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 mory. mory that was never ant 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 soone to ask the right question.
From the rift erged a faint mist—silver and red, laced with echoes. And in the center of that light...
A child stepped forward.
Not flesh. Not illusion. A mory, made real for a mont.
He bore Elric's face. Younger. Innocent. A crown of thorns rested on his brow.
Taran froze. His voice cracked. "No... not him. Not again."
The boy looked up at Elric. "You left here."
Elric swallowed hard. "I didn't know you existed."
"You buried ," the child said softly. "To survive. But the throne rembers."
Lira reached for Elric's arm, grounding him. "This isn't just mory. This is you."
The mist thickened. Visions danced through it—Elric's first surgery. His exile. The Root infecting the palace halls. The ancient tree whispering in tongues. All of it was threaded together.
The Root hadn't just bound bodies. It had bound history.
"You were the cure," the boy said. "But you forgot. Now rember us—and finish it."
The child stepped back into the mist.
And vanished.
---
anwhile: Outside the Capital
Cai gasped, nearly falling from the wagon.
The convoy jolted to a halt. Sylas grabbed him. "What happened?"
Cai's eyes were wild, gold flaring. "The seal is broken. The throne's mory has opened."
Keera looked up at the distant walls of the city. They shimred slightly, as if sothing old and invisible had just awakened.
Veyra whispered, "Elric... what have you done?"
---
Back in the Throne Room
Taran stood.
But sothing in him had changed. His voice layered with two tones—the man and the monster.
"You think healing is just flesh and blood," he growled. "But so wounds demand obedience. The Root is order. Without it, the world will burn."
Elric stepped forward. "Then I'll take that risk."
His sigil flared again—and this ti, it didn't strike. It soothed. Light wrapped around the throne, sealing the cracks with mory, not magic.
And the Root scread.
Not in pain.
In fear.
Because for the first ti... it was being understood.
Taran stumbled back, clutching his head. "No... no! You can't know it!"
"I don't need to rule," Elric said. "I just need to rember."
The serpent sigil shone on the throne, fully revealed.
The marble beneath their feet rumbled—and deep below, the true Root stirred.
---
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