Crownbearer

The fortress's basement is dark. The kind of darkness that seeps in from disuse, filling a space that before merely lacked light. The sort of darkness cultivated by things that lurk beyond the edges of this world, sapping away at the borders of light. A darkness that causes you to stub your toes on walls constantly, while it mocks you the whole time.

Within that darkness work those who must hide, with their projects and aspirations deemed unsavoury by those dragons held back by worthless morals. There they plot, confident that none will intrude into these ruined and crumbling halls, that their crimes will go unseen and their maniacal laughs will go unheard.

But even those twisted souls fear what lurks in the darkest depths. Behind caved-in passageways and rotting rubble lies the realm of those who are trapped, a world of endless wandering and ceaseless isolation. Nobody in this prison deserved their fate, but they are trapped all the same, walls and wards having kept them in until they became as corrupted as the rest.

Some were merely unfortunate, exiled or disposed of after getting in the way of a more powerful dragon. Others are the shadows of those who died, whether by the cruelty or war or some awful tragedy. There are also the unwanted, products of failed summonings and dubious experiments, hidden away to save both face and lives. And in the deepest, darkest place of all, there lies a king's tomb.

---

In ancient times, there was a king. Regal and golden, his reign was harsh, but fair. He had power and position most dragons could only dream of, and yet he sought more. When he heard of artisans who could create artefacts of godlike power, he nearly emptied his treasury to get his claws on one.

The day of his second coronation was celebrated across his kingdom. The smaller clans merely declared a holiday, while at his palace festivities had been under preparation for months. Courtiers and royalty attended in droves, all looking to craft lasting bonds between themselves and what was sure to become Sornieth's most powerful kingdom. But the king had no eyes for them, only interested in the crown on its golden plinth, the secret to his eternal glory.

When it was finally time, the cornets played, the crowd cheered, and four pages slowly carried the golden plinth to his throne. The king could barely hide his greed, but he still had the poise fitting a lord of the realm to hold him back. Instead of snatching the crown from its plinth, he slowly lifted it to his head with grace, savouring his last moments as a mere mortal. When it touched his head, it was everything he had dreamed of. Strength, immortality, magical power: all flooded his body at once.

While at the same time his soul departed it.

---

From a safe place away from the smouldering ruins, the survivors agreed that this was a classic tale of the follies of greed. It should have been obvious to those who made the crown that they were using powers beyond their control, and that the crown would become sentient in its own right clear as day. The artisans who made the crown surely knew, for they had seemingly vanished off the face of Sornieth. And as for the poor king himself, not one dragon thought the monster that had ravaged the kingdom was him. He was gone, and all that was left was a vessel for whatever malicious entity was formed from the crown.

Over mere weeks the rest of kingdom crumbled, the Crownbearer destroying everything in its sight. Many died trying to stop it, but the crown and its bearer were as invincible as promised. Many thought the entire world would fall before it, until an arcane dragon realized that it could be tricked.

The Crownbearer could break any wall, but as long as no wall lead to freedom, that was okay. So it was lured to a distant island, the few remaining palace escapees acting as bait. There, it was trapped in an endless labyrinth, shifting walls and utter darkness masking any path to escape. That maze was then sealed away, underneath even more twisting tunnels. A fortress was then commissioned to be built on top of that, under some other pretense so that none could know where the Crownbearer was sealed and foolishly try to release it.

None were truly satisfied by this, but it was the best they could do. All that was left to do was hope, hope that such a horror could be left forgotten until the end of time.

---

Those on the surface whisper rumours of what lurks below, exaggerated stories of dangerous monsters and forbidden magic. The only remnant of the full truth is a lone bard, one who flies the fine line between life and death, freedom and captivity. Her song pierces the darkness, a wavering bridge from her prison to where she once called home. Eventually it will lead her to freedom, but depending on what follows her out of the darkness...

There might not be much freedom left to go around.