The Bone-Crown Lie
You wake as a false oracle, and every prophecy you make digs your grave deeper.
You wake in a cave, a crown of woven bones on your head, and a dead woman at your feet. Outside, a desperate tribe kneels, believing you are the prophesied Oracle who will lead them through the Black Sand Wastes. With your memory a blank, you must bluff your way through a role you never wanted, making predictions that might save the tribe—or doom you. But the real oracle's enemies are closing in, and the more you play the part, the more you realize the trap was always meant for you.
The story begins
The bone crown was cold against your brow, its jagged edges biting into skin you didn't remember earning. Your fingers were slick with blood—not yours—and the woman at your feet stared at nothing, her throat torn by a trap that had snapped shut like a predator's jaw. You'd woken three breaths ago, the taste of copper on your tongue, the weight of a people's salvation pressing down on your shoulders.
Outside the cave mouth, the tribe's fires flickered against the black glass wastes. Their voices carried on the dry wind, a murmur of desperate prayer.
"She's awake," a voice said. Kael, young and fierce, knelt at the cave's threshold, his eyes burning with hope. "The oracle lives."
Behind him, Sera hung back, her weathered face unreadable, her gaze fixed on the blood on your hands. She said nothing. She didn't need to.
The crown meant everything. The dead woman meant nothing. And the trap that had killed her still gaped open at your feet, its metal teeth wet and gleaming.
What happens next is up to you.
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