The young man stood alone beneath the northern sky.

Snow fell around him, but none of it touched his body.

He looked toward Eryndor.

The distant kingdom was glowing beneath the morning sun.

"So," he murmured.

"The old world survived."

Behind him, seven black crowns floated above the snow.

Each crown represented one of the ancient Shadow Kingdoms.

The young man reached toward the nearest one.

It flew into his hand.

The moment his fingers touched it, a voice whispered inside his mind.

"Choose your kingdom."

He smiled.

"I don't want a kingdom."

The crown cracked.

"I want the throne."

---

Back in Eryndor, Lucien woke before sunrise.

For several...