The Hollow King fell to one knee, shadows tearing from his frame.
Lioran hovered above the scorched rift, the light within him burning so bright it cast shadows of flame.
But the power that surged through him was not meant for a child—nor any mortal.
His body trembled.
Aran rushed forward, but Elira caught him. "If you interrupt the flame now, it'll tear him apart. He has to finish."
Tears streamed down Aran's face. "He's just a boy."
"No," Elira whispered, "he's what comes after us."
Above them, Lioran's flame spiraled into a crown—shifting, breathing, alive. Not a weapon.
A choice.