Chapter 1 – The Last Breath
The storm had been circling the valley since dusk, thunder crawling like some restless beast across the sky. Inside the crumbling manor on the hill, six children stood around a dying fire, listening to the rattle of their mother's breathing.
Lady Elenya Veyndar had once been called the Rose of the Crownlands, but now her face was pale, her lips cracked as though the life was being drawn from her by invisible hands. Aelric, the eldest, knelt beside her bed, gripping her frail fingers with hands calloused from years of carrying more weight than his age should have allowed.
"Stay with us, Mother," he whispered, though his voice trembled with the knowledge that she would not.
Her cloudy eyes moved to each of her children in turn—Serenya, standing stiff and silent with her hands clenched white at her sides; Kael, restless, fire in his eyes even here in the presence of death; Lyra, already weeping, torn between despair and the healer's instinct to fix what could not be fixed; Dorian, hovering in the corner, wide-eyed and uncertain; and little Mira, too young to understand, clutching her doll with a stubborn hope that children alone could carry.
"Six… my six," Elenya murmured, her voice a rasp of wind. "The curse awakens. The crown… calls for you."
Aelric leaned closer. "What curse? What do you mean?"
Her lips twitched in something between a smile and a grimace. "Our blood was broken the day our ancestor shattered the Crown of Eternis. Its fragments… live in you now. When the Eclipse comes, you must find them all. Reforge it—or vanish as though you never were."
Lyra sobbed. "No, don't speak like that. Please, you're not—"
Her words cut off with a scream. Elenya's body arched once, then went still. And then, before their eyes, her flesh began to dissolve. Not rot. Not wither. Dissolve—fading into pale motes of light that drifted upward and vanished into the air.
"No!" Serenya lunged forward, but her arms closed on nothing. The bed was empty.
Kael staggered back. "What—what just happened?!"
Dorian's voice was small, broken: "She's… gone."
But the terror was worse than death. Already, Aelric felt a coldness spread in his chest—not grief, but realization. The memory of their mother's voice, her face, her laugh—it was slipping. Like water through cupped hands. He clutched at it desperately, but the more he tried to hold it, the more it dissolved.
And then Mira's small voice cut through the silence.
"I can still remember her."
The others turned. The little girl looked frightened but certain. She pressed her hand to her chest. "I… I think she left something with me. A piece. It's warm inside."
Aelric stared at her, heart pounding. The curse is real.
Outside, the storm broke at last, lightning splitting the heavens in two. And in its light, for a moment, Aelric thought he saw shapes moving in the rain—dark figures, watching the manor from the woods below.
The Hollow Regent's servants had already come.