The night was thick over the highlands of Eldenor, and the wind whispered like a thousand restless ghosts. Mist curled between the ruins of what had once been a sacred sanctuary, now broken, forgotten, and swallowed by time.
Kaelan stood atop a crumbling pillar, his cloak billowing behind him as he stared into the shifting shadows. At his side, Lysara knelt near a patch of glowing, ethereal moss, her pale fingers plucking a bluish herb that pulsed with faint magical light.
"This place..." she murmured, not looking up. "Your ancestors built it when they still believed they could outrun the consequences of their power. But blood never forgets."
Kaelan remained silent. The air here was different—heavy, charged. Something ancient lived beneath the stones, something that had witnessed the birth of a curse.
"I need to know the truth," he said finally, voice low and hoarse. "Everything."
Lysara turned to him, her silver eyes glinting.
"Then you must descend. Beneath the altar lies the first truth—ugly, twisted, and buried for centuries. You won't like what you find."
"I don't care," he answered.
"Good," she whispered. "Because the blood remembers. Even if you don't."
She brushed her hand across a stone slab etched with runes. It pulsed faintly, and the world around Kaelan fractured.
Visions of the Blood
The sky turned red. Fire, screams, and steel filled Kaelan's senses. He wasn't in the ruins anymore. He stood among the armies of old, cloaked in the memory of a war long past.
Three kings stood at the heart of the vision—Aldorien the Conqueror, Malekar the Cruel, and Vaelor the Wise. All bore the same sigil Kaelan wore today: the serpent entwined with the crown.
They had built the kingdom of Elyndor not with justice, but with bloodshed. And when their enemies rose stronger, when kingdoms refused to kneel, they had turned to something darker.
In the depths of a cavern, the kings invoked a name that hadn't been spoken aloud in a thousand years: The Onyx Abyss.
A voice answered.
Dark. Sweet. Hungry.
"For each victory, a child," the voice hissed.
Kaelan saw the pact formed. A river of innocent blood flowing into black stone. A dagger passed between kings. A vow etched into their veins.
And the curse was born.
An inheritance not of wealth or legacy, but of death.
Every heir to come would be a key—and a price.
The vision collapsed, and Kaelan dropped to his knees in the ruins, breath ragged, sweat freezing on his brow.
"It was them..." he gasped. "They cursed us. It was our doing."
Lysara looked at him without sympathy.
"Yes. Your throne stands atop a thousand broken lives. Your bloodline was forged in darkness, and now, it feeds on itself."
The Chamber Below
Without speaking, she led him deeper into the sanctuary. A hidden staircase twisted down into the earth. Ancient carvings lit up faintly as they descended—snakes, flames, and dying suns.
At the bottom, they found a sealed chamber.
"You must enter alone," Lysara said. "It will only show you the truth it holds."
Kaelan pressed his hand to the stone. It burned cold against his skin, then shifted with a groan.
The chamber within was circular, its walls lined with decaying frescoes and torn banners of long-dead kings. At the center stood a pedestal.
On it lay a mirror of black glass.
Kaelan approached slowly. The mirror showed no reflection—only smoke.
Then, something moved within.
A face. Pale, regal, cold.
It was his face. But twisted—eyes hollow, a crown of thorns upon his brow, and blood dripping from his fingertips.
"You came," the reflection spoke. "But it changes nothing."
Kaelan stepped back, stunned.
"You are not real."
"I am your future," the reflection replied. "Your blood. Your throne. Your curse. You cannot break what you are."
The mirror shimmered, and a hand of shadow stretched toward Kaelan. Instinctively, he drew his sword and struck.
The blade shattered the mirror in a burst of obsidian shards.
A wave of energy blasted him backward, and he collapsed against the cold stone floor, gasping.
His veins burned. Something ancient had awakened inside him.
He awoke at the edge of the sanctuary, the first light of dawn bleeding across the horizon.
Lysara stood over him.
"You broke the seal," she said.
"I saw him. A version of me... or something that waits to become me."
"That was not a vision," she said. "It was a warning."
Kaelan clenched his jaw.
"Then I'll carve a different path. Even if it kills me."
Lysara's gaze lingered on him a moment longer than usual.
"Many have said that before. Most are buried beneath the stones you just walked over."
The Past Awakens
They traveled eastward. Days passed. The forest grew darker. The sky heavier.
Kaelan barely spoke. Something had changed in him. The vision of the mirror haunted him—his ancestors, the curse, the prophecy… all of it now etched into his soul.
"You carry it now," Lysara told him as they camped under an old yew tree. "The mark. You can feel it, can't you?"
He nodded.
"It calls to me when I sleep. It... hungers."
She leaned in closer.
"You're not the first to try breaking the curse. But you may be the first to understand what it costs."
That night, Kaelan dreamed of thrones burning. And of a crown that bled when worn.
The Return of Maela
The next evening, as the fire cracked beneath a sky heavy with clouds, someone staggered into their camp.
Maela.
She was wounded—shoulder torn, face dirtied with ash and blood.
Kaelan rushed to her side.
"Maela—what happened?"
Her voice trembled.
"We were ambushed. The northern outpost is gone. Someone betrayed us... gave our location to the enemy."
"Who?" Kaelan growled.
She looked up, and for a moment, Kaelan saw fear—not for herself, but for him.
"They flew banners I haven't seen in years. Black silk. A crimson serpent... coiled around a sun."
Lysara's face went cold.
"The Cult of the Oath," she whispered. "They were thought extinct."
Kaelan narrowed his eyes.
"What are they?"
"A remnant," Lysara said darkly. "They served the Abyss directly—protectors of the ancient pact. If they've returned, they mean to enforce the curse."
Maela gritted her teeth.
"They said your name, Kaelan. They're hunting you. Not to kill you—but to crown you. To bind you."
A chill ran down Kaelan's spine.
"Then they'll have to kill me first."
But deep inside, a voice echoed:
Or you will join them, as all your forefathers did.
Unraveling Loyalties
Later that night, Maela took Kaelan aside.
"You're changing," she said softly. "There's something... dangerous in your eyes now."
"I've seen too much."
"Don't let it devour you. I followed you because you were different. You felt. You cared."
He looked away.
"If I let myself care too much, I won't survive what's coming."
She stepped closer.
"Then don't survive alone."
Lysara watched from the shadows, her expression unreadable.
"The heart is a fragile weapon," she murmured to herself. "Especially in a war written in blood."
End of the chapter - The Mirror Cracks again
That night, Kaelan couldn't sleep. The fire had dimmed, and silence blanketed the camp.
He rose and walked to the edge of a nearby ravine, the wind tugging at his cloak.
Then he saw it.
A shimmer in the air.
The shards of the obsidian mirror—floating before him, whispering.
He comes…
From the darkness, a figure stepped out.
Clad in black armor. A face Kaelan recognized.
Not a reflection.
A man.
Alive.
Real.
The same eyes. The same blood.
"You are not ready," the figure said. "But the crown does not wait."
"Who are you?" Kaelan demanded.
The man tilted his head, smiling coldly.
"I am the part of you that will do what must be done. You can fight it... or embrace it."
Then he vanished, leaving behind a single word carved into the rock:
BROTHER.
Kaelan staggered back, breath stolen.
He wasn't the last heir.
The curse had a second vessel.
And it was already moving against him.
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