Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The council chamber was quiet—too quiet.

Elira stood at its heart, her spine straight despite the bruises lining her jaw and the dried blood clinging just below her ear. The bruises didn't matter. Not here. Not now.

Behind her, Kael stood like a shadow carved from stone, arms folded, his gaze burning as he watched the elders—men who had once bowed to his ancestors—now whisper like cowards behind gold-trimmed robes.

"Princess Elira," the High Seer finally spoke. His voice was thin, papery, like a scroll crumbling in old hands. "You are accused of treason, blasphemy, and the destruction of a sacred relic. Do you deny it?"

Elira opened her mouth—but Kael stepped forward first.

"She did what none of you had the spine to do," he said. "The Binding Throne was a lie. A cage dressed as a crown. It had to fall."

Another councilor scoffed. "You presume to speak prophecy now, Crown Prince? The throne was sacred."

"The throne," Elira said sharply, stepping forward, "was a prison."

Gasps rippled through the chamber.

Sunlight poured from the high windows above, catching on the fractured gold bands arcing across the domed ceiling. It lit her like a blade drawn in a quiet room.

"It wasn't made to protect the realm," she said. "It was built to control it. To bind the bloodline. To keep the old gods from rising through us again."

The murmurs turned to unrest. One of the younger councilors—Thalen, silver-eyed and always too quiet—rose halfway from his seat.

"And how exactly," he said slowly, "do you claim to know this?"

Elira met his gaze without blinking. "Because I lived it. I bled on that stone. And it answered me. I saw the truth in the flames. I heard the voice buried beneath the earth."

Kael's hand found the small of her back—just a touch. Just enough to remind her she wasn't alone.

The High Seer rose, taller than she expected in his age. His voice thundered. "This is heresy!"

"No," Kael said quietly. "It's revelation."

And then—the floor shuddered beneath them.

A tremor, soft at first. Dust sifted down from the high rafters. The torches guttered.

But it wasn't an earthquake.

It was something else.

A shadow stretched across the stained-glass windows—tall and crowned, cloaked in smoke and silence. Its face was a void rimmed in blinding light. Where eyes should've been, two stars bled darkness.

The High Seer crumpled to his knees. "The Harbinger…"

Elira took a step back, her breath caught in her chest.

"No," she whispered. "It's him. The one who never died."

A sudden wind burst through the chamber as the glass shattered inward. Screams tore through the hall. Kael grabbed her, shielding her as shards rained like silver knives.

But Elira didn't duck.

She looked.

Through the broken arch, a vision burned into her mind:

A mountain drowned in shadow.A crown, broken and half-buried.A name, echoing from bone to blood—

Vaeren.

Not a myth.Not a story told to frighten children.

A king.Returning.

The castle plunged into chaos.

Not just because of the vision—but because something had changed. Deeply. Permanently.

The throne hadn't just broken.It had opened something.

In the war chamber, the air hung heavy with tension. Maps covered the table, marked in fresh ink. Strange lights, ruptures in the earth, fire blooming in places long considered quiet.

General Sareth leaned over the table, finger tapping the Ridge of the Fallen. "There were no disturbances here last week. Or here—" he pointed to the Miren Depths.

Elira studied the markings. "They follow the old ley lines."

Sareth frowned. "You mean…"

"The old gods," Kael finished for him.

A long silence.

Then Elira said, soft but certain, "Not gods. Not anymore. Something older."

"Something worse," Kael added.

The room seemed to shrink. Even the candlelight flickered.

Politics had no weight here anymore. The world was already shifting. Tilting. Cracking open.

The people wanted explanations. The court wanted someone to blame. And whatever stirred beneath the earth—it wanted her.

That night, Elira stood alone on her balcony, the air sharp with coming storm. The stars were wrong—shifted, somehow. Like someone had stirred the sky.

Behind her, Kael's footsteps were soft.

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

She didn't look back. "Destroying the throne?"

He nodded.

Her fingers curled around the railing. "No. But I regret what it's awakened."

He came to stand beside her.

"We'll face it together."

She turned slightly, just enough for moonlight to catch the edge of her face. Her voice, when it came, was low. Honest.

"Will we?"

Kael didn't hesitate. He reached for her hand.

"I don't know what's coming," he said. "But I know this: I'm not letting you face it alone."

Elira met his eyes—and for a breath, something fragile sparked in hers. Fury, yes. But also fear. And something deeper.

"I'm not the girl you found in the dungeon," she said.

"I know," he replied. "And I don't want her back. I want you. The woman who broke her chains."

Her mouth parted like she wanted to argue—but didn't. The moment held. Tense. Real.

Below them, lightning split the sky in jagged white arcs.

Not the beginning of a storm.

But the shape of a door breaking open.

And in the silence between thunder, Elira whispered again:

"Vaeren."

Far in the north, past snow and stone, in the bones of a city the world forgot—

A voice answered her.

The name echoed again.

And flames rose.