Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The echo of the statues' proclamation—"The Blood-Bound has returned"—had long since faded. But the weight of it lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, like smoke that refused to clear after the fire was gone.

Elira stood in the heart of the Temple of Veyritha, blood drying on her palm, the remnants of her mother's memory-magic clinging to her skin like ash. Beside her, Kael remained silent—his eyes dark with calculation, but shadowed by something deeper. Reverence, maybe. Or fear.

The temple, once lifeless stone and ruin, now pulsed with something older than breath. Older than time.

Veins of red light webbed across the obsidian floor beneath their feet, flickering in a rhythm that matched Elira's heartbeat. The patterns were ancient, unreadable—but felt known, as if they had always been sleeping in her blood, waiting for her to come home.

She reached out to one of the statues that had bowed before her. "This place…" she whispered. "It was waiting for me."

Kael stepped closer, his voice low. "This temple was sealed before the first Thandrel ever wore a crown. There's no record of it in any archive."

"It wasn't built to be remembered by kings," Elira said quietly. "It was built for blood."

She touched the stone.

It was warm.

Alive.

And before she could draw another breath, her vision tilted—pulled into memory. This time, she didn't resist.

She stood on a battlefield drenched in twilight.Atop a hill of the dead stood a woman in crimson armor. Not Elira. But not a stranger either.

Seraphina.

Her hair was tangled with power, her face streaked with blood, her eyes ablaze with fury. Around her, black-robed figures chanted in a language lost to time—the Keepers of the Oath. Symbols burned into the ground beneath them, drawn in flame and ash.

Seraphina raised her sword to the sky. Thunder answered—not from storm, but from soul.

"I bind this line to power, not mercy. To vengeance, not peace. Let my blood carry this curse until the betrayer's house is ash."

With a cry that tore the heavens, she drove the blade into her own heart.

Blood exploded outward—brilliant, searing—a shockwave of magic that rooted itself into the bones of the world.

Elira gasped, stumbling. The vision shattered.

Her knees gave, but Kael caught her before she hit the floor, arms around her like he'd known she would fall.

"You saw something," he said, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands.

"My mother," she breathed. "She wasn't just protecting us. She made something. A curse. A legacy. A weapon."

Kael's brow furrowed. "And you're the key to unlocking it?"

Elira shook her head. "No. I'm the weapon."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she drew herself upright, shoulders squared, spine like steel. No more flinching. No more running. She wasn't a girl hiding in a dead queen's shadow anymore.

"We need answers," she said. "Every record. Every hidden temple. Every reference to the Keepers of the Oath. If she bound us in blood—there has to be a way to break it."

Kael nodded. "There's one place that might hold the truth."

She turned to him. "Where?"

"The Hall of Dust," he said. "Underneath the Citadel. It's a sealed archive of forbidden histories. Only a crowned heir can access it."

Her breath caught. "Then you'll have to return."

He hesitated. Not out of fear. Out of knowing.

"If I go back, there will be questions. Whispers. And if they find out you're alive—"

"They'll try to finish what they started," she said flatly. "Let them try."

Kael's lips curled—not in amusement, but something closer to awe. "You really are her daughter."

Before she could reply, the ground beneath them shuddered.

Not a magical pulse. Not subtle. Not gentle.

A violent tremor split the center of the floor with a sharp crack, and from the dark seam, something screamed. Inhuman. Ancient.

Elira spun.

One of the fallen statues was rising—not stone anymore, but something else. Flesh clung to its frame. Eyes glistened. Teeth gleamed.

Kael drew his sword. "Guardians?"

"No," Elira said, voice trembling—not from fear, but fury. "Something else woke up with me."

More figures stirred in the shadows. Stone cracked, peeled, transformed—revealing twisted creatures with too-long limbs, jagged horns, and faces caught somewhere between man and monster.

One stepped forward. Its voice scraped across the air like broken glass:

"The Oath is broken. The devourers come."

Far away, on a cliff above the Sea of Thorns, a robed figure watched the waves churn. Wind tore at his cloak, but he didn't flinch.

He felt it.The shift.The awakening.

The Blood-Bound had returned.

He smiled—a fractured, hungry thing—and vanished into smoke.

Back in the temple, Kael and Elira stood back-to-back.

Blades drawn. Magic sparking at their fingertips.

The creatures circled.

Elira's eyes blazed red.

"We end this here."

Kael smirked. "After you, Your Highness."

She surged forward.

And the temple exploded into war.