The journey from the Vault was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  The birds had stopped singing. The wind held its breath. Even the forest seemed to watch them as they descended the ridge, each step away from the Vault of Karma pressing on their souls like invisible chains.

  Arjun walked at the front, eyes fixed forward but mind tangled in a storm.

  Three thrones.

  Three manifestations of his soul.

  But with each trial, he felt himself changing—like every choice carved new truths into his bones. He was no longer the orphan boy of Bhargava. Nor was he yet the ruler fate seemed to demand.

  He was something in between—a force becoming.

  Behind him, Ayra limped slightly, her leg bruised from the statue battle. Elaran muttered prayers, likely to his forest gods. Raaka cracked his knuckles with a strange gleam in his eyes, half in thrill, half in concern.

  They had survived something ancient. But the world had shifted in their absence.

  At the foot of the hill, a traveler awaited.

  She was cloaked in red, standing beside a gray horse with burning eyes. Her presence twisted the air, as if time itself hesitated around her.

  “Who are you?” Arjun called, stopping ten feet away.

  The woman didn’t respond. She pulled back her hood, revealing a face tattooed with swirling patterns—Divine Marks.

  Ayra inhaled sharply. “A Karmic Oracle.”

  Elaran fell to one knee. “She sees the threads. All of them.”

  Raaka just reached for his axe.

  The Oracle raised a hand. “Peace, warriors. I am not here to fight.”

  Her voice was melodic, calm—yet it stirred something deep in Arjun’s chest, a resonance, as if she were speaking to his soul rather than his ears.

  “You have claimed the third throne,” she said. “The cycle has begun again.”

  Arjun narrowed his eyes. “What cycle?”

  The Oracle tilted her head. “The Cycle of Nine. Nine thrones. Nine tribes. Nine kings who failed before you. Each time, the one who ascends draws the wrath of the Forgotten.”

  The wind picked up suddenly, whipping dust across the ground.

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  “The Forgotten?” Ayra asked.

  The Oracle nodded. “Those who were erased from karma. Ancient rulers, cursed by the gods. When the Karmic Throne awakens, so too do they.”

  Raaka spat. “Let them come. We’ve fought worse.”

  But Arjun knew better.

  This was bigger than any beast, bigger than any throne.

  These... were enemies who existed outside the law of cause and effect. No karma bound them. They were not just dangerous—they were unnatural.

  “Why tell me this?” Arjun asked. “Why warn me?”

  The Oracle stepped closer. “Because they already know who you are, Arjun of Bhargava. And they are watching.”

  She reached into her robe and pulled out a shard of obsidian.

  “Take this. When the first Forgotten arrives, this will burn with black fire.”

  Arjun took it cautiously. As his fingers closed around it, a whisper laced through his mind—a scream drowned in eternity.

  The Oracle turned to leave.

  “But heed this, Chosen of the Throne,” she said, mounting her horse. “Power is not the goal. It is only the door. Behind it lies judgment—for you, and for the world.”

  With that, she vanished into a blink of red smoke.

  The silence returned, heavier than before.

  ---

  That night, they made camp in a shallow grove. No fire. Just cold rations and colder thoughts.

  Ayra cleaned her blades in silence. Raaka kept watch, perched like a statue. Elaran knelt in prayer, but even his soft words sounded brittle in the air.

  Arjun sat with his back to a tree, the obsidian shard in his hand.

  He turned it over slowly. It pulsed faintly now, as if reacting to his touch. He wondered if the Forgotten were already near—hiding behind trees, watching from shadows.

  He closed his eyes.

  And he dreamed.

  In the dream, he stood on a battlefield of ash.

  Black skies stretched above. The ground was cracked, burning in places. The corpses of warriors—hundreds, maybe thousands—littered the field. All of them bore his face.

  At the center stood a throne of bones, and upon it sat a figure cloaked in silence.

  Arjun stepped closer.

  The figure looked up.

  Its face was his—but older, twisted, corrupted.

  “I am Arjun the Fallen,” it said. “The one who took all thrones and broke the world.”

  Arjun drew his blade.

  The Fallen rose and laughed. “Too late, boy. You already started the chain.”

  The world crumbled around him, sucked into a spiral of black stars.

  He woke with a start.

  The shard in his hand was glowing.

  Not just glowing—burning.

  Black fire licked its surface.

  Ayra leapt up, blades out. “What is it?!”

  Elaran gasped. “The shard—it’s activated.”

  Raaka snarled, already pulling on his armor.

  Then they heard it.

  A horn.

  Not from man or beast. It was a sound older than language—a call of reckoning.

  In the distance, atop a nearby hill, stood a figure wrapped in a black cloak. Behind him marched a small army—faceless, hollow-eyed, weapons made of bone and shadow.

  The Forgotten had arrived.

  ---

  The battle began at dawn.

  They barely had time to prepare. Arjun shouted orders, directing Ayra and Raaka to flank while Elaran raised defensive wards.

  The enemy moved like whispers—fast, silent, lethal. Blades met flesh. Magic clashed with ancient curses.

  Arjun stood at the center, the Throne Mark on his back burning.

  > [New Ability Unlocked: Will of the Thousand]

  [Summon Echo: Arjun the Seeker – Duration: 60 seconds]

  A phantom stepped beside him—cloaked, eyes glowing, wielding twin sabers.

  Together, they carved through the shadows.

  But then—the cloaked figure on the hill moved.

  He floated down, black flames surrounding his feet. As he landed, the very air around him twisted.

  > [Enemy Identified: Forgotten General – Ashak the Hollow]

  [Threat Level: Unknown]

  Arjun faced him, sword drawn.

  Ashak removed his hood.

  His face was smooth, featureless—erased.

  “You wear karma like a badge,” Ashak said, voice hollow. “But I was the first to break it.”

  He raised his hand.

  A storm of black tendrils shot toward Arjun. He dodged, barely, and countered with a pulse of karmic fire.

  The two forces collided—one rooted in destiny, the other in oblivion.

  And the world shuddered.

  The battle had begun.

  And it would not end without blood.