The Last Dawn of the Dawnborn
The crown did not ask Aurelia to kneel.
It showed her why the throne had been left behind.
Before her eyes, the Hall of Empty Thrones awakened with a memory older than the city itself. Ancient rulers turned their golden faces toward her. A forgotten civilization rose from silence. And at the end of the hall, beneath a sun that should not exist, the Dawnborn began their final march.
Not to war.
Not to death.
But beyond the world they had built.
Aurelia tried to step back.
The memory held her hand.
And somewhere in the golden storm, the silent figure watched as if reliving a wound that had never healed.