Chapter 2775: Story 2776: The Face Beneath the Crown

Ronan stepped back from his reflection.

The figure beneath the stone was still smiling, but the reflection’s grin widened until its mouth stretched unnaturally across its face. Golden cracks spread over the black floor, revealing glimpses of a sky filled with burning stars.

“Look away!” Cael shouted.

Ronan tried.

He couldn’t.

The reflection raised one hand. Ronan’s hand rose with it, though he kept his own arms at his sides. The reflected figure wore a crown of living bone, and beneath it, six golden eyes opened across a face that was unmistakably his.

Then the reflection spoke.

“You have forgotten how many times you have died.”

Ronan’s knees weakened.

Images flooded his mind: himself standing before a throne of bones, his sword dripping with golden blood, his brothers kneeling before him. In another vision, Lyra lay motionless beneath a red moon. In a third, Ronan watched the world collapse into darkness while wearing the crown.

“No,” he whispered. “Those aren’t my memories.”

“They are the memories you survived,” the reflection answered. “And survival is not the same as innocence.”

Lyra seized Ronan’s shoulders and forced him to meet her eyes.

“Listen to me. Whatever you see, you are here. You are Ronan.”

The golden mark on his arms flickered.

For a moment, the reflection’s smile faltered.

The colossal prisoner noticed.

“Interesting,” it murmured. “The girl’s voice still reaches the part of you that the First Mother buried.”

It pulled against its chains.

Three links shattered.

Elias threw his black chains around the remaining restraints, while Aren formed a silver barrier across the staircase. Darian’s violet flames surged between the cracks, sealing the stone.

“Whatever you are,” Elias growled, “you’re staying down there.”

The prisoner looked at him.

Elias’s chains turned to dust.

Aren’s barrier shattered, throwing him against the wall. Darian rushed forward, but an invisible force hurled him backward into Lyra’s arms.

The forgotten child struggled upright.

“Stop fighting him!” he cried. “Every attack makes him stronger!”

Ronan finally tore his gaze from the reflection.

“Then tell me how to stop him!”

The child pointed at the golden door behind the prisoner.

“Your mother knows.”

Beyond the metal, the First Mother pulled desperately against her chains. Blood streamed from her wrists, glowing red where it touched the door.

“Ronan,” she called, her voice breaking. “You must destroy the face before it becomes real.”

“How?”

“Do not fight the reflection. Deny it.”

The crowned reflection laughed.

“You cannot deny what you were before you were born.”

Ronan drew his blood-forged sword. Its blade glowed with the memory of his mother, and a familiar warmth traveled through his fingers.

He lowered the sword toward the reflection.

“I don’t know what I was,” he said. “But I know what I choose to be.”

He struck the floor.

Red light erupted through the golden cracks.

The reflection screamed as its crown fractured, and the prisoner roared beneath the mountain. For one glorious second, the golden door began to close.

Then the First Mother screamed.

A black hand reached through the narrowing gap and seized her by the hair.

Behind her stood another Ronan.

This one had no crown.

He had no shadow.

And he was holding the First Mother’s heart.