Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The sun broke through the clouds like it had second thoughts—hesitant, pale, almost apologetic—as it spilled over the High Chamber of Ashenhall. Even then, the ancient stone walls swallowed most of the light, leaving the vast room steeped in shadow. The air hung thick. Still. Like the whole place was holding its breath.

Elira stood at the far end of the chamber, her back to the throne—the High Seat. Obsidian, streaked with crimson like dried veins. It looked more like a wound than a seat of power. And it watched her. Or maybe that was just the weight of too many ghosts pressing in around her.

Her hands trembled at her sides. But her face? Still. Cold. Controlled. She'd trained herself too well for anything else.

Kael was late.

Not that she cared. She didn't. That's what she told herself, anyway.

The council was set to convene soon. Everything was ready—ancestral relics polished and positioned, bloodline scrolls sealed with wax, and her elite Whisperblades guarding every shadowed corner. Yet her chest tightened with every moment he didn't walk through those doors. Not because of politics. Because of what had happened the last time they spoke.

Because he'd left. Without a word. Without looking back.

"Elira," came a quiet voice from the archway.

She turned, half-expecting a guard or one of the old priest-historians. But it was Calla. Cloaked in healer's robes, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and concern.

"He's on his way," Calla said. "But I needed to tell you something first."

Elira's brow knit. "What is it?"

Calla moved closer, her voice dropping low. "They found another shard."

Elira's breath caught. "Where?"

"Hallowdeep. In the catacombs. One of the scouts touched it and—something snapped. He started muttering in some forgotten tongue. He spoke of the Firstborn King… and you."

The world tilted. Elira turned toward the window, grounding herself against the cold stone sill. "So it's true. The shards are stirring."

Calla nodded slowly. "And they're calling you."

Before Elira could respond, the great doors groaned open behind her. She didn't need to look to know who it was.

Kael.

Dust still clung to his dark armor. His expression, as always, unreadable.

Their eyes locked. For a heartbeat too long.

Elira's lips parted like she might speak, but no words came. Kael didn't speak either. Just a curt nod, then he came to stand beside her. Facing the throne like it was the only thing worth looking at.

"So," he murmured. "The past claws its way back into the present."

His voice was rough—more worn than she remembered. Not just tired. Something deeper. Regret, maybe. Resentment, definitely.

"You didn't show last night," Elira said quietly.

"I needed answers." He didn't look at her. "I went to the Oracle."

Her shoulders tensed. "And what did she say?"

He finally met her gaze. "That you are the storm they tried to chain. That the throne fears you more than any enemy."

Her breath caught in her throat. "And what about you? Do you fear me?"

There was a long silence. Then—

"I did," he said. "Now… I'm afraid of what happens if they manage to silence you again."

Before she could answer, a ripple of magic shimmered through the room. Subtle, but unmistakable.

Kael's hand went to his sword.

Elira turned toward the throne.

A shadow had begun to form near its base—twisting, stretching. It wasn't a person. It wasn't even truly there.

It was memory.

A whisper echoed through the chamber, brittle with age:

"The Bound One shall rise when the stars burn cold.Her blood the seal. Her wrath the key.Let no crown rest easy while her heart still beats."

And then… silence. The shadow vanished, melting into the floor as if it had never been.

Elira's legs felt rooted to stone.

Kael called out for guards, but Elira lifted a hand. "No. That wasn't an attack. It was a warning."

Calla's voice trembled. "The relics are waking up. The past is unraveling."

Elira turned to Kael, her face tight. "We need to see the Mirror Priestess. Tonight."

He nodded, eyes still locked on hers. "You're changing," he said. "You feel it, don't you?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she turned her eyes back to the throne.

"I'm not the only one."

Later That Night – Temple of Echoing Stars

The wind screamed across the cliffside, raw and wild. The Temple clung to the mountain like it had been carved from ice and memory. Blue fire flickered from the torches, casting strange shadows across the carved walls.

Elira stepped onto the mirrored floor. Every reflection of her shimmered, distorted—as if the temple wasn't showing her what was, but what could be.

Kael was right beside her. Quiet. Grounding.

The Priestess emerged from the dark. Veiled, flowing like water.

"You bring the blood of old kings," she said, "and something darker still."

"I need the truth," Elira said.

The Priestess lifted a hand. The mirror beneath their feet came to life—visions flickering like flame.

Elira watched pieces of herself unfold: her chains, her exile, her rage. A village burning. Kael's kiss. The moment she shattered the Binding Throne.

Then—suddenly—something new.

A child.

A girl with Elira's sharp eyes… and Kael's fire.

Elira stumbled back. "What is this?"

"Not a prophecy," the Priestess murmured. "A possibility."

Kael's voice was raw. "Why show us this?"

"Because your path isn't fixed. But it is narrowing. The Scourge stirs. And the one who never died… he will rise soon."

Elira's heart thudded. "The One Who Never Died. I've seen him. In flame."

"He remembers you," the Priestess said. "He waits beneath the Obsidian Deep. He remembers the oath you made before you were ever born."

The floor trembled beneath them.

Elira's fists clenched. "Then we wake him."

Kael grabbed her arm, eyes burning. "You don't understand what that means."

"I do." Her voice shook, but didn't falter. "And I don't care. I won't be chained by prophecy. Not again. If the price of freedom is fire, let the world burn."

The Priestess gave a small, unreadable smile. "Then your real story begins."

Back at the Palace

Elira stood alone before a tapestry of her ancestors. The candlelight caught the gold thread in their robes, but in the glass behind her, her reflection looked nothing like them. Not anymore.

Kael joined her, not too close. Just close enough to be felt.

"If you take this path," he said softly, "you may not find your way back."

"I never planned to," she replied.

The silence between them was familiar now. Almost comforting.

"If you asked," Kael said, "I'd follow you."

She turned, slowly. For a brief moment, something cracked behind her eyes—too fast to name, too fragile to hold.

"I don't need a follower," she said. "I need someone who stands beside me. Even when the world calls me cursed."

Kael didn't hesitate. "Then you have me."

Elira stepped closer.

In that quiet, sacred space—where empires had risen and fallen in the space between breath—she leaned in, forehead to forehead.

No vows. No declarations.

Just this moment.

The beginning of something neither of them dared name.