The last rays of the sun bled across the valley, setting the twisted trees of Lyr'Nael Forest ablaze with hues of crimson and shadow. Kaelan stood at its edge, sweat-drenched and weary, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Behind him lay ruin—burned villages, loyalists slaughtered, his father's dying breath still echoing in his ears. Before him loomed myth.
Lyr'Nael. The Forest of Echoes.
Legends spoke of it as a place where time frayed and magic fed on memory. A forest untouched by axe or flame for centuries, guarded by a will older than the kingdom itself. And somewhere within its labyrinthine heart, whispered through dying tongues, was the name of the one being who might lift the curse devouring Elyndor from within.
Lysara.
But she was no mortal.
As Kaelan stepped beneath the canopy, twilight seemed to twist around him. The forest air turned thick and cold, breathing with a life of its own. Every leaf whispered in an ancient tongue, and every shadow seemed to leer. The forest did not welcome him—it tolerated him, for now.
Hours passed in a disorienting fog of roots and illusions. He no longer knew where the path ended or if there ever had been one. Then, just as despair took root, he felt it—presence. A subtle shift in the air, a tremor in his blood.
Then came the voice.
Silken. Hypnotic. Unnatural.
"You carry the blood that cursed this world. Why would I not slay you where you stand?"
Kaelan whirled around, sword raised, but there was no one. Only mist.
"You stink of desperation... and purpose."
He turned again. This time, she appeared.
From the mist emerged a woman—no, a creature—wreathed in ethereal light. Her form shimmered like water on stone, her long silver hair flowing in a wind that wasn't there. Her eyes glowed with an otherworldly luminescence—like twin moons eclipsing the sun.
"Lysara…" Kaelan whispered.
"Prince Kaelan of Elyndor. Last of the Bloodbound Line. I felt your echo the moment you crossed my veil."
"Then you know why I've come."
She stepped closer. Her feet did not touch the ground.
"You seek the truth of the curse. A way to save your dying realm. But truth, child of kings, is never given. It is taken. And always at a price."
Kaelan lowered his sword, exhausted.
"I have nothing left to give."
"That," she said, circling him slowly, "is a lie all mortals love to tell. You carry more than blood, Kaelan. You carry memory, sorrow, guilt, love. What would you trade for your answers?"
"Anything."
She stopped in front of him. Her hand, pale and cold, reached to his cheek.
"One day, I will take what you treasure most. When that day comes… you will not resist."
He didn't speak. Couldn't. Her touch had frozen the breath in his lungs.
Then, she pressed her hand to his forehead.
Visions slammed into his mind.
He saw a towering throne forged in obsidian and bone… a figure cloaked in red making a pact with a formless shadow… a sword plunged into a brother's heart… an empire born in betrayal.
Draemhar, the first King of Elyndor.
A deal struck with a forgotten god to protect the realm from extinction. A curse sealed in the blood of every heir: strength beyond measure in exchange for slow ruin.
When he awoke, Kaelan was on his knees, drenched in sweat and tears.
"This… this is our legacy?" he gasped.
"It is your burden," Lysara replied, "but also your key. The curse can be broken. But you will need the Tear of Eclipse."
"Where is it?"
"In the Ruins of the World's Eye. Guarded by the Devourer of Memory."
Kaelan struggled to his feet.
"Then take me there."
"I will guide you," she said, turning away. "Our fates are now entwined."
The journey south was treacherous.
They passed through blackened valleys and ghost-haunted rivers, until they reached the scorched lands of Narn'Zul. The earth was cracked, the sky perpetually overcast. Nothing grew. Even the wind refused to speak here.
As they moved through a canyon, Kaelan felt a sudden flicker of danger. He froze, eyes narrowing.
A whisper.
Then—a flash of movement.
He ducked just as an arrow grazed his shoulder.
"You should have stayed in your palace, Prince."
The voice was female. Cold. Familiar.
Maela.
She stepped from the rocks above, bow drawn, her face hardened by battle and grief. Her armor was patched from countless skirmishes, her gaze unwavering.
"I should kill you. And her."
Her eyes darted toward Lysara, who merely watched, unimpressed.
"We're not your enemy," Kaelan said quickly, gripping his wound. "We need your help."
Maela raised an eyebrow.
"Help you? After what your line did to my family? The curse took everything. My home. My brother."
"That same curse is killing me," Kaelan replied. "But I've found a path. A way to end it."
"With her?" she spat. "You think trusting a forest witch will save you?"
Lysara spoke for the first time, her tone like the chill of a tomb.
"You fear what you don't understand. Your rage blinds you."
"And your secrets make me want to put an arrow between your glowing eyes."
Kaelan stepped between them.
"Enough! If we don't stand together, Elyndor dies. I need both of you."
Maela hesitated. Her knuckles whitened around her bowstring.
Then she lowered it.
"Fine. But one betrayal, and I will end her."
Lysara smirked.
"You may try."
That night, they camped near a broken monolith carved with runes. Kaelan sat apart, staring into the fire, haunted by what he had seen.
Maela joined him, tossing him a flask of bitterroot wine.
"You look like you've aged ten years."
"I feel like I've aged a hundred."
"So… what now?"
"Tomorrow, we reach the World's Eye. And then… the Devourer."
Maela didn't reply. Her eyes drifted to Lysara, who stood on the edge of the firelight, whispering to the shadows.
"I still don't trust her."
"Neither do I," Kaelan admitted. "But I don't have the luxury of safe choices."
She looked at him, softer now.
"You've changed."
"The world forced me to."
She hesitated.
"If we survive this… maybe there's still something worth fighting for."
He met her eyes, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders lightened.
But peace never lasted long.
At dawn, a tremor shook the earth. Birds screamed overhead. The ground itself seemed to whisper.
They had arrived at the World's Eye.
A vast chasm stretched before them—bottomless and rimmed with ancient obsidian pillars. A black temple stood at its heart, suspended by chains made of light and shadow.
Lysara's expression turned grim.
"It stirs."
"What stirs?" Kaelan asked.
A low growl echoed from the pit, not from one mouth—but many.
"The Devourer."
Maela drew her sword.
"What now?"
Lysara stepped forward, her voice sharp.
"You must enter alone, Kaelan. Only the bloodbound may touch the Tear."
"And if I don't come back?"
She didn't answer.
He took a breath, nodded, and stepped toward the bridge of shadow.
End of Chapter 3
As Kaelan set foot on the bridge, a scream erupted from the temple—his voice, yet not his voice. Something inside was already waiting. Something that remembered him before he was born.
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