—
The old throne hummed beneath Ren's boots, the mechanical hum rising into a full chorus inside his skull.
The Clockwork Crown now floated behind his head, spinning like a halo of jagged machinery, ancient scripts glowing faint red around each rotating piece.
He stood still, letting the weight of a thousand old kings press down on him.
And then…
He smiled.
For the first time since the orphan pits, Ren Ashveil felt alive.
---
Behind him, Mira pulled herself to her feet. Blood stained her side, but she didn't care.
"Ren… this isn't you."
But was it?
He didn't answer.
The hum grew louder. Louder. And then—
A new sound broke through the Garden's rusted bones:
Bells.
Ancient bells, ringing through the air like war drums.
The Lords of Caelum were calling their armies.
---
Far above…
On the shining towers of the Upper Gardens, sirens screamed. Massive metallic gates opened, revealing the true military might of the Lords.
Columns of armored mechs moved into formation. Airships ignited engines, swarming like hornets from hive-shaped hangars. Soldiers in black enamel armor lined up by the thousands, rifles clicking, helmets sealing shut.
The people of the Upper Gardens—wealthy, soft, afraid—gathered on balconies to watch.
One Lord chuckled softly to himself. "Send everything. Make the Garden burn."
Another Lord murmured, "The Ashveil boy will die like the rest."
But the eldest didn't smile.
He knew.
He knew they weren't facing a rebel anymore.
They were facing a king.
---
Back below, in the core of the Iron Heart…
Ren raised one hand.
A thread of crimson light extended from his palm, running through the air like wire.
It connected to something.
And then…
The Forgotten Titan stopped tearing at the Wardens.
It turned.
It looked at Ren.
And it knelt.
Mira's mouth opened in disbelief.
"You're controlling it…"
Ren's voice was soft but dangerous. "No. It's recognizing me."
---
The Crown's ancient symbols flashed, gears spinning, engines deep in the walls of the Garden awakening. Rusted machines groaned, pistons exhaled steam, conveyor belts began to move after centuries of silence.
Ren was no longer just a fugitive.
He was now the Architect's heir.
The Broken King of the Machine.
---
"Ren, you don't have to go this far," Mira whispered. "We can leave. Forget Caelum. Go beyond the Gardens."
Ren's eyes, filled with rotating glyphs, stared past her.
"No."
He lifted his hand again, fingers twisting through invisible strands of code only he could see.
"You don't understand."
"This Garden isn't the prison."
"This Garden… is the weapon."
---
Above, the airships moved in formation, charging their weapons.
The mechs prepared their cannons.
Thousands of troops waited for the signal to fire.
The High Lords sat on their thrones of crystal and gold, watching with calm eyes.
"Begin," the eldest whispered.
A signal flared across the sky.
---
The first artillery shells fell—
—and never hit.
Ancient defense systems, long thought dead, awoke.
Shimmering crimson domes flared to life above the lower Gardens, absorbing the blasts. Arcane-tech cannons—forgotten by time—rose from beneath rusted grates and opened fire.
Plasma beams tore through the descending mechs, slicing them in half before they could even stabilize.
Ren didn't flinch.
He simply walked toward the ruined exit, the Forgotten Titan lumbering behind him, its rusted chains dragging sparks along the steel floor.
---
Mira followed, weak but unwilling to leave him.
"You'll kill them all."
Ren said nothing for a long time.
Finally: "They deserve it."
Mira looked up at him, broken. "Even the innocent?"
Ren's jaw clenched.
Was there anyone innocent left?
Did it even matter?
---
Back in the Citadel…
The Lords watched the slaughter of their first wave.
Only the eldest remained calm. He raised a gloved hand—and the others fell silent.
"This is not a rebellion," he said. "This is a war of succession."
The others looked at him, confused.
He smiled.
"We made him. And now we'll see if our creation will kneel… or conquer."
---
Ren emerged into the light, the ruined streets of the Lower Gardens ahead of him, smoke curling like black veins into the sky.
Behind him, the machines of old began to rise. Towering, rusted mechs repaired themselves, ancient AI systems flickering back to life.
Ren didn't have an army.
He had a graveyard of titans.
And now… they were his.
The Bells of Caelum rang louder, calling for war.
And Ren, the Broken King, smiled beneath the glow of his mechanical crown.
The Lords had forgotten one thing:
You don't bury a king.
Not without digging up a war.
---
[TO BE CONTINUED…]
---