Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The forest that edged the southern border of Thandrel's old kingdom was ancient—older than memory, older than the wars that tore the empire apart. Locals called it the Hollow Wood, though no one could say why. Maybe it was the way the trees twisted into shapes that didn't make sense, or how the leaves shimmered in colors no season claimed. Maybe it was the silence—the kind that pressed in on you, until even your footsteps sounded too loud, like the forest itself was listening.

Elira hadn't slept since the Binding Throne shattered.

Every time she shut her eyes, she saw fire. Not just the inferno she'd summoned—but something deeper. Wilder. Fire with a will. Fire that whispered in dead languages and clawed at the edge of reality. The masked man's words echoed louder than any nightmare.

"The Forgotten King stirs."

Kael rode beside her, quiet, every muscle tense. His eyes flicked toward every rustle, every whisper of wind in the trees. They didn't talk. There was too much neither of them could explain—too much they weren't ready to admit out loud.

Still, the silence wasn't empty.

It was thick. Heavy with questions, and fear… and something else. Something unspoken that simmered between them like an ember that refused to die.

When they finally stopped to rest, Elira slid from her horse first. Her legs faltered slightly, but she masked it with practiced ease.

Kael saw.

"You haven't eaten," he said.

She didn't answer. Just walked to the edge of a small creek and knelt, cupping her hands in the icy water. But as she leaned in to drink, her reflection wavered.

For a moment, it wasn't her face looking back.

Her eyes burned too bright. And behind them—shadowed but clear—was a crown of bone. A mouth that moved without sound, whispering things she wasn't meant to hear.

Curses. Names. Oaths.

"Elira." Kael's voice broke through the haze. His hand rested gently on her shoulder.

She jerked away from his touch.

He backed off, but didn't look away. "What did you see?"

"Nothing," she said too fast. "I'm just tired."

"You're lying."

She didn't deny it.

Kael knelt beside her, his voice low. "Whatever's happening to you… I need to know. You can't keep shutting me out. I can't fight what I can't see."

She met his gaze. Really looked at him.

The armor he always wore like second skin was scratched, dulled by dust and ash. His jaw was tight, but his eyes—those steady, storm-gray eyes—were only filled with concern.

"Kael…" Her voice wavered. "When I destroyed the throne, I felt something… something inside me snap. But something else woke up."

He didn't interrupt. Just listened.

"There's a voice. Not mine. It whispers in a tongue I shouldn't understand. It calls itself Ashareth. And it… it says it's part of me."

He inhaled slowly. "Is it controlling you?"

"No." Her answer was immediate. "Not yet. But it's like it's been waiting. For me."

Kael's expression darkened. "Ashareth. That name—I've read it before."

She turned sharply. "Where?"

"When I was a boy," he began, pacing, "I snuck into the royal archives. Found a hidden scroll. It was written in Old Tongue. It told of a fire-born queen. Cursed to carry the soul of a god. Ashareth, the Bound Flame."

Elira stood, heart thudding. "What happened to her?"

"She was betrayed," Kael said quietly. "Sealed inside a throne of blood and magic. Her descendants cursed until one would break the chains. And when that happened… the flame would rise again."

They stared at each other as the truth settled over them like ash.

"You think I'm her," Elira whispered.

Kael didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

That night, beneath a sky scattered with stars, Elira sat wrapped in her cloak by the fire. Kael took first watch, sword resting across his knees. The air had shifted. It felt too still. Like the forest was holding its breath.

Then, without warning, the flames sputtered.

A breeze swept through the clearing—but none of the trees moved.

Elira's body went rigid.

Across the fire, on the far edge of the glade, a figure appeared.

A child.

Or something wearing the shape of one.

It stood barefoot, pale, eyes black and bottomless. A crooked crown of thorns rested on its head. It tilted its head at her, as if amused.

"Elira Thandrel," it said, voice ancient and unnatural. "The stars do not favor you tonight."

Kael was already on his feet, blade raised. "Stay back!"

The child didn't flinch. "You broke the seal. The Hollow remembers."

"What are you?" Elira demanded, stepping forward.

It grinned, showing too many teeth. "I am what walks when the gods forget to watch. I am memory. I am the herald."

Kael's voice cut in, sharp. "Herald of what?"

The child raised a hand—thin, pale—and pointed straight at Elira.

"The fire in your veins is not yours alone. Ashareth wakes. The thrones will fall. The king will rise."

And just like that, the figure vanished—smoke unraveling into the wind.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Kael didn't speak. Elira couldn't. Only the fire crackled, pretending nothing had changed.

But everything had.

At dawn, Elira rose before the sun and walked to the tree line. She stared out toward the mountains far beyond the forest—the direction the herald had pointed.

She felt it again.

That whisper in her bones.

"Blood for flame. Fire for crown. Bone for oath."

This wasn't just her curse anymore.

It was war.

Kael stepped up behind her.

"You're thinking of leaving," he said softly.

She didn't deny it. "I need to reach the Hollow Temple. If there are answers, they'll be there."

He didn't hesitate. "Then I'm going with you."

She turned to him. "Even if I become something dangerous?"

He reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly against hers.

"Especially then."

Their eyes met. The moment held.

She didn't thank him.

Instead, she said, "When this is over… I want to know who I really am."

And Kael, steady as ever, said, "When this is over, you will."