Volume 1 - Chapter 10 - The Dark Throne - Epilogue

Epilogue – Part I
The core’s light spilled brightly across the sky, gleaming over the battered rooftops of Bernswick Village. Dust still clung to the air from the chaos of recent days, but life pressed on — villagers moved about cautiously, carrying baskets, sweeping broken streets, whispering to one another as though afraid the silence might shatter.

Jack, Quinn, and Lana finally reached the village gates, their weary steps carrying them down the familiar path. Jack exhaled, stretching his back with a groan. “Alright,” he muttered, forcing a grin, “we’re here. Let’s head to my warehouse before my arms fall off.”

The trio hauled Jack’s collected bags of shards into the dim, dusty building. Inside, Jack dropped his cargo with a loud clatter, leaning against the wall as though the weight of both goods and journey had finally caught up to him. Quinn and Lana set their heavy bags down as well, their shoulders sagging. They collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard, exhaustion written across their faces.

Quinn broke the silence. “Now that we’re back, we need to report to the guild immediately… well, after we rest for a bit and maybe eat some food.”

Jack waved dismissively, already sorting through his haul. “That’s your job, not mine. I’m just a shard hunter — what happens afterward isn’t my concern. I need to sell these shards and start making coin again.”

With that, he turned away, the glittering fragments in his hands reflecting the dull light of lanterns.

Quinn and Lana exchanged glances before stepping outside. Quinn adjusted his cloak, preparing to make for the guild, but Lana lingered. Her hands twitched restlessly, and her green eyes darted toward the southern street.

“Can you handle it alone?” she asked, her voice soft, but firm. “I… I need to see my family. They must be worried sick.”

Quinn noticed the strain in her movements, the unease hidden beneath her smile. He nodded. “Alright. I’ll take care of it.”

They parted ways, and Quinn trudged down the village streets alone. On the way, he stopped at a small street stall and bought some food, slipping a few shards from his pocket to pay. As he chewed, he told himself it was his fair share — after all, he had hauled those shards all the way here. The cobblestones felt heavier beneath his boots, his body still worn from the horrors he had survived.

The guild doors groaned open, swallowing him inside. A short while later, he emerged, shoulders slumped, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He muttered to himself as he walked, rubbing his stomach. “It’s done… finally done. I can’t believe I survived all that. All I want now is a warm meal and a bed. No more farming. Not for a while.” He had stolen enough from Jack’s bag to live off for a few weeks if he was careful.

But as his weary thoughts drifted to food and rest, a shadow loomed. His steps slowed. He looked up — and froze.

Two massive mechanical golems barred the street, their hulking frames rising taller than the rooftops. Their crimson-lit eyes fixed on him, their gears whirring low and hungry.

Quinn stammered, his voice breaking. “Y–Young Lord Bernswick? What… what are you doing here?”

Standing between the constructs was Charles Bernswick himself. His smug arrogance was untouched, though one arm hung uselessly at his side, bound in a heavy sling. The healing orbs had not been strong enough to mend the damage fully, leaving the limb crippled for now. His other hand rested on a cane, though the venom in his eyes made it clear his pride was far from broken.

Charles’s voice was cold, dripping with restrained fury. “So. You returned. Tell me… where is the man who took that quest? The one who ran off with that little demi-human bitch. Where is he?”

Quinn stumbled backward, his legs shaking until he dropped to the cobblestones with a thud. “I… I don’t know!”

Charles’s lips curled into a sneer. “Then who does? I heard you didn’t come back alone.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You’d better spit out everything you know, or I’ll make sure you disappear before sunrise. Golems — take him.”

The towering constructs reached down, cold iron fingers clamping around Quinn’s arms. He struggled weakly, terror etched across his face as he was hauled off his feet like a ragdoll.

Villagers scattered into doorways and shadows, afraid to intervene, as the young lord’s entourage dragged Quinn away.

The golems’ heavy steps echoed through the narrow street, carrying him toward the looming silhouette of Bernswick Manor at the top of the hill.

Epilogue – Part II

Far from Bernswick, in a land untouched by village lights, there stood a vast fortress of black stone, rising at the center of the RUIN capital, Vaugrim. Its towers clawed toward the void sky, and its halls were cloaked in silence, save for the hum of ancient machines buried deep within the walls. This place was known only in whispers as the Dark Throne.

The throne room stretched vast and cold, its pristine stone bricks gleaming faintly beneath scattered beams of artificial light. Though it bore the grandeur of a medieval castle, strange technology jutted from the floor and walls — consoles, cables, and glowing plates — fusing the archaic with the futuristic. At its center lay the throne itself: not a carved seat, but the colossal hand of a buried machine. The metallic fingers jutted from the ground, the wrist vanishing into the depths below, as though some titanic construct had been frozen in the act of rising. Cushioned with furs, silks, and pillows, it now served as a seat of power.

Upon it lounged Eve, a beautiful yet fearsome figure draped in crimson organic armor. Horns curved back from her head, her tail lazily swayed, and her eyes gleamed with predatory delight. Holographic projections flickered to life around her, cast from mechanical plates inlaid into the stone. Three figures appeared within the light.

Eve’s voice, rich and cold, broke the silence. “So… it has been a hundred years since our last meeting. Tell me — how is progress? This boredom is killing me.”

A towering figure stepped forward in the projection — Cyteck, a hulking cyborg whose plated frame hissed with steam. Tubes pulsed with blue energy along his arms, and claws flexed idly as he spoke. “We are nearly finished following Zekkren’s blueprints. With the slaves working the forges, construction advanced quicker than expected. The final touches are being placed as we speak. We will soon be ready to activate the engine, granting us control over the planet’s core. Then we can move it to the main workshop. We await Zekkren’s final adjustments.”

The slim synthetic scientist — Zekkren — stepped into focus, his lab coat swaying lightly, crystalline green core glowing within his chest. His tone was measured, cold, and precise. “The energy storage is at capacity. Our technology cannot push it further, and the rare ore used in its design is depleted. No other planet has yielded its equal. All that remains is to fill the soul capacitor to its limit. That should be simple, given the abundance of available souls within RUIN. For now, I am triple-checking every circuit. I will not proceed until everything is perfect.”

Eve sighed, stretching languidly across her throne. “Then speed it up. I want this over with. I have been idle too long, waiting for the day we can set our god free.”

Zekkren’s crystalline eyes flared. “No. This is delicate work. I will not rush it. If we fail now, there will be no second chance.”

A rasping voice interrupted, low and ancient. Balmorg, his upper body cloaked in heavy robes, hovered into view. Below his chest there was no flesh, only streams of strange yellow energy that kept him afloat. “Pay her no mind. She doesn’t understand the craft. Without your technology and that of your kin, we would still be searching for a way to breach the space-warping seal that cages our true power.”

Eve’s lips curled into a sharp smile. “Very well. Then tell me — how fares the other project? The search for a vessel strong enough to contain what even I cannot hold? This body is weak. Every few months it rots, and I must replace it. Even if we shatter the seal, we cannot reclaim our power without a body capable of surviving it.”

Balmorg’s withered voice carried through the chamber. “We have farms of women — millions across races — bred with the fragments of that man’s DNA. We even attempt to alter the embryos by hand. Yet the shell you wear now remains the most stable we’ve produced. We still cannot replicate how that boy survived carrying your power in the past.”

Eve’s clawed fingers tightened against her throne. “I cannot fathom why it succeeded then, and not now.”

Balmorg’s energy flickered dimly. “Nor can we. Perhaps luck, or some unknown force. Too bad he is dead. At least his remains proved useful — fragments of his body recovered for study. Even now, we inject his DNA into living subjects. Most perish, some go mad and become warped mutants. Those that endure we mold into soldiers. They cannot serve as your vessel, but their strength protects our assets.”

Eve waved the thought aside. “Enough of this. What of Elvar? Has he been found?”

Cyteck’s metallic voice rumbled. “No. We know he crossed into this dimension with us, but we have heard nothing since. Perhaps he remains trapped on Earth with Luin.”

Eve’s eyes narrowed. “And Rhys?”

“Spreading,” Cyteck growled. “He sows madness, corrupting minds. He preys on humans and fairies alike across the lower plates. His corruption feeds on fear, hate, despair. He has planted thousands of storage devices on countless worlds, harvesting the darkness he cultivates. We will not repeat Earth’s mistake — a planet drowned too quickly in corruption stagnates. This time, the growth will be steady… sustainable.”

Eve rose slightly, her presence filling the hall, eyes alight with cruel anticipation. “Good. When the time draws near, we will welcome our god into this dimension. And then… everything will become a part of him.”

END - Volume 1

This is Ashfell.
If you made it to the end of Volume 1, thank you for reading.

Originally, this story was going to be an RPG I was building in RPG Maker, but during a two-week vacation I said, “fuck it,” and decided to turn it into a novel instead. This is my first time writing, so I’m sure the story has its rough spots. Eventually, I’ll go back, clean things up, and expand on Volume 1’s chapters. If the project gains enough support, maybe I’ll even publish it as a book someday.

If you notice problems or if something feels off in the chapters, I’d love your feedback.

As for the story itself — this is just the beginning. Before I stopped working on the game, I had already completed over 75% of the plot. That means creating chapters now is easier, since I have a rough draft already written. The hardest part is balancing it with my job, where I work 60–75 hours a week. Because of that, releases for Volume 2 will be much slower.

Thanks again for reading and supporting the start of this journey.

— Ashfell