Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The wind tore through the ruins of the Binding Hall, carrying with it the bitter scent of smoke and something older—something ancient. Ash drifted in lazy spirals, rising from the scorched ground where power had once ruled. The throne was gone now. Nothing left but melted stone, blackened sigils, and pillars cracked like brittle bones.

Elira stood at the center of it all, her palms still slick with blood, her breath ragged in her chest. The chains had fallen. The curse had lifted.

But freedom didn't feel the way she imagined.

It felt like being watched.

Behind her, Kael's footsteps broke the silence. Slow. Measured. Careful. His boots scraped against burned stone, but he said nothing. Not yet. Not since the explosion. Not since she screamed and summoned something so old it didn't have a name—something that should have stayed buried.

"Elira," he said at last, his voice low and rough. "You broke it."

She turned to face him, her silver eyes catching the flicker of dying flames. "I did what no one else would."

He stepped closer. "You called on ancient blood magic. That kind of power… it doesn't belong to just one person."

"I never asked for any of it," she said sharply, the edge in her voice cracking beneath the weight she carried. "But it found me. And I won't let them use it to chain me again."

A silence settled between them—thick and heavy with things neither of them knew how to say.

Then, quietly, Kael reached out. His fingers brushed her cheek. Careful. Tentative. Real.

"You're bleeding," he murmured.

"I still am," she said softly.

But it wasn't the wound he saw. It was everything else—the grief that sat just behind her ribs, the weight of a legacy she never chose, the fear she refused to let show.

"You don't have to carry this alone anymore," Kael said, voice closer now, his warmth a quiet thing in the cold night air. "You never did."

She looked at him, and for a second, something unspoken passed between them. It wasn't love—not yet. But it was something just as dangerous.

Trust.

He started to reach for her hand—but a voice, rough and ancient, echoed through the hall's broken edge.

"Elira Thandrel," it rasped. "Daughter of fire. Do you truly believe your defiance will go unanswered?"

Kael spun toward the sound, sword unsheathed in a blink. Elira didn't move.

A man stepped from the shadows. Cloaked in gray, his face hidden behind a bone-white mask etched with runes that glowed faintly in the firelight. He held no weapon. He didn't need one. The air around him pulsed with raw magic—wild, sharp, and cold enough to cut bone.

"The Order of the Undying has seen your flame," the figure said. "And when the blood moon rises, your fate will find you."

Kael's sword didn't lower, but his stance shifted—wariness creeping into his gaze.

Elira stepped forward. "I've broken fate before. I'll do it again."

"You've unsealed what should have remained forgotten," the masked man said. "The Binding Throne was never just a seat. It was a lock. And now... the Forgotten King stirs."

Her pulse skipped.

Kael's jaw clenched. "The one who never died," he muttered under his breath.

But the masked figure was already fading, unraveling into smoke, until there was nothing left but silence.

"Elira," Kael said, turning to her. "We have to go."

Still, she didn't move. Her eyes stayed fixed on where the stranger had vanished.

"He's real," she whispered. "The Forgotten King. He's waking."

Kael touched her arm—gentle, grounding. "And he knows who lit the fire."

They fled the ruins beneath a sky painted with shadows. The moon hung low and red, like an open wound. The world around them felt… changed. Off-balance. As if something had shifted beneath the surface, and nothing would ever fall back into place.

Whispers rode the wind—voices that didn't belong to anything living.

Elira rode in silence, her fingers curled tight around the reins. Kael stayed beside her, watchful and quiet. The steady presence she hadn't known she needed.

"Kael," she said, not looking at him. Her voice was low, almost unsure.

He turned toward her. "Yeah?"

"If I've unleashed something worse—if I've doomed us all—will you still stand with me?"

He didn't even blink.

"I already gave you my oath," he said. "Not to a crown. Not to magic. To you."

She swallowed hard.

No one had ever sworn anything to her without strings attached. Without fear. Without expecting something in return.

And in that moment, even with war looming and a god-king rising from ancient dust, something else had been born.

Not just fire.

Not just rebellion.

But a bond strong enough to shake the stars loose.