Lysandra hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her spine. The world spun around her, shrouded in shadows and unfamiliar scents—damp earth, cold stone, something metallic lingering in the air.
A groan beside her.
She turned.
Jael lay sprawled a few feet away, his sword just beyond his reach. Blood dripped from a fresh gash along his temple, but he was already pushing himself up, golden eyes blazing in the dim light.
"Where—" Lysandra swallowed against the sharp taste of fear. "Where are we?"
Jael wiped blood from his brow, his jaw tightening. "Not the forest anymore."
No. Definitely not.
They were underground.
The walls around them pulsed with an eerie, bluish glow, illuminating ancient carvings etched into the stone. Sigils. Runes. Some Lysandra recognized from old texts—others felt wrong, their shapes twisting the longer she stared.
A shiver crawled down her spine.
Something about this place felt… alive.
The Forgotten Prison
A sound echoed through the cavern—chains rattling in the dark.
Jael was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his sword just as shadows stirred at the far end of the chamber.
Lysandra held her breath.
From the darkness, a figure emerged.
Tall. Unnaturally still. Cloaked in rags that once might have been royal garments, their edges frayed and soaked in centuries of dust. Their face was hidden beneath a hood, but as they stepped forward, Lysandra caught a glimpse of glowing silver eyes, bright as the moon.
And then—a voice, brittle and ancient.
"It has been a long time since I have seen the cursed prince."
Jael's grip on his sword tightened. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted their head. "A prisoner. Like you."
Lysandra's pulse quickened. A prisoner?
Her gaze flickered to the runes on the walls. The chains embedded in the stone. The eerie glow that pulsed like a heartbeat.
This wasn't just a cavern.
This was a cell.
And whoever stood before them—
Had been here for a very, very long time.
The Curse's Origin
Jael took a step forward. "You know who I am."
The prisoner's lips curved into a small, humorless smile. "I know your blood." Their silver eyes gleamed. "You are the last of the cursed line. The final heir."
Lysandra felt Jael tense beside her.
"The curse…" he murmured. "You know about it?"
The prisoner chuckled softly. "Know it? I was there when it was cast."
Silence.
Lysandra's breath hitched.
Jael's shoulders stiffened.
The air around them felt heavier, charged with something ancient, something dangerous.
"You were there?" Lysandra found her voice, though it was barely more than a whisper. "When the royal family was cursed?"
The prisoner gave a slow nod. "I was the first."
Jael went rigid. "…The first?"
The silver eyes gleamed. "The firstborn. The forgotten heir. The one they erased from history."
Lysandra felt her heart stop.
Jael staggered back a step. "That's not possible."
The prisoner let out a soft, rattling laugh.
"Oh, little prince," they murmured. "You are not the first heir to bear this curse. You are simply the last."
And as the words settled in the air between them, the chains along the walls shuddered—as if the prison itself was waking up.