The Hollow Crown of Aldric

The Hollow Crown of Aldric is not a beautiful thing. It is iron, blackened, seven uneven points rising from a band that has never fit any head comfortably. The iron is pitted, scarred, as if it has been through fire and water and worse. The inside of the band is inscribed with words so small and so old that no living scholar has read them � but those who have worn the crown report that the words are not meant to be read with the eyes. King Aldric put the crown on during the Fall of Greyvast. The city was drowning � literally drowning, the mist rising from the coast like a tide that would not stop, and with it the Hollowed, the Grief-Echoes, the slow corruption of everything the city had been. Aldric had no army. He had no allies. He had only the crown, and the mist, and a god who was listening. He made the pact on his knees in the throne room, seawater at his waist, the crown cold against his brow. Mourne accepted. Greyvast fell anyway. The crown was lost in the evacuation. Some say it sank with the throne room. Some say a Tide-Weaver salvaged it and sold it south, where it passed through hands that did not know what they were holding. The Oathbound Remnants have been searching for it since the day Greyvast fell. They believe that if they can find the crown, they can study the pact � perhaps break it, perhaps release the souls Mourne claimed. The Pale Dominion has a different view. They believe the crown is a trap, that Mourne put his voice in it deliberately, and that wearing it is the fastest path to becoming a Pale-Touched. Both sides are probably right. Three known people have worn the crown since Aldric. The first was a Tide-Weaver diver who found it in a submerged armory. He surfaced, put it on, and did not speak again for three days. When he finally spoke, he recited the names of Greyvast's dead in order, without pause, for seven hours. He died that night, his soul fully eroded. The second was an Arch-Seer of the Pale Dominion who believed she could purify it. She lasted two weeks. The third � a Greyvasti elder who refused to give up the search � wore it for less than an hour before removing it, her eyes silver-white. She has not spoken since. She writes, when she writes at all, in a language no one recognizes. The crown sits in a locked box in Mournwall, waiting for someone foolish enough to try again.