Chains of the Forgotten Princess

They set out for the Temple of the Shattered Moon before first light.

Elira stood at the top of the ridge, boots grinding against loose gravel. Ahead, the mountains rose like sleeping giants. Kael adjusted his pack beside her, sword strapped tight beneath his cloak. Whisper walked barefoot through the cold, untouched by the sting of wind or stone.

No one spoke. Not much. There was a weight in the air—like something old was beginning to stir.

By midmorning, they'd left behind the last marked path, following a forgotten trail no longer on any map. Trees leaned in, branches tangled with mist. The forest whispered. Maybe it spoke her name. Maybe her mother's.

They reached the ruins by dusk.

What was once a temple looked more like a broken skeleton. Pillars jutted from the earth like cracked ribs. The domed ceiling was gone, vines choking the bones of the place. Shattered statues lay scattered, their faces worn smooth by time.

Elira walked through the rubble, fingers brushing a mosaic half-lost to moss.

At the center stood a single figure—an old stone carving of a woman, arms outstretched. Her face had eroded, but her posture was clear.

A guardian.Or a warning.

Kael stepped up beside her. "Doesn't look like much of a temple."

"That's because it's not," Whisper said quietly. She crouched by a crumbled stairwell and brushed the dirt away with her hands. Silver runes flickered beneath the surface.

Kael frowned. "Wards?"

"Buried," Whisper said. "Not broken. They've been waiting."

Elira stepped closer. "For me?"

Whisper nodded. "Blood remembers."

The ground rumbled.

The stones shifted, groaning like something waking from a long sleep. Dust rose. Cracks split open. Then, slowly, the earth revealed a spiral stair—leading inward, not down—cut deep into bedrock. Ancient symbols glowed softly along the walls.

Kael's hand moved to his blade. "Something's alive down there."

"I don't think it ever stopped," Elira said.

They descended.

The deeper they went, the more the air changed—stone and damp fading into something older. Incense. Copper. Magic. The walls gave off a soft glow, like they were remembering.

Whisper led, murmuring to herself. She moved like this place already knew her. Like it had lived in her dreams.

They stepped into a wide, circular chamber. Perfectly intact. The walls were covered in constellations—twisted, unfamiliar. At the center stood a pedestal.

On it, a vial.

Sealed with wax stamped in a crescent moon, split down the middle.

Elira approached slowly, her heart pounding. Her hands shook, though she didn't know why. Something in that vial felt… connected. Deep.

"That's the Oath of Sundering," Whisper said behind her.

Kael tensed. "The what?"

"The last vow your mother made," Whisper said. "Not to the Crown. To you."

Elira reached out. Her fingers brushed the vial.

And the vision hit.

—

She stood somewhere else—some when else.

The chamber was whole, glowing with power.

Her mother knelt at the pedestal. Queen Seris. Younger. But her eyes already carried too much.

Blood stained her hands. Her crown was cracked.

Across from her stood a man wreathed in flame.

The King Who Never Died.

His face was hidden, but his voice cut deep.

"You're not strong enough to stop what's coming."

"I don't have to stop it," Seris said. "Just delay it. Until she's ready."

He turned. A crib sat in the corner, carved from moonstone.

A baby cried.

Elira's heart froze.

Seris held the vial high. "This is my vow. I seal the first truth. I bind it to her blood. She'll awaken it when the world forgets."

"She'll be hunted," the King warned.

"I already am," Seris whispered. "Better a traitor than a coward."

And she poured her magic—her strength—into the vial.

—

Elira collapsed, gasping.

Kael caught her before she hit the floor. "What did you see?"

She opened her palm. The vial glowed softly. Its seal had cracked.

"She knew," Elira said. "Everything. The Throne. The Binding. The war they erased."

Kael's face hardened. "The King?"

"He's not dead. They never killed him. They bound him. Under Mirror City. And they used his magic to create the blood oath."

Whisper's voice was small. "So the Crown's power comes from him?"

"Yes."

The silence that followed was thick.

Then Kael asked, "What does that make you, Elira?"

She looked at the vial in her hand. At the Phoenix feather. At everything she now carried.

"I don't know," she said.

But the word echoing inside her wasn't princess.

It was unbound.

And with that came a colder truth:

Zarek wouldn't let her leave this place alive.

Whisper gasped. "They've found us."

Above, the wind shifted.

A screech—metal scraping against magic—pierced the air.

The Mirror Guard had arrived.

Kael's sword was already in hand. "We hold here."

"No," Elira said, rising. "We don't wait to be cornered."

She turned to Whisper. "Can you open a path?"

Whisper nodded. "The roots sleep below. But if you bleed on the altar…"

Elira didn't hesitate.

She pressed her palm to the carved sigil.

Her blood hissed against stone.

The temple responded.

Roots exploded from the cracks. Vines twisted like snakes through the floor. The chamber groaned, and a hidden passage split open—a tunnel of roots and old memory spiraling into darkness.

Kael stared. "Where does it go?"

Whisper's voice shook. "To where he sleeps."

Elira looked into the dark.

Her blood burned. Her mother's vow pulsed in her chest.

"Then we wake him."

Footsteps echoed behind them—closer now. The Guard was here.

But Elira wasn't afraid anymore.

Not when she was the key they never meant to survive.