Lord of The Inverted Crown.
CHAPTER 0:PROLOGUE
There are weapons that kill.
And then there are weapons that decide who you are allowed to become.
The Inverted Crown was not forged to end wars, but to silence miracles.
A relic of celestial metallurgy and imperial fear, it was designed to bind those whose power bent reality too easily—anomaly-level battle mages, whose existence threatened the fragile illusion of order.
It was Lady Nerrisa who first dared to shape it.
Faced with vell sorcerers whose strength rivaled stars and whose wills refused obedience, she crafted a crown that did not sit above the head—but pressed downward, turning ascension into submission.
Metal that listened. Bands that remembered. A prison elegant enough to be mistaken for regalia.
Some call the Crown a curse.
Others revere it as a divine gift, bestowed by the God Emperor himself to preserve balance in a universe addicted to excess.
Both are wrong.
The Crown does not bless.
It does not damn.
It chooses.
Whether it becomes salvation or damnation depends entirely on the one forced to wear it.
Yet no matter how gently it restrains, no matter how merciful its purpose is made to sound, one truth remains unchanged across every age and empire:
To be powerful—and yet forbidden to use that power—
to be infinite—and yet contained—
what sorrow could be greater than being made a slave to your own divinity?
And so the Crown waits.
Upside down.
Patient.
Hungry.