Chains of the Forgotten Princess

The sky above Veyritha had gone wrong.

Not night, not day—just a heavy, colorless dusk that felt like the world had hit pause. Time held its breath.

Elira stepped out of the ruined temple, Kael close beside her. He was still bleeding, but he didn't slow. Behind them, Thorn limped with a theatrical wince, muttering about needing hazard pay, while Maerin followed in silence, too quiet for comfort.

No one said Arthen's name.

They didn't need to. His final moments still clung to them—visions of a throne outside of time, eyes without lids, wings that moved without sound. That thing he served wasn't a rumor anymore.

Elira couldn't shake the echo of what he'd said.

"The One Who Never Died…"

Not a story. Not a myth. He was real.

And he was watching.

Maerin finally broke the silence. "What if… he was never supposed to be remembered?"

Elira didn't hesitate. "We remember him now."

Kael's eyes stayed fixed ahead. "Which means he remembers us."

They rode through what was left of Veyritha in silence. The city—once full of memory and magic—felt hollow. The stones whispered with the weight of everything lost.

Elira closed her eyes for just a moment.

She still heard the Raven Queen's voice:Seek the Forgotten King. The One Who Never Died. Before he remembers who he was.

There were no maps. No clues. Just one name whispered to her like a half-memory:

The Spiral Tombs.

Buried beneath the Greyline Mountains. A place too old for history. Even memory didn't linger there.

"We ride north," Elira said. "To the tombs."

Thorn groaned. "Tombs. Why is it always tombs?"

Kael didn't even look back. "Because we're out of time."

As they left the city, the wind picked up, dry and cold. No birds flew. Even the air felt like it was watching them.

Far below, in a place untouched by time

The chamber wasn't built. It was shaped—willed into being.

Its walls throbbed with dark veins, obsidian laced with a pulse that didn't belong in this world. At the center sat a throne older than kings.

And something in it moved.

He wasn't alive. But he wasn't dead, either.

The First King. The One Who Never Died.

He opened his eyes—if they could be called eyes. They burned with old light. Light that had never known mercy.

And across the world, every blood-marked member of the Blackblood Order screamed as their runes caught fire.

Back above, in the cold

By dawn, Elira and her allies reached the edge of Silverstep Valley. The air here was thinner. Quieter. Like even the wind was afraid of what lay ahead.

They gathered in a broken tower, huddled around a cracked stone table.

"The Spiral Tombs were sealed before my mother was born," Elira said. "Only the Timekeepers of Veyritha knew the path. Most of them died when the city fell."

Maerin looked up. "But not all."

Elira nodded. "One survived. Vanished after the fall of Thandrel Keep."

Thorn leaned in. "You think he's in the tombs?"

"I think he's guarding them."

Kael frowned. "Why hide instead of warn us?"

Elira's voice dropped. "Because he knew. If the One Who Never Died ever woke… we couldn't kill him. We'd have to erase him. Entirely."

Silence followed.

Even Thorn didn't crack a joke.

Because erasure meant something worse than death. It meant making someone unmade. Like they had never been. No memory. No trace. Gone.

"We find the tombs," Kael said. "And we find out how to erase a god."

Thorn muttered, "I liked it better when our biggest problem was stealing bread."

Elira gave him the faintest smile. But inside, something stirred. The Blade of Memory—sheathed at her side—felt restless. Like it knew something was waiting.

That night, while the others slept, Elira walked alone to the edge of camp.

The stars were dull. Dimmed by something rising on the horizon no one could name.

She whispered, "Mother… what did you see in him? Why did the world forget him—but not you?"

The answer came soft and cold.

"Because I chose to be forgotten."

Elira spun—no one there.

The voice hadn't come from outside her.

It had come from inside her magic.

From her blood.

She stood there, heart pounding, as realization set in:

The One Who Never Died had touched her bloodline once.

And somehow, even now—He still could.