Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The Forest Was Alive with Whispers

Not the kind stirred by the wind through leaves—but something older. Wilder. It was as if the air itself breathed secrets, brushing over Elira's skin like unseen fingers tracing scars that had never fully healed.

The Temple of Hollow Roots rose before them, more myth than structure. Swallowed by centuries of overgrowth, its stone bones peeked through veils of moss and ivy, half-hidden and wholly watchful. Unlike the grandeur of Veyritha's ruins, this place didn't scream for reverence. It simply... waited.

Elira stood still, heart knocking in her chest like it, too, recognized this place. Kael moved to her side, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword—not drawn, but ready. His eyes weren't on the shadows, though. They were on her.

"Elira," he said gently. "We don't have to go in yet."

Her fingers were wrapped tight around the bloodstone key, the jagged edges biting into her palm like it needed her pain to work. It was the only relic that had answered her since she'd shattered the Binding Throne. The only thing that didn't shrink from her presence.

"This temple…" she murmured, voice dry. "It belonged to the name I wasn't allowed to speak."

Kael's brows drew together. "Your true name?"

She shook her head, jaw tight. "No. His." Her voice cracked on the word. "My brother's."

Kael stilled. The silence stretched long between them, weighted with things unspoken.

"The one your mother erased from the histories?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

Elira gave a nod and stepped forward. The curtain of moss fell away with a whisper of damp silk. From within, the temple exhaled—an earthy breath, thick with damp stone and decayed memory. She didn't look back as she crossed the threshold.

Inside, the air pressed in like deep water. The vines that crawled along the walls weren't still—they pulsed faintly, a heartbeat beneath the green. Runes in languages long-forgotten flickered beneath centuries of grime, as though blinking awake. Each step echoed louder than the last, not through sound, but through memory. And none of it was hers.

"What was his name?" Kael asked softly from behind.

Elira didn't turn. "I don't know."

And she didn't.

The blood-binding curse hadn't just shackled magic—it had devoured truth. Her brother's name, his face, his existence had been scrubbed from scrolls and sealed behind magic thick as concrete. Her entire life, she had felt a missing piece she couldn't name—a phantom ache that never healed because the wound had no origin.

But the ache was stronger here. Sharper.

Like something had remembered her.

A low hum vibrated through the temple walls as they entered the main chamber. Vines knotted into a throne of roots around a central dais. At its heart lay a stone coffin, unmarked but alive with pulsing magic. Not dark. Not cold. Just waiting.

Elira stepped closer. The key burned hot in her grip, reacting not with fear—but familiarity.

"This is it," she said, almost to herself.

Kael was suddenly beside her, close enough that his voice felt like a tether.

"You don't have to do this alone," he said.

She gave a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I never have."

Then she knelt, heart thudding like a drum, and fit the bloodstone key into the hollow carved into the lid.

Perfect fit.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the roots recoiled with a hiss, like snakes startled from slumber. The earth trembled. A crack splintered across the lid—not broken, but released, as though the seal had given permission.

A wind surged outward, not cold, but deep—like something exhaling from beneath the world. Voices echoed within it—fragments of thought, scraps of memory. One rose above the rest.

"Elira."

She froze.

It wasn't Kael's voice.

It wasn't a dream.

It was real.

And she knew that voice.

Her eyes flew to the coffin as the lid slowly shifted, revealing a young man inside. No older than twenty. Raven-black hair. Pale skin. A crescent-shaped birthmark beneath his left eye.

But it wasn't his features that told her.

It was her blood. Screaming in recognition. Her veins hummed like they were finally complete.

"No," she breathed. "It can't be—"

But the boy—no, man—stirred.

His eyes fluttered open. Bleary, heavy with sleep, but unmistakably familiar.

"Elira," he said again, voice cracked and raw. "You found me."

Her knees gave, and she barely caught herself.

"You…" Her voice wavered. "You're real."

He nodded, weakly trying to sit up. She moved on instinct, catching his shoulder. His skin was warm—alive.

"I—who are you?" she asked, afraid of the answer and desperate for it all the same. "What's your name?"

His gaze locked with hers. For a breathless moment, something ancient passed between them—something old as blood.

"I am Elandros Thandrel," he said.

And the temple shuddered.

The name echoed across the walls like a long-forbidden incantation, fracturing the silence, tearing through vines, lighting up the runes with golden flame. The ceiling groaned. The curse cracked. His name was free.

Elira choked on a sob as it seared through her chest like sunlight breaking through stormclouds.

"You were never forgotten," she said, gripping his hand tightly. "I just didn't know where to look."

Elandros gave a small, broken smile. "You remembered enough."

Kael had gone silent, but now his voice came low, thick with disbelief.

"This is impossible. He was erased."

"No," Elira said, bitterness threading her tone. "He was entombed. Alive. So no one could challenge the throne."

Elandros nodded, strength slowly returning to his limbs. "They feared me. And they feared what we would become together."

A hush settled, not empty—but charged.

Kael's voice broke through again, more urgent now. "We shouldn't stay long. The palace—your father—"

"I'm not going back," Elandros cut in, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion. "Let them think I died with the old blood. I owe them nothing."

Elira met his gaze, steady and unwavering. "Then what do we do now?"

He looked past her, out the temple doors.

"What we were born to do. Reclaim our name. Free the others. Destroy those who did this."

Her pulse surged. The weight she'd carried for so long suddenly felt... shared. Her brother—the twin she'd never known—wasn't just alive.

He was ready to fight.

"Then we start here," she said firmly. "We find allies. We tear down every last chain. And we make them remember us."

Elandros pushed himself to his feet, staggering but determined.

"The forgotten are rising," he said, voice steadying.

Kael stepped beside them both. "Then they'll need someone to lead."

Elandros turned to him, arching a brow. "You're her... companion?"

Kael hesitated, then said, "Ally."

Elira flushed. "He's survived a lot worse than me."

Elandros smirked. "She always did attract trouble."

Kael glanced at Elira, dry amusement in his voice. "She is trouble."

Their eyes met. And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Elira laughed.

Not bitter.

Not broken.

But free.

Outside, thunder cracked. Not in warning—but in welcome.

As they stepped out into the clearing, the forest seemed to lean forward, the trees bowing in quiet reverence.

Elira stood tall between Kael and Elandros.

Three heirs.

One rebellion.

And a legacy no longer buried.