Page 1 of The Shattered Rite
Prologue
The Flame That Chooses
Before the first crown was forged, before skybound beasts darkened the sun, there was only the Flame.
And when the Flame dims, the land must choose.
The Trials of Sovereignty are not forged by kings or councils. They are the will of an ancient, silent god—a being that speaks only in fire and ruin, never in mercy. When power wanes and rot takes root in the bones of the kingdom, the god awakens, and the trials stir in the dark beneath the citadel.
Each era’s trials are different:
Oaths carved into flesh with blades of obsidian.
Duels fought blindfolded atop bridges of bone swaying over molten rivers.
Hunts through labyrinths built from the ribcages of dead titans, where the walls still breathe.
Whatever form they take, they end the same way: with a crown of flame, and the bearer of it.
Once—two centuries past—a warrior rose among the chosen.
He bore no noble name. No prophecy favored him.
But he knew one truth: if the trials tested the worthy, then to win them, he had only to make sure he stood alone.
And so he carved a path of blood, not glory.
One by one, he murdered the others.
He fed lies to the kind and steel blades to the strong.
He did not win the trials—he erased all others who might.
When the last fire was lit and the last soul slain, the Flame had no choice.
It crowned him Sovereign.
Now, his magic flickers like a dying torch. His breath rattles with unseen rot. And he knows the trials will rise.
But again, he is ready with a plan.
He sends a shadow.
Not a competitor. Not a name drawn from flame.
A phantom. A blade hidden in the folds of fate.
An assassin with no past and no cause but the Sovereign’s will.
He will walk beside the contenders.
He will befriend.
He will remove.
One by one, quietly, until the field is cleared once again.
All but one.
