Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The ground trembled as the Raven Queen descended—not walking, not floating, but gliding, untouched by the mortal plane. Her talon-like feet hovered just above the stone, and her cloak of black feathers dragged smoke and shadow in her wake. The flames that had once bound her now spun lazily above the memory pool, flickering like restless spirits.

Kael moved without thinking, stepping in front of Elira.

"She's not attacking," Elira said, quiet but steady—though her heart was pounding hard enough to shake her ribs.

"No," the Raven Queen said, her voice curling around them like silk dipped in venom. "Because I waited too long for her to come."

Elira didn't flinch. She lifted her chin. "Then speak. You know why I'm here."

"Do I?" the Queen murmured. Her smile wasn't kind or cruel—it was old. Patient. Like something that had already seen the end of this conversation before it began. "You stand with a prince who hasn't decided if he'll save you or betray you, a seer whose sight was never hers to begin with, and blood soaking every step you take. Tell me—what makes you think you're ready for what's ahead?"

"I'm not," Elira said simply. "But I'm here. And I'm not leaving."

The Raven Queen laughed—soft and hollow, like wind echoing through the ruins of a chapel. "Spoken like an heir of the Forgotten Flame."

The chamber dimmed. Shadows bled across the walls, twisting into scenes from Elira's past—iron chains, a firelit prison, her mother's lifeless body. Kael's hand, streaked with blood, reaching for hers in the dark.

The Queen moved around the pool, her fingers brushing the surface. It rippled, then opened—showing a battlefield drowned in violet light, winged warriors screaming into a storm.

"You want strength," the Queen said. "But strength always has a cost."

Kael shifted, tense. "What cost?"

Elira didn't answer.

The Queen turned her eyes on her. "Your fire isn't yours. It was given—fragmented. Broken by those who feared what you might become."

Elira's fists clenched. "Then help me take it back."

The Queen tilted her head. "And why should I?"

"Because you were bound to this blood first," Elira said. "Because they tried to erase you the same way they tried to erase me. And because I won't let either of us be forgotten."

The Queen stilled, just for a breath. Then she raised her hand, and the pool went calm. In its center, something rose—a sword. Not silver. Not gold. Black steel threaded with obsidian veins. It pulsed, steady and alive, in sync with Elira's heartbeat.

"This was made for the one who would never kneel," the Queen said. "The Blade of Memory. It doesn't cut flesh—it cuts truth."

Thorn stepped forward, staring. "That blade was lost. No one's seen it in—"

"It wasn't lost," the Queen said. "It was waiting."

Elira stepped toward it. Her boots rang against the stone. As her hand closed around the hilt, the air itself seemed to exhale—like the whole room had been holding its breath.

Magic surged into her arm, wrapping her skin in burning runes—language she couldn't read, but knew.

The Queen's voice wrapped around her:

"Blood of the fire-born. Flame of the broken line. Wielder of what was stolen… accept your truth. And the weight that comes with it."

Elira's vision blurred. The sword poured memories into her—her mother, younger than Elira had ever seen her, kneeling before the same Queen. Cities swallowed in fire. Kael, barely older than a child, bound in blood magic. A throne built from ribs. A voice whispering Elira's name before she was ever born.

Then—silence.

She blinked. Still standing. Still breathing.

But everything had changed.

The Blade of Memory rested lightly in her hand. Like it had always been there.

"Thank you," she said.

The Raven Queen's smile sharpened. "Don't thank me yet. You've seen truth. You haven't survived it."

Then the floor trembled again—but this time, not because of her.

Maerin's eyes widened. "The wards—someone just broke through."

Kael was already moving, sword drawn.

A figure stepped out from the shadows near the entrance—cloaked in crimson, a jagged bone crown catching the light like a threat.

Lord Arthen.

Kael's voice was ice. "You should be dead."

Arthen smiled. "And you should've stayed asleep, Prince."

Then his gaze shifted to Elira.

"And you… finally holding a blade you were never meant to touch."

Elira opened her mouth, but the Raven Queen lifted her hand.

Time stilled—just long enough for the Queen's whisper to reach her:

"Let them test you. Let them see what the fire remembers."

And then she was gone—vanishing into shadow, leaving Elira standing with the Blade of Memory in her grip, Kael at her side, and Lord Arthen staring down at them with a smile full of old hate.