Long after the storm swallowed Seamus's trail, another stood where shadow and moonlight meet.

A place not on any map, where memory becomes myth, and myth becomes prophecy.

Kaiven O'Hare, golden as the last light of a dying sun, bearer of forgotten hopes, knelt between two worlds?his heart still beating, though the shadow had touched him.

He should not have survived. The game was not meant to spare pieces so marked. Yet something ancient watched, something older waited.

The Shadowed Crown did not cast him down?it spared him. And mercy granted by darkness is never free.

Through shattered runes and broken dreams, a debt is owed, a path foretold.

Some call it fate. Others, folly. But Kaiven's name rides the wind?older than destiny itself.

The world has shifted. The old magic wakes restless and unkind.

The storm has stilled, but the game is not done.

Not while the board remains laid. Not while one piece yet moves.

Listen, dreamer:

Not all who fall are broken. Not all spared are free.

Chains of memory, prisons of mercy.

Kaiven, last hope of Duskmoore's blood, bears a riddle:

When mercy wears shadows, what price is paid for light? Is borrowed breath life or slow death?

The stars lean close. The crown is not won. The story has only begun.

The Game of the Shadowed Crown has begun anew.

Wait with me, traveler.

Some tales are not told?they are remembered.

And Kaiven's is one the world tried to forget.

But you, dreamer?you were meant to find it.