Book One: Rise of the Demonborn
Chapter 20: Throne of the Hollow Crown
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The sky above the *Cursed Forest* turned black by noon.
Not from stormclouds—but from *magic*.
The trees bowed inward, roots twisting, ground cracking as the forest itself bent to the will of one being.
*Kael stood at the center*, one hand raised, the other resting calmly by his side. His wings flicked open behind him—wide, dark, veined with slow pulses of soul magic.
He spoke no words.
But the world *obeyed*.
The forest shook.
Dead trees surged from the ground—bleached, hollow, fused together.
Stone erupted from the earth in jagged slabs, forming rings around him like ribs.
Dark vines slithered and stitched stone and bone together.
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Within hours, the *skeleton of a fortress* stood—impossibly tall, wide enough to swallow entire battalions.
It was not beautiful.
It was *terrifying*.
Every wall breathed faintly.
Its towers screamed with the wind.
Its gates opened only for death.
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Inside the growing structure, Kael stepped through the grand hall.
The floor was made of black marble, veined with white—matching his eyes.
On either side, torches burned blue. Not fire. Not magic.
*Souls*.
He walked slowly toward the center.
There, rising from a jagged platform, was a chair.
It formed itself as he approached—bones fusing with stone, swirling obsidian arms curving upward.
A *throne*.
Not gilded. Not elegant.
It was the kind of seat only the dead could respect.
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Kael sat.
And for the first time since he was a child, he *closed his eyes willingly.*
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Below the throne hall, chambers formed. Dungeons. Halls for necromancers. Corridors for wraiths. An entire *Empire of the Dead* was blooming beneath the forest.
His *chosen* undead began arriving—soulbound soldiers who retained memories, talents, even grudges.
They *knelt* before him.
Not because he demanded it.
Because they *wanted to.*
They called him:
"The Hollow King."
"The Sovereign of Silence."
"The One Who Does Not Forget."
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Outside the forest, travelers began to vanish.
The trees no longer let anyone leave once they entered.
Birds no longer flew over the cursed wood.
And in every city… nightmares began again.
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In Solmar, *Seren* collapsed during training.
When she woke, she gasped:
"He's awake… and *watching.*"
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In the high deserts, one of the awakened demons reached Kael's growing territory.
It was a beast of flame and ash.
It roared at the castle.
Kael stepped onto the balcony, expression blank.
He raised his hand.
And crushed the demon's *core* with a single spell.
Its soul unraveled into black mist and *joined* his own.
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In his throne, Kael whispered:
"They are not my kin.
They are not my equal.
I am not like them.
I am *more.*"
And with that, his castle—*Vorth Karran*, the Citadel of the Hollow—sent its first pulse through the land.
A wave of necrotic energy that darkened the sky for miles.
A *declaration*:
The Demonborn was no longer hiding.
He had a kingdom.
And a throne.
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