Chains of the Forgotten Princess

Elira stood at the edge of the northern cliffs, her cloak snapping behind her like a banner. Frost stung her lips, sharp and ancient. Below, the valleys drowned in mist. Beyond them, the Greyline Mountains rose—jagged peaks cutting through clouds like bones.

They had made it.

But the Spiral Tombs weren't just hidden. They were buried in time itself.

Maerin knelt by a broken obelisk, brushing snow from old Veyrithan runes. "These markings... they don't want to be read."

Kael crouched beside her. "Memory wards?"

Maerin nodded. "Or worse. Forgetting sigils. They don't just block knowledge. They erase it."

Thorn leaned on his sword, smirking despite the tension. "Great. A mountain that eats thoughts. Love that."

Elira didn't speak. Her hand hovered over the Blade of Memory.

Because she knew this place.

Not from stories. Not from books.

From something older.

A spiral door. Stone without hinges. A whisper in her bones.

"Elira?" Kael's voice cut through the cold. "You're pale."

She turned slowly. "I know where the entrance is."

His brow creased. "How?"

She blinked—and for just a moment, her eyes flickered silver.

"Because he showed me."

Silence.

Maerin's voice dropped. "The One Who Never Died?"

Elira nodded.

"He's already inside me."

They camped under a twisted pine, roots like claws gripping stone. No fire. No jokes. Not even Thorn had the heart.

Kael sat beside Elira, not too close, but watching.

"What do you mean he's inside you?"

Elira didn't answer right away.

She drew her sword and laid it across her knees. It hummed—low, constant. The Blade of Memory never slept.

"When I touched the Raven Queen's blood… I saw things. A throne of bone. A crown that bled shadows. And I heard him. Not in my head. Deeper."

Kael's jaw clenched. "You think he's using you."

"No." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I think I'm turning into him."

Kael looked at her—really looked. Past the rebellion. Past the blood.

He placed a hand over hers. "You're not him."

She stared at their hands. "What if I was made from what he left behind?"

"Then we burn it out," he said. "Together."

By morning, they reached the spiral gate.

Not a door. A wound in the world—black stone curling inward. The air shimmered, warped.

Thorn stepped too close and stumbled back, eyes wide. "I forgot my own name."

Maerin swallowed. "This is it. The tomb that even memory avoids."

Elira stepped forward.

The stone moved. Groaned. The spiral uncoiled, revealing a tunnel that reeked of rot, magic, and warped time.

Kael drew his blade. "We go in together."

"No," Elira said. "Only I can open the last chamber."

Maerin stepped forward. "Elira—"

"I'll call when it's safe," she said. "If I'm still me."

Kael grabbed her arm. "If he takes over—"

She leaned in. "Then kill me."

His grip tightened. "Don't ask that."

"You already know."

Before he could say more, she turned—and stepped inside.

The darkness wasn't just dark. It unmade memory. Her thoughts slipped. Her mother's face. Kael's voice. Gone—for a breath—before she forced herself back.

The corridors twisted endlessly, walls whispering:

You were born of blood.

You are a crown's echo.

He never died. He became.

A chamber opened.

At its center: a mirror.

But it didn't show her.

It showed a throne of fire—and someone with her face.

She stepped closer.

The mirror rippled.

And out stepped her—but older. Taller. A crown of molten iron on her head. Eyes like stars, burning with memory.

Elira froze. "You…"

The other her smiled. Cold.

"I'm what happens," she said, "when you forget who you are."