Chains of the Forgotten Princess

Ash drifted through the air like pale snowflakes, soft and silent—ghosts of a world that no longer existed. Above the ruined Temple of Embers, the sky had cracked wide open, bruised with light that bled like an open wound. The sun tried to break through, but even it seemed unsure of its place now.

The Binding Throne was gone.

What had once loomed—an ancient seat of fear and power, carved from black stone and sealed with blood magic—now lay in shattered pieces across the scorched temple floor. The sigils that once glowed with power were nothing but scorched impressions. The smoke clinging to the air was thick, choking… yet strangely freeing.

And in the heart of the wreckage, Elira stood still.

Her hair, dark as midnight, whipped around her face, catching on soot and cinders. The royal crimson cloak that once marked her as cursed now moved like a banner in the wind. Her ceremonial gown was torn and ash-streaked, her skin smudged with the remains of a past she had burned to the ground.

The chains were gone.

But something older—something deeper—was awake beneath her skin.

Kael stood at the edge of it all, watching her. His face was unreadable. His sword hung at his side, but he didn't move. Not after what he'd seen.

"You don't understand what you've done," he said, voice hoarse from smoke and disbelief.

Elira turned to face him. Her eyes weren't wild. They didn't blaze with fury or chaos. They simply glowed—calm, steady, and terrifyingly certain. The look of someone who had faced death and decided it wasn't going to define her.

"I know exactly what I've done," she said quietly.

"You broke the seal. You destroyed the last thing keeping the curse contained."

"No," she said. "I destroyed their illusion of salvation. That throne wasn't a cure—it was a prison."

Kael stepped closer, boots crunching on fragments of black stone. His cloak was torn, his collar stained with blood, but he didn't seem to care.

"You've unleashed something we can't put back."

"Maybe it was never supposed to stay buried."

Their eyes locked—her fire meeting his ice. And just for a heartbeat, it wasn't about prophecy or power. It was about them. Two people shaped by a history they never asked for, standing in the ruins of everything they were told to protect or destroy.

"Then what now?" Kael asked, voice softer, but no less heavy. "What happens when the old gods come to collect?"

Elira looked up. The clouds churned above, twisting into unnatural shapes. Thunder rumbled like war drums in the distance. She felt it in her bones—the shift, the awakening, the weight of forgotten eyes turning toward them again.

"We fight," she said.

Kael gave a dry, bitter laugh. "And you think you can win?"

"I don't need to win," she said. "I just need to make sure they bleed."

A pause fell between them. Not silence, exactly—there was too much broken around them for that. But something quieter. Realer.

Kael took another step, the look in his eyes changing—his mask beginning to crack. For once, he didn't look like the prince. He looked like the man underneath, trying to understand the woman she had become.

"I should arrest you," he said, almost gently. "I should drag you back to the palace in chains."

Elira didn't flinch. "Try."

But he didn't move. He just looked around at the ruin, and finally, he sighed.

"Everything's changed."

"It always was," she replied. "We just pretended it hadn't."

A gust of wind swept through the broken temple, spinning the ash into a slow spiral around them. Elira felt the magic in the air—raw, hungry, alive.

Kael looked at her again. Not with fear. Not with suspicion.

With awe.

"You were supposed to be the empire's curse," he said softly.

"I was," she agreed. "But now… I'm its reckoning."

He studied her. Then, slowly, he reached out.

Elira tensed, instinct flickering—but didn't move away.

His fingers brushed hers.

"Then let me stand with you," he said, voice low, raw. "Not as a prince. Not as your enemy. Just… Kael."

She blinked, stunned by the shift in him. This wasn't the strategist, the soldier, the crown. This was the man. And for the first time, he wasn't trying to control the storm—he was asking to walk through it with her.

"You're not afraid of what I've become?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I'm afraid of what happens if you stand alone."

Their hands closed around each other—no magic, no vows, just a choice.

And for a brief moment, the chaos held its breath.

But far beyond the mountains, something darker stirred. The broken throne had been more than a symbol—it had been a lock. And now, something ancient, something buried too deep to name, was waking.

A forgotten king. A curse that never died.

Elira felt it—a cold whisper at the edge of her soul. Not fear. Not anymore.

Fate was calling.

She looked at Kael. "We need to move."

"Where?"

"The Hollow Vale. There's someone who knows the old language. Someone who knows what the prophecy really says."

Kael frowned. "I thought the prophecy burned with the throne."

She shook her head. "That was just the first key. There are others—scattered, hidden. If we don't find them first, someone else will."

Together, they stepped through the broken threshold of the temple. Behind them, the ashes settled like the curtain falling on an ending.

But beneath their feet, the ground trembled—like something far below had just taken its first breath.

The war for Thandrel had begun.

And this time, the Forgotten Princess wouldn't just fight to survive.

She would fight to change the ending.