Book I - The Hollow Crown

Chapter Ten: The Ceremony of Undoing

Mourngarde had never gathered like this.

Not since the Age of Pale Fire.

From the gutters to the spires, every soul stood silent before the Ashen Steps, where the execution platform waited like a gallows carved from night.

Above them, a black sun was rising.

Not a celestial body - but an orb of pure memory, torn from the mind of the Hollow King and suspended above the square. It would show the world who Veylan was. Who he had been. Who he might become.

Because killing a man is simple.

But killing a symbol? That requires spectacle.

Veylan knelt, hands chained in front of him, knees to the cold obsidian slab.

No blindfold. No crown.

Just silence.

And in the center of the crowd - Clov watched from the shadows, heart pounding like a drum too fast to keep up with its own rhythm.

He was wearing a guard's uniform, but he wasn't hiding.

He was waiting.

The Hollow King appeared like a scream without sound.

His presence alone made the clouds pull back, made children sob and birds fall dead from the sky.

His armor was black stone and regret. His face, still that shattered glass, reflected everyone in the crowd.

"He is all of you," the King's voice echoed.

"He is what happens when belief rots."

A priest of ash stepped forward.

"Veylan Flameborn, charged with the destruction of Eldgrave, the betrayal of the northern oath, the killing of the last blood oracle - do you accept your guilt?"

Veylan stared straight ahead.

"I accept nothing I don't remember."

The crowd murmured.

The priest faltered. "Then you shall be unwritten."

The Hollow King raised a single hand.

The black sun above them pulsed.

And then the visions began.

Everyone saw it.

Flames swallowing a village.

Children screaming.

A man - Veylan - standing among the inferno, his face blank, his arms soaked in red.

"You did this," a voice whispered. "You were born for it."

People gasped. Some wept. Others cheered.

But it wasn't just guilt being shown.

It was a warning:

This is what happens when gods forget they are gods.

Clov stepped forward slowly, drawing a blade hidden beneath his armor.

He whispered, "Not yet. Not until - "

But a hand grabbed his arm.

It was the Hollow King.

He had moved without moving.

"I told you," he said, "your heart is still yours."

And with terrifying gentleness, he twisted Clov's wrist - disarming him - then handed the blade back.

"Finish the performance."

Clov's face twisted in disbelief.

"You knew?"

"Of course," the King replied. "I hoped you would try."

"Then why let me live?"

"Because betrayal," the King said, "is more powerful when it's personal."

Clov walked to the stage.

He knelt beside Veylan.

Everyone watched as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

And then, Clov stabbed Veylan through the chest.

Blood sprayed across the stone.

Veylan collapsed, breath ragged.

The black sun above them shattered into smoke and memory.

The sky turned red.

The crowd screamed in triumph and horror.

And Clov stood, covered in the blood of the only friend he'd ever had.

But as Veylan fell -

He smiled.

Because the blade wasn't metal.

It was bone.

The same blade the ash child had given him.

It didn't kill.

It awakened.

And in that final breath before unconsciousness, Veylan remembered everything.

The First Flame.

The war against the Architect.

The deal he made to be reborn.

And the name of the one who ordered it all.

Not the Hollow King.

Someone higher. Older. Silent.

The true villain had never been on the stage.

He had been watching from above.

Veylan's eyes snapped open.

They weren't black anymore.

They were mirror-silver - reflecting all fates at once.

The Hollow King stepped back in awe.

Clov whispered, "What? what have I done?"

And from Veylan's lips came not a scream?

?but a name.

One that hadn't been spoken in ten thousand years.

And in the skies above Mourngarde, lightning spelled it in flame.