crown of self-interest

Zaros Valen stood at the heart of the citadel, deep in its inner sanctum, surrounded by the intricate preparations that had been set in motion days prior. His mind, ever calculating, ever vigilant, returned to the task at hand: his ascension. The ritual he had crafted over centuries of meticulous planning was nearing its completion, and soon, he would transcend the limits of mortal existence. The artifacts, the symbols, the bindings—all were in place, their purpose aligned with Zaros’s singular goal: the culmination of absolute power.

The air in the chamber was thick with energy, alive with the hum of ancient magic. This was the apex of arcane power, a convergence of the most potent forces Zaros had gathered in his long pursuit of supremacy. Before him, the massive stone altar glowed faintly, etched with runes that pulsed with the rhythm of his own heartbeat, reflecting the perfect harmony between Zaros and the magic he had mastered. The crystal conduits, carefully placed around the room, shone with raw essence, drawn from the living world, the stars, and even the void itself.

The focus of his attention was the Nexus of Bonds—the heart of the ritual. It was here that Zaros’s connections to the realms of magic, life, and death converged. The Nexus was not a physical object, but rather a culmination of all the bonds he had forged, manipulated, and severed over his lifetime. Every soul he had claimed, every being he had subjugated, every artifact he had wielded—they all formed the web of power that now fueled his ascension.

The Nexus represented Zaros’s mastery over not just magic, but the very fabric of existence. With it, he could rewrite the laws of nature, bend reality to his will, and ascend to a state beyond mortality, beyond the limitations that had once shackled him. The preparations had been arduous, spanning decades, but Zaros had moved with patience, ensuring that every element was aligned, every variable accounted for.

As he moved toward the altar, his steps were slow, deliberate. There was no rush. Zaros was not a man prone to impatience. He understood better than anyone that power gained too quickly was power easily lost. His ascension would be flawless because he had ensured that nothing was left to chance. Every bond, every element, every soul he had gathered over the centuries, was now poised to serve his ultimate purpose.

The chamber was silent, save for the faint crackle of arcane energy in the air. Zaros extended a hand toward the central crystal, the focal point of the Nexus, feeling the connection snap into place. The energy flowed through him, as it had so many times before, but now it was different—stronger, more focused. He was close, closer than he had ever been to achieving what he had always sought.

Power. Control. Immortality.

---

The preparations for the ascension had not come without cost. The sacrifices had been many—some had been willing, others less so. Zaros had ensured that those who served him understood the gravity of their role, even if they did not fully comprehend the extent of the ritual. Most had offered their loyalty without question, lured by promises of power and protection, blinded by the hope of survival in the world he would remake.

But Zaros knew the truth. The world they envisioned, the world they hoped to rule alongside him, was an illusion. Once his ascension was complete, there would be no room for equals. There would be no place for those who sought to share in his power. The structure he had built, the subordinates who had helped him rise to this moment, were all tools—necessary, but ultimately disposable.

He thought back to those who had served him the longest, the ones who had been with him since the beginning of his rise. Some had been loyal out of fear, others out of a misguided belief in his vision. A few had genuinely believed in the cause he had presented to the world—the lie of a new order, a world of balance and harmony. Zaros had spoken of unity, of forging a path toward a future where magic and mortals could coexist in peace. It had been a compelling vision, one that had drawn many to his side.

But it was never his true vision. Peace was not something Zaros sought. Peace was stagnation, an illusion created by the weak to justify their powerlessness. Zaros had always known that the only real truth in this world was power. And power, true power, belonged to those willing to take it, no matter the cost.

As he stood before the Nexus, the memories of those early days flickered in his mind, a distant reminder of how far he had come. The wars he had fought, the alliances he had forged and then broken, the betrayals he had orchestrated—it had all led to this moment. His subordinates, his followers, had played their roles well, each of them contributing in their own way to his ascension. But now, as the ritual neared completion, Zaros knew that their usefulness was coming to an end.

Even now, as they scurried about the citadel, finalizing the preparations, he could sense the undercurrents of doubt, the flickers of ambition that lurked just beneath the surface. There were those among them who believed they could claim some piece of the power that Zaros was about to seize. Fools, all of them. They did not understand that power was not something to be shared. It was something to be wielded, and only by those strong enough to control it.

---

Zaros’s attention shifted to the intricate spellwork surrounding the Nexus. The runes had been carved into the stone by hand, each one a symbol of a different aspect of the magic he controlled. The spell was complex, a fusion of arcane formulas, forbidden incantations, and ancient rituals. It was the culmination of centuries of study, of secrets pried from the minds of the most powerful sorcerers, of knowledge gleaned from ancient tomes and forgotten civilizations.

But the most important element of the ritual was not the spell itself. It was the bonds. The Nexus of Bonds was the key to his ascension, the web of connections that linked him to the world, to the beings he had conquered, to the forces of magic that had shaped his destiny. Each bond represented a piece of the puzzle, a fragment of the power he sought to claim.

Zaros had spent decades forging those bonds, binding himself to the most powerful entities he could find. Some had been willing, drawn to his power and charisma. Others had been forced, subjugated through magic, or simply torn from their own existence by Zaros’s will. The artifacts he had gathered over the years—the Living Relics, the ancient weapons and tomes—each one was connected to him through the Nexus. They were more than just tools. They were extensions of his own power, bound to him by the same magic that would soon elevate him to a higher state of being.

As he gazed upon the Nexus, Zaros allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. His subordinates had played their parts well, even if they did not fully understand the significance of their actions. They had gathered the necessary components, performed the rituals, and ensured that the citadel was secure. They had done exactly as Zaros had intended.

But as the ritual neared its final stage, Zaros knew that the true test was yet to come. The Nexus of Bonds was not simply a conduit for power—it was also a trap. For those who sought to betray him, those who believed they could usurp his place, the Nexus would reveal their true nature. It would expose their weaknesses, their ambitions, and their failures. And when the time came, Zaros would be ready to act.

---

The chamber grew colder as the final phase of the ritual approached. The energy in the air intensified, crackling with a palpable force that resonated through the stone walls of the citadel. Zaros stood at the center of it all, his eyes fixed on the Nexus, his mind focused on the task ahead.

His subordinates, scattered throughout the citadel, continued their preparations. Some of them were likely already plotting their next move, calculating how they might turn the situation to their advantage. Zaros had seen it all before. Ambition was a powerful motivator, but it was also a blinding one. Those who sought to betray him believed they could outmaneuver him, that they could claim his power for themselves.

They were wrong.

Zaros had anticipated their every move, their every thought. The Nexus was not just a tool for his ascension—it was a trap, carefully laid to catch those who thought they could challenge him. The bonds that tied his subordinates to him were strong, but they were also fragile. At the moment of his ascension, when the power of the Nexus reached its peak, Zaros would be able to sever those bonds with a thought. Those who had served him faithfully would be spared, allowed to continue in their roles, useful as ever. But those who sought to betray him would find themselves cast into the void, their ambitions snuffed out in an instant.

The final preparations were nearly complete. The moment of ascension was at hand.

Zaros smiled, a cold, calculating smile. His subordinates thought they could challenge him, but they had underestimated the depth of his power, his foresight. They were playing a game they could not possibly win.

The ritual began to hum with energy, the Nexus of Bonds pulsing with raw, untamed magic. Zaros stepped forward, his hand outstretched toward the central crystal. The time had come.