He didn’t move.
Maris tilted his chin up with one silver-lit finger, forcing his violet-blue gaze to meet hers.
“You thought I could shatter, but I’m god forged, I won’t break.” she said quietly.
“Rise,” she spoke with lethal grace.
Slowly, the group began to stand — in the quiet peace brought by Maris.
Behind her, the silver-veined tree hummed with quiet life.
Then, the land took a breath.
It was faint at first a tremble beneath their feet, an ancient consciousness stirring from slumber. A gust of wind swept through the temple ruins, but it wasn’t cold. It was warm,scented with salt and blooming things. The sigil on her hand flared once more, not in alarm… but in acknowledgment.
A low, deep quake shuddered through the stone under their boots. Dust tumbled from the carved ceiling. Vines curled inward toward the altar, as if bowing.
Right at the base of the great altar ahead, the floor split with a violent crack. Ancient stone gave way in a clean seam, revealing a hollow cavity beneath. Light poured from it. A pale, radiant white, the same glow Maris had encompassed.
There, resting on a bed of velvet black stone…
A crown.
Not of gold. Not iron. But bone-white, delicate and sharp all at once, fashioned from sleek, slender branches similar to the tree before her. Its delicate silver accents gleamed like frost kissed with moonlight. A small crest adorned the center, curling down like sigil lines.
The Crown of Bones.
Maris only stared, heart thundering in her chest, the divine whisper still curling around her thoughts like smoke.
“It’s waited for this,” Alarik said behind her, his voice low, rough with wonder. “For you.”
Maris stepped forward.
As she neared the altar, the crown rose on its own, lifted by invisible hands or the will of the goddess, it was unclear. It hovered for a breathless moment, humming with power.
Alarik stepped beside her.
Silent.
Pious.
He took the crown in both hands, and when he turned to face her, there was something in his gaze that wasn’t vengeance. It wasn’t hunger or desperation.
It was devotion.
Not just to her, but to the hope she represented.
“You’ve worn uncertainty enough,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I think it’s time for change.”
Maris didn’t flinch as he placed it atop her brow.
The crown settled and magic surged through her anchored. The roar in her head quieted, her veins cooled, and for the first time since it had awakened, her power felt… hers.
“A Queen,” Alarik murmured.
As the breeze wind whispered through the temple, the tree at her back bloomed. Its silver leaves fanned out from bark that now glistened of pearl. The roots glowed faintly along the floor, like veins pumping life back into the island.
The Hollows, no longer slept.
