Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The royal court trembled beneath a sky that wouldn't sleep.

Thunder cracked like war drums. The walls of Thandrel's great hall seemed to hum with a pressure no one could name. Nobles, soldiers, even servants—every heart beat a little faster. The air tasted of iron and fire.

At the center of it all stood Elira.

She didn't move like a girl haunted anymore. She moved like a reckoning.

Draped in black velvet stitched with crimson thread, her presence rippled through the palace like a storm held barely in check. Her hair, loose and wind-wild, fell around her like a crown of fire and defiance.

People turned as she passed.

And the whispers followed.

"She bears the mark…"

"She's the one the old stories warned about."

"She is the prophecy."

But Elira didn't hear them. Or if she did, she didn't care. Her mind was already somewhere else—caught between the weight of ancient names and the fire of a future she couldn't outrun.

Kael met her in the war room. His cloak dripped with rain, his face drawn tight with grief.

"Another city gone," he said, skipping any greeting. "No bodies this time. Just glass. Like the land melted."

Elira didn't flinch. "He's waking."

Kael nodded, jaw clenched. "No. He's reclaiming."

They both knew what he meant.

The world.

The throne.

Her.

That night, Elira stood alone in the vaults beneath the palace, where no light reached and no echoes lingered. Before her loomed the Mirror of Bones—an ancient relic sealed away for generations, its entrance protected by blood-bound sigils.

But the doors had opened for her.

They always would now.

The mirror's surface shimmered, not with reflection, but with memory. Its tall, arching frame was carved from silver and bone, and it pulsed faintly with something older than language.

"Show me him," Elira whispered.

For a long moment, nothing.

Then the image came.

Vaeren.

He sat on a throne of broken stone and shadow. No crown, but his presence filled the space like thunder fills a valley. His eyes burned silver. His armor moved with him—fluid, alive.

And in his hand—

A shard of the Binding Throne. The very piece Elira had destroyed.

He had found it.

He turned slowly, as if drawn by her gaze. And then—he spoke.

"Elira."

Not loud. Not soft. Just certain.

The mirror cracked.

A sharp sound, like ice breaking across still water.

Elira stumbled back. A piece of glass nicked her palm. Blood welled. The pain was real.

Kael was there in seconds.

"What happened?" His voice was sharp, afraid.

She looked up at him, breath caught in her throat.

"He said my name."

Kael's expression turned hard. "He's breaching the veil."

Time was almost gone.

That night, the storm above Thandrel finally broke.

Winds screamed like wounded spirits. Lightning split the sky. And from the chaos, a silver carriage arrived—drawn by horses with eyes like white flame.

From it stepped the Oracle of the Moon.

Her robes shimmered like starlight. Her face was hidden beneath a sheer veil. But when she moved, the air shifted around her, reverent and still.

Elira and Kael met her at the gates.

The Oracle bowed once. "It has begun."

"You've seen him?" Elira asked.

"I've felt him," the Oracle replied. "He is the silence between heartbeats. The memory you try to forget but never can. He is fire, long buried. And he walks."

Kael stepped forward. "Can he be stopped?"

The Oracle's voice didn't waver. "No. But he can be bound. If the heart that calls him dares to command."

She looked at Elira.

"That heart is you."

Elira swallowed. "And if I fail?"

The Oracle didn't hesitate. "Then all thrones will burn. All names will vanish. And the stars will fall from the sky."

Later, in the stillness of her chamber, Elira sat at the edge of her bed. Head bowed. Hands in her lap. The weight of the world pressing in on her from all sides.

Kael came in quietly. Sat beside her without saying a word.

For a long time, they just breathed the same air.

Then, gently, he said, "You're carrying everything now."

"I never wanted any of it," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "But maybe… that's why you're the one who should. The world doesn't need someone who wanted power. Maybe it needs someone who's willing to break for it."

She looked at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion—but something harder beneath.

Resolve.

"Then let's break what needs breaking," she said softly. "And bind what should never rise again."

Kael leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers.

A quiet breath. A single heartbeat of peace.

And far away, beneath a sky full of dying stars, Vaeren smiled.

"Let them gather," he said, rising from his throne of smoke. "Let them hope."

He looked to the heavens, unafraid.

"I was born before time. Named in the silence of gods. I do not fall."

His voice was a storm in the bones of the earth.

"I return."