Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The palace of Veyritha burned in Elira's memory—embers of splintered stone, the cold gleam of the sealed crypts, and the echo of the Weeping Witness still lingering behind her eyes like a whisper she couldn't unhear.

Three gates.

The words wouldn't stop circling her thoughts. Like a puzzle she couldn't put down, twisting inward with every breath.The first had brought death. The second threatened madness.

And the third?

Her stomach turned.

"Elira."

Kael's voice reached her through the blur of memory.

They rode side by side beneath the tangled canopy of Thandrel's Reach. Cloaks whipping behind them, hooves crunching over frostbitten leaves. The trees here were older—massive, twisted things, bark split with time and carved with glyphs from a language no one dared speak aloud anymore. The cold had settled in the bones of the forest, heavy and still. No snow fell. Even the wind held its breath.

"We should stop," Kael said, his voice low. Strained. "We won't make the next ridge before dark."

He didn't look at her, but she could see the exhaustion in his posture. His back stiff with pain, his left side favoring the deeper wound. Blood had dried on the edge of his glove, where his grip had cracked skin from holding the reins too tight.

Elira nodded. "There's an old vault not far ahead. I saw it on the map carved into the Watchtower ceiling. It's called…"She hesitated."…the Vault of Silences."

Kael gave her a look. "That's an incredibly bad name."

She didn't smile.

Because something inside her had shifted after the sealing.

It wasn't just the dreams, or the way her hands ached when she tried to sleep. It was like something was living beneath her skin now. Breathing when she breathed. Watching when she closed her eyes.

And sometimes, she woke up speaking words that weren't hers.

By dusk, they reached the vault.

It wasn't a castle. Not even a tower. Just a wound in the hillside—a black stone arch, rimmed with iron teeth. The door had rusted to a near-crumble, but the runes etched around it still glowed faintly in the gloom.

It wasn't evil.But it was waiting.

Kael lit a lantern, shielding the flame from the cold breeze as they stepped inside. The stone swallowed the light. Dust clung to everything, thick as snowfall. Even their footsteps seemed hesitant—as if the air itself didn't want to disturb whatever slept here.

"This was used during the First Reign," Kael said quietly, as they moved deeper. "A vault for things too dangerous to destroy."

Elira touched the wall.

And it breathed.

Warmth pulsed into her fingers. The runes beneath her palm stirred like something waking from a long sleep. They lit up—ancient symbols she somehow understood. She didn't know how. But they welcomed her.

"It's not just a vault," she whispered. "It's a prison."

They reached the central chamber—and Elira stopped short.

The walls were lined with suspended glass orbs. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Each one flickered faintly, filled with soft light that moved like smoke—and sound that bled into the edges of hearing.

Whispers. Sobs. Laughter. Screams.

"Memories," Kael said, staring. "They're alive."

One orb glowed brighter than the rest.

It drew her. Not like a pull from the outside—but from something inside her. Like it already knew her name.

She didn't choose to reach for it. Her hand was already there.

And then—silence.

The orb shattered.

Not with a sound, but with a feeling. Like the world slipped out from under her.

Elira's knees hit stone. Kael caught her just in time, arms wrapping around her as her body buckled.

"Elira!"

She gasped—no air in her lungs—vision swimming with fire and faces.

Flames raining from a blood-red sky.

A woman in golden armor screaming her name—not Elira. Seren.

A man with silver eyes, whispering something at her forehead before walking into battle.

And an oath. Written in blood. Across the door of a temple drowned in sand.

She clutched her head, shivering.

"I… saw something," she breathed. "Someone. Me. But… not me."

Kael's eyes were wide with worry. "You think it's… a past life?"

She shook her head.

"Not a memory. A warning."

Above them, the remnants of the orb's light rose like smoke, forming symbols in the air—shifting patterns that sparked recognition in her chest.

Then a voice—soft, female, unfamiliar—spoke.

"The Second Gate will open in dreams. When the moon weeps and the serpent sings."

Kael inhaled sharply. "Vethryn's eclipse. That's five days from now."

The stone beneath their feet quivered.

All around them, the other orbs began to stir.

Pulsing. Shivering. Awakening.

Whispers filled the vault—growing louder, overlapping like waves crashing into each other. Forgotten tongues. Names Elira didn't recognize. Words that tasted like ash and honey.

"We need to go," Kael said, rising quickly.

But Elira didn't move.

Because one voice rose above the rest.

Low. Familiar.

"My daughter."

Her heart stopped.

"You must finish what I could not."

Slowly, she turned.

Another orb had awakened.

Within it—faint, but unmistakable—was a man.

Not a shadow. Not a memory.

A presence.

He wore armor dusted with ash and time. His eyes glowed like embers in a hearth long-cold. And his face—she had seen it before. On the murals in the Temple of Flames. The paintings no one was allowed to restore. The king whose name had been wiped from records.

"That's…," Kael whispered, frozen. "That's the first Flamebound King. The one who fell to the Crows. The one who never died."

Elira couldn't breathe.

Because she knew that face.

She had seen it once before—in a memory that wasn't hers. Kissing her forehead. Whispering something she couldn't yet understand.

"My father," she said quietly.

And the figure in the orb smiled.

"Elira."