Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The winds outside the Vault howled like wolves mourning the moon. Elira didn't flinch. Not anymore.

The Phoenix feather pulsed in her palm, its warmth threading through her like a second heartbeat. Behind her, Kael stepped from the shadows, his coat catching the wind.

"The High Temple will have felt that rupture," he said, eyes scanning the horizon. "We'll have eyes on us before dawn."

Elira slid the feather into her cloak. "Let them watch. Let them see what they tried to bury."

Kael looked at her—sharp, unreadable. "You've touched truth. That makes you dangerous now."

She met his gaze. "Not dangerous."

A breath. A quiet shift in her voice.

"A reckoning."

They rode through twilight under crimson skies. Ahead, the third gate—Veilspire Crossing—rose in jagged silence. Time had forgotten it. The land hadn't.

Smoke curled in the distance.

Kael spotted it first. "Signal fire?"

Elira narrowed her eyes. "Too precise. That's not a warning. It's a summons."

As they drew closer, voices murmured through the trees. Hooded figures stood in the ruins of a stone outpost, ash-grey linen veiling their faces. One lifted a hand.

Kael's grip tightened on his sword.

Elira raised hers. "Wait. I know that symbol."

On the figure's chest—faded thread shaped the mark of the Broken Flame. A myth, whispered by her mother. Mages who refused the Crown's blood oaths. Thought long vanished.

But not all.

"You shouldn't have come," one of them rasped. His voice was sand over stone. "The Vault was meant to stay closed."

Elira dismounted, ignoring Kael's protest. "Then why leave a path at all?"

A crooked smile. "To see if the Thandrel line still remembered fire."

She held his gaze. "We never forgot."

Another figure stepped forward—older, marked by time and silence.

"You carry the Phoenix feather," he said. "You've awakened the First Memory. The King Who Never Died."

Her breath caught. "You knew?"

"We served him. Before the betrayal. Before the throne chained truth in gold. We've waited."

Kael stepped forward. "And now?"

"Now," the man said, "the war she was born to end begins."

A rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. Elira felt it in her bones.

"But you're not ready," he said. "Not for what's next. Steel won't lead you. Memory will."

Elira frowned. "You mean the Temple of the Shattered Moon? That place is ruins."

"Above ground," he said. "Below, it breathes. And it holds your mother's last vow."

Kael stiffened. "Her sacrifice?"

The elder's eyes hardened. "Her rebellion."

Elira's mind reeled. Her mother's whispers, her warnings, her death—it was never just protection.

It was resistance.

"I'll go," she said.

"You won't be alone."

From the shadows, a barefoot girl stepped forward. One eye amber, one black, glowing faintly in the dusk.

"Elira Thandrel," she said softly. "I dreamed your name before I knew my own. I was born to follow you."

Elira studied her, cautious. "What's your name?"

The girl smiled faintly. "They call me Whisper."

Kael arched a brow. "Of course they do."

"She's Seer-touched," the elder said. "Last born under a blood moon. The visions marked her. She's tied to you."

Elira looked into the girl's mismatched eyes—and something stirred. A strange familiarity. As if some ancient thread pulled tight between them.

Kael leaned in as the others began to move. "Are you sure about this?"

"No," Elira said honestly. "But I don't think certainty has a place in me anymore."

Kael nodded once. "Then we move fast. The Vault's breach won't stay secret. Your brother won't wait."

Zarek.

Her jaw clenched. "He'll come. And he'll bring more than blades."

Far in the north, above the palace's glinting towers, a strange bloom of light shimmered.

Not fire.

Magic.

A summoning.

Kael cursed under his breath. "They're calling the Mirror Guard."

Elira's heart slammed in her chest.

Shadow-bound warriors. Empty of soul. Trained to destroy what could not be controlled.

"They'll be here in two days," Kael said.

Elira looked to the horizon. The clouds behind her gathered like wings.

"Then we go now."

"To the temple?"

"No," she said. "To whatever truth they buried deepest."

She stepped forward. Whisper followed.

And behind them, the air shifted—not with rage, but with memory.

And memory would burn everything.