The sacred pond swallowed Bam like a hungry god, its dark waters pulling him down into mysteries older than kingdoms. Light exploded around him—not the gentle glow of dawn, but something primal and terrible that consumed his vision entirely.
When sight returned, he stood once again in Khonsu's temple, surrounded by pillars that stretched into shadow. But this time, the oppressive silence felt different. This time, he was alone.
The sand ropes he'd crafted with his magic had vanished the moment he'd crossed the threshold—a reminder that in this place between worlds, earthly power meant nothing.
"I have to know," he whispered to the ancient stones, his voice echoing with desperate determination. "What curse binds me to him?"
Memory guided his steps toward the central podium they'd failed to examine during his last vision. The artifact waited there like a patient predator—a moon-shaped relic covered in hieroglyphs that seemed to shift and writhe when he wasn't looking directly at them.
"How am I supposed to read this?" Frustration leaked into his voice. The ancient script mocked him with its complexity, each symbol carrying the weight of forgotten ages.
I should have brought Seshat, he thought bitterly. Forgetit. He didn't even believe me
Against every instinct screaming warnings, Bam reached out and touched the artifact.
The response was immediate and violent.
Thorny vines erupted from the temple floor, wrapping around his legs like the grasping fingers of the damned. He tore them away with royal fury, but more took their place—thicker, stronger, hungrier.
CRACK.
A pillar beside him split open, releasing that same cursed pink smoke that had shown him visions of impossible things. The sweet, cloying scent filled his lungs despite his efforts to hold his breath.
"Not again," he gasped, but the vines held him fast while the smoke worked its insidious magic.
As consciousness began to slip away, a figure materialized in the swirling mist. Tall, otherworldly, with pointed ears and hair that flowed like liquid fire—red bleeding into black like spilled blood on obsidian.
The face remained frustratingly blurred, as if reality itself refused to let him see clearly. But the voice that emerged was crystal clear, carrying the weight of prophecy and desperate urgency:
"Save him."
"Save who?" Bam's mind screamed as the final vine covered his eyes and the world dissolved into pink-tinted oblivion.
Year 874 of the Starcord Calendar
Place: Aetherlyn
When awareness returned, Bam found himself in a world of snow and shadows—but somehow, he felt warm. Strong arms held him close, and a weathered hand caressed his cheek with infinite tenderness.
"Don't push yourself too hard, my dear," an elderly woman said, her voice carrying the musical quality unique to elvenkind. "I'd rather go without supplies than lose you to the dangers beyond our barrier."
The words hit him like physical blows. Mother. This woman was his mother, and the love in her ancient eyes was so pure it made his heart ache with recognition.
"I'm not a child anymore, Mom," he heard himself say, though the voice wasn't quite his own. It was younger, gentler—untouched by the cynicism that would later define him.
But I am a child, he realized with growing horror. I'm living someone else's memories. Someone else's life.
The knowledge flooded him like poison: He was Kunpimook Bhuwakul, prince of the elf clan, son of the legendary leader Tidar. The sacred forests that had once been sanctuaries for his people had become hunting grounds for human greed.
Elves—beings of healing and light—had been reduced to beautiful slaves, their divine gifts perverted into tools of convenience for corrupt nobles. Those who refused to serve were hunted like animals, their forests burned, their children stolen.
His father had died protecting what remained of their people. Now the responsibility fell to him.
This is why I became him, Bam realized with dawning terror. This is the life that shaped the monster.
Routine had been his enemy.
That morning, like every morning for twenty years, he'd kissed his mother's forehead and ventured beyond the barrier to gather intelligence and supplies. The mission was always the same: stay hidden, stay safe, return home.
He should have known that happiness was too fragile to last.
The barrier flickered like a dying candle as he approached the forest's edge. Even from a distance, he could smell the smoke—acrid, choking, carrying the scent of burned dreams.
The village that had been alive with gentle laughter that morning was now a graveyard of ash and sorrow.
His mother lay in the snow, her silver hair stained crimson, her kind eyes staring sightlessly at the sky she'd once blessed with her voice. Around her, scattered like broken dolls, were the bodies of everyone he'd ever loved.
The human soldiers had come like a plague, overwhelming their defenses through sheer brutality. No mercy. No quarter. No survivors—except for him.
That was the moment Prince Kunpimook died and something else was born in the ashes.
Rage. Pure, crystalline, eternal rage that burned away everything soft and good in his soul.
"I'll make them pay," he whispered to his mother's corpse, the words carrying the weight of an oath that would damn multiple lifetimes. "Every single one of them will know the pain they've given me."
The healing magic that flowed through his veins began to change, responding to his hatred. Light became shadow. Life became death. The divine gift of his people twisted into something dark and terrible—a power that would poison him even as it granted him the means for revenge.
Seven years he trained in isolation, perfecting his deadly arts, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
When word reached him that the king had finally sired a daughter—a precious princess he cherished above all else—Kunpimook knew fate had delivered his target.
I'll destroy what he loves most, he swore. Just as he destroyed mine.
.....
Seventeen years of playing the perfect slave.
Seventeen years of enduring contempt, mockery, and casual cruelty while he waited for his moment. The other soldiers saw only what he wanted them to see—a broken elf, grateful for scraps, too beaten down to cause trouble.
They never suspected that their loyal healer was a predator waiting to strike.
The plan was elegant in its simplicity. His connection to the forest's creatures gave him the perfect weapon: a twelve-foot serpent with twin heads and venom potent enough to fell giants.
The princess, he thought as he watched the massive snake disappear into the earth. Kill the thing he loves most, and watch his world crumble.
He'd never seen her—few had. The royal brat was kept isolated in her tower, protected from the common rabble. All he knew came from the whispered conversations of guards who spoke of her beauty in reverent tones.
"Pink hair like spun silk," one had said. "Eyes like emeralds, and a smile that could make flowers bloom. She was like a fairy"
Pathetic, Kunpimook had thought. They've never seen true beauty. They destroyed all the real fairies long ago.
When the screams began, he felt only satisfaction.
When they begged for his help—the legendary healer who'd earned their grudging respect—he could barely contain his triumph.
Finally, he thought as he approached the princess's chambers. Let the revenge begin.
....
The door opened to reveal not a monster, but a frail girl.
She was smaller than he'd expected, her pink hair spread across silk pillows like scattered rose petals. Fever flushed her cheeks, and her breathing came in labored gasps as the venom worked its deadly magic.
For one traitorous moment, guilt lanced through his heart. She's innocent. She's just a child.
But he crushed the feeling ruthlessly. Innocence is a luxury I can't afford. This is justice.
He placed his hands on her burning forehead, preparing to deliver the final dose of poison that would end her young life. The healing light began to flow—or rather, its dark reflection, designed to hasten death rather than prevent it.
Then her hand shot up with impossible strength.
Her fingers closed around his wrist like iron shackles, and when her eyes opened, they blazed with defiance that stole his breath. Even at death's door, drugged with enough venom to fell a war horse, she stared at him with unwavering determination.
"I don't want to die."
The words weren't spoken—they blazed from her eyes with the force of an imperial command. This wasn't the fear of a child facing oblivion. This was something deeper, more primal. The desperate fury of someone who had responsibilities that death could not be allowed to interrupt.
How? His mind reeled. The venom should have rendered her unconscious hours ago. How is she still fighting?
But even as he stared into those impossible emerald eyes, he found himself nodding. Promising. Swearing that he would save her.
What's happening to me?
"You'd better save me," she managed to whisper, her voice carrying a hint of the imperious princess despite her weakness. "Or I'll haunt you for eternity."
Still making threats even now, he thought with something that might have been admiration. She's... remarkable.
Without conscious decision, he began to truly heal her. The dark magic reversed itself, becoming light once more. Green energy flowed between them, neutralizing the poison, calming her fever, drawing her back from the edge of the abyss he'd pushed her toward.
As she finally relaxed into peaceful sleep, Kunpimook stared at her face and felt something shift in the deepest parts of his soul.
What have I done?
....
"You have saved my most precious treasure," the king declared from his golden throne, his eyes glittering with avarice rather than gratitude. "Name your reward, elf."
Kunpimook could see the trap clearly. Ask for freedom, and he'd be executed as a flight risk. Ask for gold, and he'd be branded greedy. The king wanted an excuse to keep his talented healer close—preferably in chains.
"The venom was stronger than I anticipated, Your Majesty," Kunpimook said, bowing low to hide his calculating expression. "I must attend the princess daily for five years to ensure complete recovery."
Perfect, he thought. Five years to gain her trust, then destroy her slowly. Make the king watch his beloved daughter wither away, powerless to stop it.
The king's laughter echoed through the throne room like breaking glass. "Remarkably loyal for something of your... origins. Very well. You shall be her personal healer."
As the court buzzed with whispered conversations, Kunpimook caught fragments of the nobles' concerns:
"Can we trust an elf with the princess?"
"Your Majesty, what if he—"
"Trust an elf?" The king's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. "Do you take me for a fool? I have methods to ensure absolute obedience."
The threat hung in the air like smoke, but Kunpimook felt no fear. Let the king try his methods. In five years, when his revenge was complete, it wouldn't matter what chains they'd forged.
You have no idea what you've just invited into your daughter's life, he thought as he left the throne room. But you'll learn. Oh, you'll learn.
....
Two weeks passed like held breath.
Kunpimook maintained his vigil at the princess's bedside, channeling healing energy into her recovering body while plotting the slow destruction of everything she represented. Each day brought her closer to full health—and closer to the moment when he could begin his true work.
He was so focused on his plans that he almost missed the soft whisper:
"Hey."
His head snapped up to find emerald eyes watching him with curious intelligence. She was awake—truly awake—for the first time since the poisoning.
"Thank you for saving me," she said, and her smile could have lit the darkest dungeon. "I knew you would, though. You looked too scared of ghosts to let me die."
The casual teasing in her voice caught him completely off-guard. Nobles didn't joke with slaves. They barely acknowledged their existence.
"What's your name?" she asked when he failed to respond.
The question hit him like a physical blow. Name? In this kingdom, elves were numbers. Property designations. Tools with temporary usefulness.
"You don't know your own name?" She tilted her head with genuine confusion. "Then how am I supposed to call you?"
"This lowly slave doesn't deserve such consideration, Your Highness."
She rolled her eyes with theatrical exasperation. "Oh, cut the humble servant act. I call everyone by their name—it's just good manners. So spill it, mysterious healer man."
She's... not what I expected, he realized with growing confusion. Where's the spoiled brat? The casual cruelty? The entitled arrogance?
Her expectant stare finally broke his resistance. "Kunpimook Bhuwakul."
"Ehhh?" She wrinkled her nose adorably. "That's a mouthful. Got a nickname?"
Why am I finding her expressions cute? "You can... call me Bambam."
"Bambam!" She clapped her hands together with delight. "Perfect! Nice to meet you, Bambam. I'm Princess Yihwa."
The smile that followed redefined beauty itself. Pure, radiant, innocent—everything his world had lost when the humans came with fire and blood.
A fairy, huh? he thought despite himself. They were partly right about it.
As he bowed and fled the room, his mind churned with confusion and something that felt dangerously close to warmth.
This changes nothing, he told himself desperately. She's still the enemy's daughter. Still the key to my revenge.
But even as he thought the words, he could feel the foundations of his hatred beginning to crack.
Fate has already decided our tragedy, a voice whispered in the depths of his mind—perhaps his own, perhaps something older and more terrible. The threads are woven. The pattern set.
Two souls, destined to love each other across lifetimes. And destined to destroy each other every single time.
To be continued...