldn't be here."
Avalith turned sharply.
A man stood in the entrance.
High Chancellor Lior.
He wore the royal crest, his cane carved from dead starlight wood, his eyes lined with years of secrets.
"You read it, didn't you?" he asked.
Her voice was calm. Cold.
"Why is this not public record?"
"Because kings shouldn't fear children," Lior said. "And children shouldn't fear themselves."
He stepped into the room, not afraid.
He'd been here before.
"That thing you're drawn to. That boy… he matches every line."
Avalith didn't reply.
He came closer.
"That is why your father allowed him into the Academy. To observe. To confirm. And when the time came—"
"You want him killed," she whispered.
"Not want. Need." Lior's voice was quiet, but absolute. "He isn't a person, Princess. He is a collapse wearing skin. The Hollow Crown isn't a metaphor. It's a warning."
She clenched her fists.
"I've seen war. I've seen monsters. He's not—"
"You've seen a mask," Lior snapped. "I was there when the Specter Shift was first theorized. It wasn't a technique. It was a defect. A side effect of being unreal. He doesn't vanish. The world erases him because it can't contain the truth of what he is."
He looked at her long and hard.
"You've seen him. You know I'm not lying."
She didn't speak.
Couldn't.
Lior took a step closer.
"You are heir to the throne. When your father dies, the crown is yours. But if he lives… there will be no crown left to wear."
The torches flared.
The book closed.
He turned his back.
"Your decision will decide more than your future. It will decide whether this world ends screaming or silent."
He left.
Leaving her alone.
With the prophecy.
And the image of Noven's red eyes burned into her skull.
⸻
Midnight – Princess's Balcony
Avalith stood under the stars, wind brushing white hair across her face.
Below, the Academy shimmered faintly. Lanterns. Trees. Stillness.
And there—sitting alone by the eastern wall—Noven.
Just watching the sky.
She raised a trembling hand.
Her fingers curled.
Aura built at her palm like a blade forming from ice.
She could end it now.
He wouldn't even see it coming.
She stared down.
At that boy with eyes like ruin.
She raised her hand higher.
…
Then lowered it.
Not mercy.
Not hesitation.
But need.
A whisper escaped her lips:
"I need to know what you really are."