They came in the dead of night.
No horns. No messengers. Just the snap of magic in the air and the scent of iron drifting on the wind.
Kaelra was crouched by the creek, hands bloodied from skinning a hare, when the silence hit. The forest went still—not just quiet, wrong. Like something ancient had exhaled, and everything with a heartbeat held its breath.
She looked up.
They stood on the ridge. Five of them. Cloaked in slate-gray robes with silver stitching down their sleeves—Sanctum emissaries.
No one sent Sanctum into the Wilds.
They didn't cross the borders. Didn't soil their boots on lawless dirt. Unless it was important. Unless it was final.
Kaelra rose slowly, knife still in hand. "You're far from your marble towers," she said, voice low, steady. "Lose your way, priest?"
The tallest stepped forward. Hood down. A branded mouth. Burnt shut with golden thread. His voice came through her mind.
Kaelra of the Wilds. You have been chosen.
Her stomach clenched. Not fear. Recognition.
"You're too late," she hissed. "I'm not part of any faction. I don't follow your Rite."
The priest didn't blink. Didn't flinch. He lifted his hand.
The magic struck like lightning.
Kaelra dropped to her knees, choking on fire and light. Her neck burned—runes seared into her skin like molten chains wrapping around her neck like an unwanted collar. A mark formed in swirling black ink: a twisted crown, veined through with flame.
"You carry the Veinwild. You will fight in the Ascension. You will kneel, or you will burn."
And just like that... they vanished.
No fanfare. No explanation.
Just her.
Alone. Branded. Chosen.
Marked for war.
BINABASA MO ANG
Crown of Ruin
FantasyIn a fractured world ruled by five brutal factions, Kaelra, a fierce survivor from the lawless Nocten Wilds, is chosen to compete in the Rite of Ascension-a deadly trial meant to crown the next ruler. Savage-born and scorned by all, she's expected t...
