Chapter 531: Inevitable XVI
The laugh became a tremor.
Not in the ground, not in the sky—in the Tower itself.
Every floor, every stair, every locked door shivered like strings on an unseen instrument. Echoes warped, memories twisted, rules that had once been iron bent like reeds in a storm.
And then—light.
Not the clean blaze of Thrones, but something older, rawer. It poured through cracks in the void like molten dusk, touching every shadow, every scar, every heartbeat. The Tower was no longer just listening. It was answering—through something it had buried.
Liliana flinched, nearly dropping Leon as the glow bathed them. Her voice cracked. "That’s not theirs... that’s the Tower itself."
Milim’s small frame shook, her arms clutching Leon tighter. "No... it’s not the Tower. It’s what the Tower tried to lock away."
Roselia spat blood, her ember flame flickering in time with the alien radiance. "And now it wants out. Gods damn us all."
Naval’s grip tightened on his trident, eyes narrowing at the horizon. "No. Not gods. Not Thrones. Something worse."
The tremor deepened into a voice.
Not booming like thunder, not sharp like knives—vast, like oceans speaking.
"War of Thrones? No. This is the war you have stolen from me."
The light spread wider, revealing shapes—half-seen, colossal, their outlines shifting like memories too ancient to take form. Chains dangled from their limbs, broken links dragging like anchors through the void.
"I was here before Thrones."
A breath like the pull of tides rattled their bones.
"I was bound when inevitability was still unspoken. And now... a mortal fire tears open my cage."
Leon stirred at those words. His eyes cracked open—hollow with exhaustion, yet still burning with the Fifth Pulse. A ragged grin tore across his bloodied lips.
"...Good. Then burn with me."
The presence paused. Then it laughed again—a quake that split the horizon, shaking loose more chains in depths unseen.
"Then I shall watch, Flamebreaker. Burn their war. Burn their Thrones. If you fall, I will devour what remains. But if you stand—"
The light seared brighter, wrapping the battlefield like a mantle.
"—then perhaps the Tower will not end in silence, but in fire."
The glow receded, leaving only its echo—an ache in their bones, a promise in the air.
Roman clenched his fists, knuckles white through blood. "...We’re not just fighting Thrones anymore. We’ve woken something that wants the Tower itself."
Liliana wiped her tears with a trembling hand, still weaving threads to keep Leon breathing. "Then we’ll hold him. No matter who listens, no matter who watches—we’ll hold him."
Naval exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Madness. We’re standing between Thrones above and hunger below. And yet..." His grin was savage, eyes lit with defiance. "...damn me if I’d choose anywhere else to stand."
Roselia laughed hoarsely, her ember staff sparking faintly. "Then it’s settled. We’ll march through their war—and if something older wants to watch, let it choke on the show."
The battlefield fell quiet at last.
Not peace—anticipation.
The Throne War had begun.
But in the dark beneath it, so had something else.
And as Leon drifted finally into unconsciousness, the Fifth Pulse still echoed faintly from his chest—answering not just Thrones, but something far older.
The Tower did not roar.
It waited.
The void dimmed.
Not gone—never gone—but the endless fracture of light and hunger folded back into silence, leaving only echoes that throbbed in the marrow of the broken battlefield.
The Throne constellations above were shuttered now, their gazes withdrawn into council, their decrees muffled. The older presence sank back into its cage, its laughter fading like tidewater receding—but the cracks it left behind still bled faint light, like veins in stone.
For the first time since the roar, the Tower breathed quiet.
Roman was the first to move.
He stood over Leon’s limp form, battered fists trembling but steady, his shadow cast wide like a sentinel refusing to fall. His voice was gravel, but firm.
"We need to get him out of here. Now."
Liliana’s threads burned low as she clutched Leon’s chest, sweat dripping from her brow. "I’m holding him together, but not for long. If we stay, the Tower itself will eat us alive."
Milim didn’t answer—she couldn’t. Her face was pressed against Leon’s chest, her small body shaking. She clung to him like her own heartbeat depended on his.
Naval glanced upward, scanning the fractured sky. "Thrones may be gone, but their armies won’t take long. That roar wasn’t just a call—it was a draft. Soldiers will start spilling through the cracks soon." His trident bit into the voidstone floor as he rose shakily to his feet. "We move."
Roselia groaned as she dragged herself upright, ember flame guttering weakly. "Where? The Tower’s bleeding war on every floor. There’s no safe haven left."
Roman’s jaw tightened. "Then we make one."
As if to answer him, the battlefield itself shifted.
The cracks in reality began to fold inward, reshaping—not collapsing, not sealing, but reforming. The Tower was rewriting the stage.
In the distance, a spire rose from the void, jagged and half-formed, like bone forced through skin. Its peak split with molten light, then cooled into black stone. Doors—massive, unyielding—ground into existence, their surface etched with new glyphs still smoking from birth.
Naval narrowed his eyes. "That wasn’t here before."
Liliana’s hands tightened around Leon instinctively. "It feels... wrong."
Roselia chuckled weakly, coughing blood between words. "Wrong? It feels like an invitation."
Roman frowned, gaze hard as iron. "No. Not an invitation. A test."
The Tower whispered again. Not a roar this time—just a faint resonance, brushing against their ears like a promise.
Come. Flamebreaker.
The mark on Leon’s chest pulsed once, answering the call even in his unconscious state.
Milim looked up, her tear-streaked face burning with fury. "No. Not until he wakes. You hear me? He’s not yours to drag around like a pawn!" Her wings flared, small but defiant, her flame sparking against the oppressive dark.
The Tower didn’t respond. It didn’t need to. The spire’s doors groaned, half-opening, leaking a dim light that smelled of battlefields yet unwalked.
Naval spat on the voidstone, gripping his trident. "Then we’ve got two choices. Stay here and wait for the armies to drown us... or walk through and see what bastard game the Tower wants us to play next."
Roselia’s smirk was sharp despite her exhaustion. "I’ve never been one for waiting."
Roman cracked his bloody knuckles, eyes locked on the doors. "Then we move. Together."
Liliana hesitated, her threads fraying under strain, but she nodded. "Then I’ll keep holding him until we find someplace he can heal."
Milim hugged Leon tighter, whispering as if only he could hear. "I’ll carry you. Like you carried all of us."
The group turned as one toward the spire, their broken bodies dragging forward.
Behind them, the battlefield stilled.
Above them, Thrones watched.
Below them, hunger stirred.
And before them—
the first step into a war that was no longer theirs to choose.
The doors of the spire yawned open.
The Tower was waiting.