PART 13: THE SECOND OVERTURN

  Chapter 049

  X – The New Crown

  On the horizon, three lands governed by different systems watched the name of Strength change before their eyes. A shadow fell across RrodKa as the crowns began to shift authority. The people witnessed two shadows cast by two floating lands—one broken, one still standing. For the first time, everyone held their lips shut, a deep suspense spreading through every district.

  Standing near the empty land of the rich, Lefaulta looked up at Armiton and spoke no word in the quiet below. No smoke, no explosions, no colors erupted anymore. With her hands clasped together, she took a deep breath and waited for the land to lower itself back down. But as she stood there, her mind kept running back to the moment she had gazed upon the child before he was lifted. In every recollection of his eyes and face, she saw only her Lady, the one she had served. If only she could see him one more time, perhaps the loss she had felt ten years ago would not feel so cold.

  “My Lady,” she whispered, “I wish you could witness what I see. Sometimes stories move faster than we can settle. I wonder if I will see another change the next time. I wonder…”

  Then, suddenly, Lefaulta heard a brief burst of static and saw something like fire being blown away. She turned to the side, noticing that something was missing. She was certain there had been a glitch in her system. When she checked her screen, everything appeared normal. Yet that normalcy felt wrong, especially after what had unfolded only minutes ago.

  And that was when it clicked.

  “The decree… is gone,” Rroma said, whispering with hollow lungs, as if asking permission to calm himself. “Am I really seeing this?”

  At the far end of the rich land, Dehro and Eloth stood above the rooftops. They had been staring up at the floating land when they heard the static and Rroma speaking beside them. The three of them checked at once, and lo and behold—

  “I’m not seeing the decree either,” Dehro followed, eyes wide. “It’s… really gone.”

  “That’s odd,” Eloth replied carefully. He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “Wasn’t it supposed to be binding and permanent? If it’s gone, that means… our commander is dead?”

  The three fell silent. The words lingered longer than they wanted. Eloth’s logic was sound. Issued decrees were permanent until their instructions were fulfilled. If that rule still held, then it could mean only one thing. Still, none of them allowed false grief to take root. There was too much uncertainty to draw a conclusion.

  “We…” Rroma said, breaking the silence. “We just have to wait until the land falls.”

  They looked back up, the shadows of the risen and broken lands stretching over them.

  Nearby, soldiers continued to rush past, weapons in hand, ready to slaughter Donnor and Luminar. Some leapt across rooftops; others ran through the streets to gather beneath the floating land. A few prepared to use RM to ascend and meet them above. But then word spread like wildfire: the decree had been lifted. Soldiers—recruits included—shouted across the land, calling others back from the reckless and undignified pursuit. For a select few, like the trio, withdrawal had already begun. They refused to lay hands on their beloved commander.

  As the news continued to spread, it reached the center, sowing confusion among those still deciding how to lift themselves. Once the crowd of soldiers dispersed, the tension began to loosen and settle. Time, regardless, did its work, and at last the land seemed to draw a breath.

  Yet as one confusion eased, another remained. With the fall of the Throne’s Elect, a new crown was meant to rise. In RrodKa, this was tradition—a pattern well known among authorities. As was already evident, the people had taken sides. Would the triumvirate endure, or would Luminar claim the crown? Or Donnor? The questions kept eyes open and fixed on the sky, waiting.

  And so, after wrestling with the end of coercion, the land finally began to fall.

  The former land descended first. The second—the smaller one—followed. They fell steadily as the RM gradually lost stability. Soldiers retreated in haste, sprinting away to avoid being crushed. Clouds were shoved aside, twisting into outward-spiraling vortices. The air itself shifted under the immense weight of the descending lands.

  When they struck, the ground convulsed. A massive cloud of dust surged skyward, followed by a violent wind that caught many in its path, tripping bodies and hurling debris. Those stubborn enough to think themselves safe were struck by flying stone. People hid behind buildings or raised magical shields. When the wave of rocks passed, dust fell like snow. Half of RrodKa lay buried beneath ash and particles.

  One group that barely avoided the impact remained clustered around a commander, tending to his wounds while shielding him. They were dressed differently from the others, as though they hailed from another kingdom—robes of unblemished linen, their expressions calm and composed. Though he told them repeatedly that it was unnecessary, they continued all the same.

  “Commander Ernol,” one of the men said, coughing through the thick cloud of dust, “we must back off. We cannot stay here for long. It is not safe.”

  Ernol grunted, shoving away the hands attempting to heal him with Reverse Healing. “Must I tell you again?” he snapped. “I am staying until the dust settles. And get these hands away. It is frustrating.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t,” the man replied. “We are tasked with restoring your arm before your system naturally heals without it. At that point, your arm will be long gone.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Must be that Accordant lady in the council.”

  “Commander Ernol, you’ve been exhausted for many days. Get some rest. Once this situation settles, we will report on your condition.”

  “Alright, do whatever you must,” he sighed, finally conceding. “To be blunt, I’ve been an abomination. I’ve brought ten of my men down—all because of what? All because of some… child? I’ve got to be— Damn. Maybe I am tired.”

  “Do not worry. We all experience it when serving a ruthless order,” another added. “But as said, let us assist in your rest for the coming days. You need—”

  The man felt a sudden tug and shut his mouth. Facing his teammate, he noticed the man staring outward. So were the others. Ernol followed their gaze… and froze.

  He would have spoken, would have intervened, wanting to finally release everything bottled up from nights without sleep. But through the thick clouds, they noticed a shadow approaching. A small one. Roughly the height of a child, reaching only a man’s upper stomach. Soft footsteps followed. And most importantly, the shadow came from the center of the fallen land.

  When it drew close enough, Ernol saw Vynelor.

  The child walked calmly—dead calm. Ernol felt unsettled, only now registering how battered he was. His clothes were torn with scratches and holes; his body was riddled with bruises, blood, and marks. His posture was unnaturally straight, his hair disheveled, lending him an eerie presence. Ernol watched for a moment as the boy passed by, until he caught a clearer look and recognized him as the same child he had fought earlier.

  The commander was about to call out, rage slowly reigniting, his hand ready to seize the boy’s arm. “Y—”

  “Where do you find health runes?” the boy asked. His voice was eerily steady, completely mismatched with his appearance.

  The group exchanged glances, uncertain. A couple of them stepped back. Ernol answered, brows furrowing. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

  Silence followed.

  Ernol’s brows eased—then stiffened again, perhaps too much. He met the child’s eyes, his head half-lowered. They were dark. Unnaturally so. No tremor. No flicker. Just open. Something about them made a commander who led armies take a step back.

  “The… closest available rune is at the borderland between the rich and the poor,” he said quietly, choosing his words with care. “If that place is also down, then the nearest one would be in the land of the poor. W–with a cost, too.”

  The child walked away without looking back—no thanks, no acknowledgment. Ernol remained silent, as did the men still trying to heal him. None of them spoke. They only watched as the child passed, carrying something they dared not question, before disappearing into the fog.

  In the district bordering the rich and the poor, people crowded together. Streets buzzed with frantic chatter, and the walls could barely contain them. The gate dividing the lands remained shut, keeping the rich from crossing over. On the other side, slaves lingered in sparse numbers, listening as the rich panicked and begged for the gate to be lowered.

  Shops and booths hastily pulled in their goods, guarding against the chaos brought on by reckless attempts to escape. Among them was a store that dealt in mid- to high-grade runes. The woman behind the counter kept a stern eye on the mass pressing forward. She even kicked a man in the face to drive him back, fully aware he would steal if given the chance.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Questions flew from every direction. Lies spread faster than truth. From the collapse of the royal tower to the Throne’s Elect, the decree, the second Throne’s Elect, the end of the decree, and the fall of the floating lands—this convergence became fertile ground for rumor and fear. Some even asked who Luminar was, having forgotten their sovereign entirely after her ten-year absence.

  Soldiers, regardless of faction, worked to suppress panic and calm the people. Even so, most could only observe, intervening only when disturbances grew severe. Anyone attempting to leave the districts and add to the chaos was quickly shoved back into the crowd, herded into controlled disorder.

  But then one soldier turned and noticed a figure emerging from the dust clouds. A small figure—likely a child.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “What are you doing out there, kid?! Get over here! Is there anyone else with—”

  He fell silent.

  The child stepped fully out of the dust. The soldier froze, staring at Vynelor as he approached in a horrifying state.

  Another soldier looked at the man who had suddenly gone quiet. Then he turned—and fell silent as well. More soldiers followed. Then the civilians. One by one, they all turned to face the child, curiosity flickering briefly before collapsing into confusion and weight. Shouts and cries faded as more eyes settled on the unknown figure walking toward them.

  Vynelor’s gaze stayed fixed on the ground, head half lowered, posture rigidly straight. His shadow stretched ahead of him, forming the shape of a crown upon his head as it spilled into the crowd. Soldiers and civilians alike stepped aside, instinctively making way. Each time someone met his eyes, something compelled them into silence. There was something behind that stare—a system that whispered authority greater than any soldier present.

  Telekinetic Magic ? Lv. 36

  Incantation Magic ? Lv. 33

  Paincallused ? Lv. 8

  Even if, by number, he was below some, no one truly knew what was going on in his mind. There was no cue that permitted interaction. All they could do… was move aside.

  Vynelor walked and walked, the crown splitting the people down the middle. When he spotted the booth that sold runes, he adjusted his steps toward the woman behind it. Those still lingering moved away, leaving the vendor exposed under the collective gaze, an unnerving pressure settling on her.

  But the woman had rehearsed moments like this. She knew that when she started this business, trouble would follow. In times of unrest, eyes always turned toward those with resources. This was her moment to demonstrate experience amid intensity. So when the child reached the counter, she said confidently, “What does the little boy want from my collection? You should bring your parents if you want to buy anything.”

  Vynelor did not react. His eyes stayed lowered. “Give me two health runes.”

  The woman sighed, tapping her fingers against the table. “Look, boy. It’s more complicated than just asking for health runes. You don’t know anything about grades, do you? You ought to—”

  Her words died.

  Her heart dropped. Cold crawled across her skin. It felt like a jumpscare—like a predator emerging from the brush, ready to strike. Her hand flew to her chest, unsure why terror had seized her so suddenly. All she knew was that it began the moment the child lifted his head, and his eyes met hers.

  Blood streamed down his face like tears. Hair spiked and wild. Eyes dark. Pupils constricted. Breath calm—almost absent. Lips sealed. No smile. No frown. Just presence.

  The woman stumbled back. Without breaking eye contact, she lost all composure and rushed behind the counter, grabbing at pouches filled with runes. Her hands fumbled for the highest-grade ones she could reach. Each time she seized a pouch, she turned back to the child, afraid the predator would lunge if she looked away. She grabbed a second, then spun around again and hurled both onto the counter. “T–there! That’s what I have!”

  She braced herself, breath ragged. The runes glistened before him. He looked at them, took them into his hands, and turned away without a word. The crowd watched as he walked back the way he came, into the thick dust clouds that were slowly settling.

  All anyone could remember was the weight carried in the boy’s eyes. And the last thing they saw, as his figure vanished, was the shadow of a crown lingering in his absence.

  …

  It was an empty field—wind rushing, dust blowing—with no one in sight. The air was dry; even a shallow breath filled the lungs with grit. The land burned with heat, and the sun blurred above, casting a murky orange glow through the storm. Vynelor was in a deep trance. Thought would not form. All he did was walk.

  Buildings faded away. Roads disappeared beneath sand. People vanished. No life lingered nearby. Yet within the clouds, he heard screams—voices, magic—sounds he did not recognize, but which resonated with him deeply. It felt like a land layered with mourning from ten years ago. The winds spiraled around him like a steady whirlwind, moving without resistance.

  Walking lost all sense of time. He forgot how long he had traveled this pathless road toward a destination that did not exist. Dust-laden winds denied him rest. Perhaps a day had passed. Perhaps a year. Whatever the truth, the child was no longer walking; he was being carried forward.

  The two runes were gone from his hands. He could not recall when he had brought them to Armiton to heal Luminar and Donnor. He remembered, faintly, Luminar’s order—restore the Thallions—issued just as the land fell. But that memory belonged to a distant past. Now, he walked an endless road with no one beside him. And that was all he did. Walk.

  He knew RrodKa was rebuilding. To his left and right, he heard homes rising, structures forming from the ground. In the vast emptiness, he caught sounds of life—voices, clanging pots, soldiers training. Time moved forward. People aged, their voices deepened. But the child remained a child.

  RrodKa expanded its reach. Armiton returned to order. The royal tower and headquarters were rebuilt. But the child remained a child. And the child continued to walk.

  There he went—toward a horizon unseen, where no one would follow, the shadow of a crown trailing behind him. No matter how far he traveled, no matter how much time passed, the day would never end.

  And the door closed behind him.

  ...

  Time after the Second Overturn passed, and the day of the first anniversary of the overthrow—and the establishment of a new crown—arrived. It had been a busy year. With the aid of the newly crowned Queen and the strength of her people, RrodKa bore no visible scars of the past. Armiton HQ and the royal tower were rebuilt. The new tower stood shorter than the former, yet it still dominated the land, the eye of the kingdom. By the time the last cracked brick was replaced, the day of celebration had come.

  For this anniversary, the Queen of RrodKa ordered the soldiers to line up before the royal tower and pay tribute to the god residing within. The lands were quiet—rich and poor alike—and no sounds of festivity rang out. Balconies filled with onlookers gazing below. Those in the streets watched in silence as lines of soldiers marched through. And there, at the center of the formation, Luminar Thallion walked with elegant composure, dressed in white, her presence fully restored—the Queen of RrodKa.

  She crossed into Armiton. Thousands of soldiers stood in precise formation, posture rigid and unwavering. Some bore banners of RrodKa’s new flag, marked with glyphs of two stars, the larger positioned above the smaller.

  The Queen passed through as the marching soldiers parted for her. She moved along the brick floor toward the entrance of the royal tower. There, the five commanders waited on one side, while the remaining half of the council stood opposite them. All observed her with measured calm.

  Donnor stood among the commanders, watching Luminar approach with an unreadable expression. Ernol stood beside him, his arm fully restored. No trace of tension or malice lingered between them. Over the past year, the instability that once defined Ernol had faded. Now, they stood on equal footing, watching the new order pass before them.

  At the threshold, she stopped and pushed open the massive doors. They groaned loudly as she entered. Then they closed behind her.

  Luminar stepped into the empty lobby, its halls branching outward. She continued forward, reaching a stairway that led to another, smaller door adorned with elegant patterns. She opened it and ascended the spiraling stairs. Her bare feet pressed against polished stone, the chill seeping into her skin. Up she climbed until she reached the final doors, metal framed in solid gold.

  With one final push, she opened them and crossed the threshold.

  Inside stood the throne.

  The roundtable was gone, removed from the dark chamber. Only a long carpet remained, stretching forward. Above, a window cast golden light directly onto the throne, causing it to gleam and scatter brilliance across the room. With each step she took, her figure grew brighter.

  She had worn a solemn smile since the beginning of her march. Here, within the throne room, she exhaled softly and closed her eyes. When she stood a few steps from the dais, she stopped and knelt.

  Both knees touched the floor. She bowed her head, white hair spilling forward. Her hands lowered gracefully to her sides, fingertips brushing the stone.

  “What a beautiful fragrance,” Luminar said, her voice gentle. “Ah, what a day—to feel that I am home again, worshiping my god with reverence. And there you are, my god. I have always been your servant. I hope the throne is to your liking. It was built by me, and only me.”

  She lifted her head, eyes fixed on the throne. “At your service, my lord.”

  Upon the throne sat Vynelor.

  His legs were drawn close, arms wrapped around his knees. He had grown slightly; his features were more refined. Yet beneath the light, his face remained cloaked in shadow. Within it, his eyes were dull. His breathing was steady. No tears fell.

  For many days, the boy had stared at a single point on the carpet. He could not remember the last time he had looked elsewhere. Seated upon the throne, he did not care for its brilliance, nor for the truth that he was a god of a kingdom.

  All he thought about—

  —was continuing to walk that cloudy path toward the horizon.

  End of Part 13

  To be continued