The Crown Reforged

Echoes of Blood and Trial

The stronghold's main hall had been cleared of ceremonial banners and regal seating. In its place, an ancient pattern of intersecting sigils and glyphs had been drawn into the floor, pulsing with low energy that flickered between colors. The room, dimly lit and thrumming with power, was ready for the Trials.

Keal stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed. His eyes watched as each of his children stepped forward with measured calm—or, in one case, unrepentant confidence. The trials were not a performance this time. They were rites of passage, required by the ancient laws tied to Etherworld-borne power. Now that their existence was known, they needed to demonstrate command over their gifts before they could claim their roles in the new order Seraphina had been building.

Before the trial began, Nyra had been distant. Her gaze wandered, and her thoughts felt tugged elsewhere, as if caught in a dream too real to ignore.

The Dream

Nyra stood in an ethereal landscape—foggy, surreal, like a watercolor that hadn't dried. Strange trees twisted upward, and the sky pulsed with dream logic. In the distance, a single throne of bone and light hovered above cracked stone.

A figure waited there.

He was tall, impossibly so, dressed in robes that blended into the dreamscape. His face was lined but kind, his eyes brilliant and sad. He watched Nyra with the stillness of someone carved from time.

"You're not supposed to be here yet," he said gently. "But dreams leak through bloodlines. Through names. Through the breath of power."

Nyra blinked. "Who are you?"

"Your grandfather. The first Dreambinder."

She stared. Her mother's stories had never mentioned him. Nor had Keal. "But you’re dead."

"Am I? Or am I forgotten? Sometimes, that is the same thing."

The dream around them rippled, resolving into fragments—visions of war, of forgotten Etherworld kings, and of a single man wielding silver fire as he shattered a continent to hold back the Nothing.

"You carry my mark, Nyra," the dream-grandfather said. "But it will mean nothing if you do not understand what it costs."

She felt it then—an echo of his power, wrapped in her bones. Dreamwalking. Memorybinding. The ability to step into thought and make it real.

"Why show me this now?"

His eyes narrowed, not cruelly, but with warning. "Because you are being watched by those who once hunted me. One of them reached through your bloodline while you slept. And they are coming again."

The Trial Begins

Back in the stronghold, the sigils flared brighter.

Keal called forth the first child: Tyen.

Born of Ava, Tyen moved like a predator in still water—silent, smooth, deliberate. His command over shadow and body manipulation reflected Ava's combative grace, but added something new: teleportation through lines of sight. With a flicker, he vanished from one side of the circle and reappeared on the other, his body reforming without sound.

A construct of crystal appeared, and he dismantled it in seconds. Not with brute force, but precision strikes at its energetic fault lines.

The crowd—family, advisors, scholars—watched in awe. But Keal’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Next came Caela, daughter of Lima.

Her trial was different. She stepped into the circle and raised both hands. The air shimmered. Runes began etching themselves into the walls.

Caela was a tactical genius, even as a child. Her ability? Field reinforcement and logic-bound spellcraft. She used no fire or thunder, no shock or ice. But when her test summoned a shifting labyrinth of threats, she altered reality around her—predicting the path of chaos and threading through it perfectly, rewriting rules mid-combat.

"Her mind is a living battle map," Lima whispered to Keal.

Finally, Nyra stepped forward, her gaze still distant. The dream still clung to her like mist.

Keal stepped close before her turn. "Are you ready?"

"I... think so. But there’s something you should—"

But the glyphs pulled her in before she could finish.

She stood in the circle. Closed her eyes.

And then the dream flared back into being—but this time, she wasn’t dreaming alone. Everyone watching saw her power take shape.

The room darkened. Phantoms appeared—scenes from history and myth, including the war with the Great Devourers. The watchers gasped as these illusions became solid, real enough to interact with, real enough to feel.

Nyra stepped through the memory of her grandfather—his face now fully known to her—and used her Dreambinding to reverse-engineer his attacks. She pulled ancient flame from the illusion and wielded it as her own.

Her voice rang out—not hers alone, but layered with the voice of the Dreambinder.

"We are the flame that forgets nothing. The breath between worlds."

Keal watched in stunned silence. It was not just inheritance. It was evolution.

When the illusions vanished and the sigils dimmed, Nyra collapsed to her knees. Keal rushed to her.

"You saw him, didn’t you?"

She nodded weakly. "Grandfather. He warned me. They’re coming. The ones who broke him."

A hush settled over the hall.

Tyen stepped forward, placing a hand on his sister’s shoulder. Caela joined a heartbeat later.

Keal looked at his children and saw not just strength—but unity. And peril.

That night, as they sat around the fire, Keal told them everything.

Of the first time he touched the Etherworld.

Of how the realm responded not to strength, but to understanding—a willingness to break apart and rebuild. To let go of what you think you are in order to become what is needed.

He told them about the moment he became more than just a mage or soldier or leader. About the power that answered his need—not his desire.

"The Etherworld is alive," Keal explained. "Not like a person. Like a truth. It doesn't give power freely. It offers mirrors. And if you look too long, you become what you fear."

"How did you survive it?" Caela asked.

"I didn’t. Not all of me. The man who left that place was not the one who entered. But I brought back something better. Something that let us end the war."

He looked at his children.

"Each of you carries a fragment of that truth. But be careful. There are things that live outside the boundaries of this world—things that do not love, do not hope, only consume."

Nyra leaned into her father. "Then we fight. Together."

And for the first time in hours, Keal smiled.

But far in the north, beneath a forgotten mountain, the one who had once broken the Dreambinder stirred.

He had seen Nyra.

And he remembered the taste of that bloodline.