For a long moment, no one moved.
The cave fell into a breathless hush, the girl's final words echoing like an ancient curse etched into stone.
"The one who never died."
Kael stood frozen, sword slack in his grip, the fire in his eyes dulled by the gravity of what they'd just heard. Elira knelt beside the girl's still form, her hands trembling—not from fear, but from recognition. Something inside her had shifted the moment the name was spoken, like a door creaking open in the darkest corner of her memory.
The girl's lips had shaped her name like it wasn't a plea.
It was a warning.
Elira touched the girl's cheek—cold, stiff. Her skin was threaded with black veins, not signs of disease, but marks of magic. The kind that sank deeper than flesh. The kind that didn't let go.
"This wasn't possession," she murmured, voice low.
Kael moved beside her, tense. "Then what was it?"
"She was the spell."
His brows pulled together. "What do you mean?"
"She wasn't just a vessel," Elira said slowly, rising to her feet. "She was a seal. A living lock. Her body held the power in place. And now that she's gone…"
"…whatever she was containing is loose," Kael finished, voice grim.
Elira nodded, wiping her palms on her cloak. "And it's not something new. It's old. Older than any magic I've ever felt. Older than the kingdoms that rule today."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You knew those symbols on the floor."
"I've seen them before. In Maelgard. Carved into the prison walls. Hidden beneath newer spells. They didn't want them found."
His jaw tightened.
"You think this ties to your exile?"
"I think it goes far beyond me."
She dropped to her knees again and brushed her fingers over the blood-darkened runes. Her magic stirred like a beast inside her chest—uneasy, aching.
"What do you feel?" Kael asked.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Something waking up."
Kael stepped closer, sword at the ready. Not threatening—just prepared. Elira pressed her hands to the runes.
And everything around her vanished.
A vision.
Fire consuming stone. A black throne made from bones. A man with no face—just a crown of fire and hollow eyes. The sound of a heartbeat, ancient and heavy, rattling the sky itself.
And beneath it all… laughter.
Cruel. Cold. Unending.
Elira gasped and ripped her hands back, staggering. Kael caught her before she could fall.
"I saw him," she breathed. "Not clearly. But enough."
Kael steadied her. "Who?"
"The king who never died."
He exhaled slowly, a grim line settling on his lips. "Myths. Prophecies."
"No." Elira met his gaze. "History. Buried truths."
"And someone's digging them up."
She nodded.
They burned the girl's body before leaving. Elira insisted.
"She deserves peace," she said softly. "Even if she never had it."
Kael said nothing. But he didn't stop her.
By the time they returned to Veylor Fortress, the skies had darkened again. Guards parted as they passed, their whispers quick and urgent.
The forgotten princess had returned.
And she hadn't come back empty-handed.
The next morning, Kael summoned the council without warning.
The war room filled quickly—noblemen, commanders, spies, all buzzing with tension. Elira stood at Kael's side, her violet eyes daring anyone to speak against her.
"Three more dead," Kael began, voice clipped and cold. "Same signs. Burned earth. Melted steel. No enemy in sight."
Murmurs rose.
"It's not Ilyria. Not any mage we know. We're facing something older. Something darker."
He nodded toward Elira.
She stepped forward, unflinching.
"In the Ironwood ruins, we found a girl turned into a living seal. Her body was transformed into a lock for ancient power. A curse, not a weapon."
"The Dark Era," someone muttered.
"She spoke of a king," Elira said. "One who never died."
Whispers spread like fire.
Kael placed a parchment on the table. The blood-symbol from the cave. Precisely drawn.
Several councilmen recoiled.
"Anyone recognize this?" Kael asked.
Silence. Then Lord Varric cleared his throat.
"My grandfather warned of a cult," he said. "Devoted to a god-king. Called him the Undying Crown."
Elira's pulse quickened. "I saw that name. In Maelgard."
"He was sealed," Varric said. "Not slain."
Kael's voice dropped. "And someone wants to unseal him."
A heavy stillness settled over the room.
"If he returns," Elira said, "we won't be fighting a nation. We'll be fighting death itself."
That night, Elira stood alone on the battlements, snow gathering at her feet.
Kael joined her without a word.
"You were right," he said after a pause. "I didn't believe you."
She glanced at him.
"I thought you were unstable. Dangerous."
She gave a quiet, bitter smile. "I was."
"But I didn't see the whole picture."
He hesitated.
"What did they do to you, Elira?"
She stared out at the endless white forest, her voice barely above the wind. "They broke me. Piece by piece. My name, my magic, my memories. Until the only thing left was pain."
He didn't interrupt.
"I promised myself if I ever escaped, I'd never let anyone silence me again."
Kael turned to her, something in his expression softer than she'd ever seen.
"I don't want to silence you," he said. "I want you loud. Fierce. Because that's what we'll need."
Their eyes met.
And for the first time, it wasn't as enemies.
But as two people who had been broken…
…and refused to stay that way.