Chapter 4 – The Throne Beneath the Blood
The kiss ended, but the storm it stirred didn't.
Lyra's lips tingled. Her breath caught, her chest rising too fast. The bond between them pulsed—wild, angry, hungry. It didn't ask for permission. It demanded.
She stepped back first, heart slamming against her ribs. "You shouldn't have done that."
"I know," the Abyss Prince murmured. His voice was graveled velvet. "But I did. And now the mark is awakening faster."
She looked down. The bond burned under her collarbone—deep crimson, threaded with silver veins that pulsed like a heartbeat. It was no longer a mark. It was alive.
"What is it doing to me?"
"It's preparing you," he said, walking toward the cracked rune-stone wall, brushing blood from its edges. "For what you're meant to become."
"And what's that?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he placed his palm to the wall and whispered something in a language she couldn't place. The stone cracked with light, and a doorway opened—smooth, seamless, and glowing with ancient fire.
He turned to her. "Come."
Lyra didn't move. "No more riddles. No more dragging me around like I'm some piece of prophecy. I want answers."
He studied her like a man deciding whether to bleed or kneel. And then, after a silence that stretched between them like fate itself, he nodded.
"You deserve the truth."
She followed him into the hidden corridor, breath shallow. The passage led deep beneath the castle—past torches that lit themselves as they passed, walls that hummed with old magic.
And finally, into a hall of mirrors.
It stretched for miles—each mirror different. Some twisted like vines. Others smooth and glassy, framed in bone and obsidian. Each held a reflection.
But not of now.
Each showed her—Lyra—across timelines.
In one, she was a child, hiding from shadows.
In another, she fought with silver claws, blood in her hair.
In one, she was crowned.
A queen of ash.
She stepped closer to one. It shimmered as she neared.
"Those are the lives you've lived," the Prince said softly. "The threads that brought you here."
"I've never seen these."
"No. But they've seen you. The Abyss remembers."
Her throat tightened. "I don't understand."
"You will. The Abyss chooses one omega every thousand years. One strong enough to bear the Crown of Binding. Strong enough to unmake the curse."
She turned to him. "Curse?"
He nodded. "My kingdom is dying. The Abyss is unraveling. Only the marked one can tether it—revive it."
Lyra stared at the mirrors. Her reflection in the glass was shifting—hair wild, eyes glowing violet, fangs sharp.
That wasn't her.
Yet somehow… it was.
"So I'm just your salvation?"
"No," he said, stepping close, eyes raw. "You're the storm before it. The flame I wasn't supposed to touch. And now I can't let go."
Her lips parted—but she didn't speak.
The mirrors suddenly all went black.
A deep groan echoed through the chamber.
"The Abyss is stirring," he whispered. "It knows you're awake now."
"What happens when it fully awakens?"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Then every kingdom above and below will come for you."
Her blood ran cold.
And yet—she wasn't afraid.
---
Outside, thunder cracked.
Inside her, something answered.
Something ancient.
Something hers