A throne of shadows

**The Forgotten Keep**

The wind howled across the mountains, carrying the whispers of the very dead. Yna stood at the edge of a rocky plateau, her breath steaming in the cold night air. At her feet lay a fortress of black rock, its tortured spires reaching up like skeletal fingers to tear the sky—The Forgotten Keep.

It was older than memory, older than the war, older than even the Ancient One itself. A place abandoned by gods and feared by mortals, existing outside time’s grasp.

And yet, she was here.

Brought by the First.

Forced to face what lurked within.

Yna’s grip tightened on the edges of her cloak as the First’s voice echoed behind her.

“This is where it must begin.”

She turned to face them, she was really frustrated, “You’re not giving me a choice.”

The **First** smiled, a slow, knowing thing. “You had your choice when you severed the Ancient One. The moment you did, you changed the balance. The weight of that cannot be ignored.”

Yna’s heartbeat pounded. The truth of their words settled heavy on her shoulders.

Before she could argue, the First gestured toward the Keep.

“Inside lies the throne, If you do not take it, another will.”

Yna swallowed hard.

The idea of a throne, of ruling something like the Ancient One’s domain, sent a shiver through her. She had never wanted power. But the vision—what she had seen in the void—left no room for denial.

Something worse was coming.

And this was the only way to stop it.

She took a slow breath, then stepped forward.

The gates of the Forgotten Keep groaned as they opened, spilling a cold, ancient darkness into the night.

And Yna walked inside.

A Beast Unleashed

Marcus smelled blood.

The scent was subtle, blowing on the wind, but it was enough to activate his senses.

They had been running for hours, deeper into the unmapped lands beyond the mountains. The deeper they went, the more the world looked unnatural. The trees grew twisted, their bark blackened with something not entirely alive. The air pulsed with a hum of magic that did not belong to their world.

And Yna was somewhere in the heart of it.

Marcus’s patience was razor-thin. He was past the point of restraint, past the point of caution. Every second Yna was gone, something dark curled in his chest—something dangerous, primal.

Leo caught up to him, his breathing heavy. “You need to slow down.”

Marcus barely spared him a glance. “No.”

Leo exhaled sharply, “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I don’t care.”

The words came out rough, edged with something raw. Something desperate.

Liora moved beside them, her sharp gaze flickering toward Marcus. “You’re losing control.”

Marcus stopped, his claws already half-shifted. “She’s slipping away.”

Liora studied him for a long moment before her expression softened. “Then we’ll find her.”

Marcus clenched his fists. He knew his pack was right—running blindly would do no good. But he could feel Yna pulling further from him, like she was being swallowed by something that did not belong to this world.

And it was driving him insane.

Leo sheathed his dagger. “We need to be smart about this. If something stronger than the Ancient One is out there, then we’re going to need more than brute force.”

Marcus exhaled through his nose. “Then let’s move.”

His golden eyes burned.

Whatever had taken Yna—whoever had taken her—

He would tear them apart.

The Throne Room

Yna stepped into the heart of the Forgotten Keep.

The room was big, carved from a volcanic rock and lined with massive pillars wrapped in gold ornament. The air was thick with power—ancient, pulsing, waiting.

And at the far end of the room, beneath a towering arch of black stone—

Was the throne.

It wasn’t what she had expected, It wasn’t big, and wasn't adorned with jewels or intricate carvings. It was made of shadows, shifting and writhing, pulsing with a heartbeat that did not belong to her.

It was alive.

Yna swallowed.

The First’s voice drifted from behind her.

“This is the seat of balance. It does not command—it contains.”

She turned to them, her pulse hammering. “What does that mean?”

The First’s golden eyes gleamed. “It means you are not meant to rule. You are meant to keep the void at bay.”

Yna’s breath hitched.

A prison.

Not for her—but for whatever was coming.

Realization slammed into her. If she took the throne, she wouldn’t just be stopping what came next—she would be binding herself to it, keeping it locked away for as long as she existed.

“Why me?” she whispered again.

The First tilted their head. “Because you have already walked into the darkness and come back whole. Few ever do.”

Yna’s chest tightened.

This was never about power.

It was about sacrifice.

She looked back at the throne, shadows curling around its base, waiting.

If she didn’t do this, the thing in the void would come. It would consume everything.

And there would be no stopping it.

Her hands trembled. She had fought for her freedom, had clawed her way through every battle, every loss, just to survive.

And now, she had to give it up.

A deep, shuddering breath left her lips.

She took a step forward—

And the doors behind her exploded open.

Yna turned, her heart racing really hard.

Marcus stood on the threshold, his chest rising and falling, his golden eyes burning with rage.

“Step away from that throne.”

His voice was low, rough and carried a warning that sent a shiver down her spine.

Yna’s lips parted, words caught in her throat.

Marcus took a slow step forward, his hands curled into fists. “You are not doing this.”

The First observed the scene, silent.

Yna turned fully to face Marcus. “I have to.”

His jaw clenched, a storm raging in his eyes. “The hell you do.”

His voice was barely human now—more wolf than man.

Yna swallowed hard. “If I don’t, something worse is going to take its place.”

Marcus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to contain something. “We’ll find another way.”

“There isn’t another way.”

Silence stretched between them.

A war of unspoken things.

Marcus’s throat went dry suddenly, something raw flickering behind his golden gaze. “You promised me.”

Yna flinched.

He was right.

She had promised him, in the aftermath of the war, that they would find a future. That they would survive this together.

And yet, here she was.

Breaking that promise.

Her heart ached, her resolve wavering. But she forced herself to stand firm.

“This isn’t about us,” she said, voice thick.

Marcus shook his head, his expression darkening.

“The hell it isn’t.”

And then, before she could stop him—

He moved.

Faster than thought, faster than breath—

His arms wrapped around her, his warmth searing through her, his grip unyielding.

“You are not doing this alone.”

His voice was a growl against her skin.

Yna’s breath hitched, her hands gripping his shirt, torn between the weight of her choice and the impossible force of what stood before her.

Marcus wasn’t going to let her go.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.