FEW HOURS EARLIER*
The hidden chamber beneath the palace of Lunaris was suffocating in its silence. Dust clung to the air like ghosts of forgotten truths, and the only light came from flickering lanterns suspended by worn chains. Kael stood hunched over a stone table, ancient scrolls spread out before him in chaotic disarray.
His eyes were bloodshot from hours of reading.
He traced the faded ink with a gloved finger, lips moving silently.
đź“ś"WHEN THE BLOOD OF THE MOON QUEEN IS CAST INTO SHADOW AND BOUND IN SILVER, THE REALM SHALL TREMBLE."
đź“ś"THE BOND SHALL RISE FROM THE CURSE, AND THE CURSED SHALL BLEED TO RESTORE WHAT WAS LOST..."
Then,nothing.
Just a jagged tear where the parchment had been ripped.
Kael leaned back slowly, breath catching in his throat.
"What happened to the rest of it?" he murmured aloud, though no one was there to answer.
The tear wasn't new. It was intentional. He examined the fibers clean, sliced by a blade. Someone had removed the next part of the prophecy.
But why?
He slammed his fist against the table, scrolls fluttering like startled birds.
The words echoed in his head, gnawing at him. That line, the bond shall rise, kept returning like a thorn he couldn't pull out. Every time he thought of her, the strange heat in his chest surged, that unnatural pull stretching between them like a thread strung too tight.
Selene.
The girl they called Forsaken. The girl who shouldn't be alive.
The girl whose blood sang to something deep inside him, and he hated it.
She wasn't supposed to be anything more than a prisoner. And yet…
He turned toward the door.
Two guards stood outside the dungeon cell, their expressions stiff as Kael approached. The corridor stank of mildew and rust, and the torches barely lit the way.
"Is she still awake?" Kael asked flatly.
One of them nodded. "She hasn't spoken in hours, but she's not asleep."
He looked through the small barred window of the cell.
Selene sat cross-legged on the stone floor, her back against the wall. Chains bound her ankles and wrists, but her posture was oddly calm, almost regal. Her face was streaked with grime, but her eyes—those silver-blue eyes—were open and steady, watching the door like she knew he was there.
"Move her," Kael ordered.
The guards stiffened.
"Move her?" one repeated. "Your Highness, with all due respect—"
"To a chamber in the West Wing." Kael snapped. "Treat her like a prisoner again and I'll have you both reassigned to the border patrol. Permanently."
The guards exchanged nervous glances, then nodded.
"As you wish, Prince Kael."
The chains were heavy as they clinked against Selene's ankles. She walked in silence, flanked by armed soldiers, the path winding upward from the cold belly of the dungeon into the higher halls of the keep.
No one spoke to her. But many stared.
Servants paused, whispering behind doorways. Some gasped. A Forsaken walking freely—even bound—was something out of myth. Most of them had never seen one and believed the Forsaken were nothing more than cautionary tales for children.
But Selene was real. She was living proof of a truth long buried.
And yet, no one knew what to make of her.
She didn't lift her head as she was led into the west wing.
The room they brought her to was modest but warm. A fire crackled in the hearth. There was a small bed, a basin of clean water, and a narrow window overlooking the cliffs. She turned slowly, her eyes adjusting to the softness of it.
The guards removed her shackles and stepped back.
"You will remain here until further orders," one muttered. "Don't try anything."
She didn't respond. The door shut with a thud.
And then—silence.
Selene stood alone in the room, hands trembling faintly now that she was free of the iron. Her wrists were red and bruised, and she ran her fingers over the marks slowly.
They had found her, outside the iron door where she saw the runes and the mysterious figure. They had found the man on the floor and of course, they thought she had killed him.Â
She walked to the window and pressed her palm to the glass. The moonlight streamed in, gentle and silver, casting her reflection back at her.
And that was when it struck.
The pain.
Like a bolt of lightning through her mind.
She collapsed to her knees, yelping in pain as she clutched her head, she gritted her teeth against the sudden flood of images.
A pale woman with hair like fire, shouting her name.
"Selene, take it and go—don't stop!"
A silver blade. Blood staining white silk.
Wolves howling. Fire crackling. A kingdom burning.
The feel of her own hand gripping a dagger—her own voice crying out in rage.
And then—
A crown.
So close, she could almost touch it.
Her eyes flew open.
Her breathing was ragged. Her hands were shaking. She stared down at her palms as though they didn't belong to her.
"Who… was she?" Selene whispered.
The fragments slipped away like mist, but the feeling remained.
She knew that woman. She knew that voice. And whatever happened… it had broken something deep inside her.
But no one here knew that.
No one suspected a thing.
They thought she was just a Forsaken.
Let them believe it.
For now.
🔹🔹🔹
KAEL'S CHAMBERÂ
Kael stood in front of his chamber mirror, staring at his own reflection.
He couldn't stop thinking about her.
The prophecy. The scroll. The torn fragment. The bond.
She had appeared out of nowhere—and now, everything was changing.
"Why do I feel this way?" he muttered.
His hand brushed over his chest, where the heat flared every time she was near.
He didn't want it.
He didn't trust it.
But he couldn't ignore it anymore.
And something told him… neither could she.
To be continued...