Chains of the Forgotten Princess

Elira couldn't sleep.

The name spun through her mind like smoke in her lungs—Vaeren—lingering with the weight of prophecy. It didn't matter that the palace walls bristled with guards or that she had shattered the Binding Throne with her own hands. That name still clung to her heart like fire etched into flesh.

She was barefoot in the Tower of Ancestry, the stone beneath her feet cold and unforgiving. The wind threaded through the broken windows high above, whispering like ghosts. Dust drifted lazily in the air, like breath from a dying world.

She trailed her fingers along the names carved into the wall—dead kings, every one of them. Names etched in solemn lines, starting from the first ruler of Thandrel.

But one was missing.

Her voice barely rose above a breath. "Where is he?"

No reply. Only the sense—sharp and sudden—that something was listening.

She stepped closer.

There it was: a blank slab nestled between two monarchs. Smooth. Empty. Like history had paused—and never resumed. As if a name had once lived there and been scraped away.

Elira touched the stone.

And the world dropped out from under her.

She plunged into memory—one not her own. Older than her blood, older than the tower itself. A storm of visions burst behind her eyes. Fire. Thunder. Screaming.

A man stood atop a hill of corpses, black armor scorched and cracked. His broken crown glinted faintly above a helm shaped like a wolf's skull. His eyes blazed silver.

"I will not kneel. Not to time, not to gods, not to fate," he shouted into the wind. "Let them forget my name—I'll carve it into the bones of the earth."

His voice echoed until it fractured.

Elira gasped and stumbled back, reality snapping into place.

The wall was just stone again.

But her hand stung. When she looked down, a mark burned faintly on her palm—a swirling symbol of flame, fangs, and a jagged crown.

She closed her fingers over it.

He was real.

And he was coming.

Across the palace, Kael stood in the war chamber beside his uncle, Lord Marshal Cedric Thandrel.

Cedric's voice was low, grim. "Two more border towns went dark last night." He laid out a report with steady hands. "No survivors. Just ash."

Kael's jaw tightened. "Rebels?"

Cedric shook his head. "No. Nothing human did this. Witnesses—what few remain—spoke of black fire. Shadows with eyes."

Kael didn't react.

He already knew.

Elira had felt it first. Seen it.

And the vision in the council chamber... the crown of bleeding stars...

It all led back to one name.

Kael exhaled, voice like flint. "We're not fighting rebels. We're fighting the past."

That night, the skies broke open.

Rain poured like judgment, soaking the city but cleansing nothing.

Elira stood in her chamber, her dress clinging to her rain-slick skin, hair heavy and tangled. She hadn't changed. Hadn't moved much at all since the tower.

Kael entered without knocking.

"Where were you?" he asked, stopping cold when he saw her.

She didn't look at him. "Finding the truth."

He walked to her slowly, steps careful. "What did you see?"

She lifted her hand.

The mark burned there, faint but unmistakable.

Kael's eyes darkened. "That sigil... that's older than the Seers' records."

"Not forgotten," she said softly. "Erased."

She turned to face him fully now, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. "Vaeren wasn't the first crowned. He was the first chosen. The gods forged him to guard the realms. But when he refused to bind his power, they sealed him away. They buried his name."

Kael reached for her hand. She pulled it back.

"He's waking, Kael," she whispered.

His voice was quiet. "And he wants you."

She didn't deny it.

For a moment, only the rain spoke.

"Then we'll stop him," Kael said.

Elira shook her head. "You can't stop a name already burned into the wind."

He stepped forward and placed his hands on her arms, grounding her.

"Then we outmatch him. Together."

Her voice trembled. "Even if I carry his blood?"

He paused. Then, gently: "You carry your will. And that's what terrifies them most."

Far beyond the palace, in a ruin swallowed by the earth, something stirred.

Ancient chains groaned.

Stone cracked.

A figure emerged from the dark.

Eyes like silver fire. A broken crown clenched in one gauntlet.

"She remembers," he said, voice like smoke and thunder. "The blood returns. The fire stirs."

Wind howled across the wasteland, carrying his words like a curse.

"The cursed child will call the forgotten king. And the world will burn anew."

Vaeren walked across the ashes of the old world.

And the stars turned away from his gaze.