Chapter 35: Memory in the Marble
The throne room pulsed with ancient energy.
The sigil on Elric's wrist surged like a heartbeat, matching the glow now spreading from the serpent symbol on the throne. The roots recoiled, not in fear—but confusion. They hissed and writhed like snakes cut from a shared spine.
King Taran gasped, one hand braced against the steps. "You've awakened what sleeps beneath the bloodline."
Elric didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the throne's carvings, slowly unveiled as the roots burned away under the sigil's light. A mural lay hidden there—etched deep into the marble. Warriors. Healers. A tree with a broken crown atop it.
The truth was older than any kingdom.
Lira moved closer, blade still in hand. "Elric, this thing... it's not just magic. It's alive."
"I know," he said quietly. "It's memory. Memory that was never meant to fade."
A loud crack split the air. The last root curled back into the floor with a dying shriek. The throne itself trembled. And then—
The stone behind it split open.
Not violently. Deliberately. As if it were a vault sealed long ago, waiting for someone to ask the right question.
From the rift emerged a faint mist—silver and red, laced with echoes. And in the center of that light...