The seal was jagged and unrecognizable—dark wax pressed into the symbol of a hawk entangled in thorns. Elira turned the envelope over in her hands, its texture rough and uneven, as though the letter had traveled through fire to reach her.
She broke the seal and unfolded the parchment inside.
The message was brief.
"The forgotten kingdom remembers. The debt is due. Come to the Vale of Ash within three nights, or the blood you've borrowed shall be reclaimed."
No signature. Just a symbol at the bottom—one she hadn't seen in nearly a decade.
The crest of the House of Theralyn.
She sat down heavily, the weight of memory pressing on her chest. Theralyn had been the kingdom erased during the Great Purge, a realm swallowed by ash and silence. Her mother's bloodline. Her cursed inheritance.
Lucien appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What is it?"
She handed him the letter. "Theralyn lives."
He read it once, twice, then looked up. "You said that kingdom was destroyed."
"It was. My mother fled the ashes with me. We were hidden within the House of Verdane to protect what little legacy remained. I was never meant to reclaim it."
Lucien's jaw tensed. "But someone wants you to."
"No," Elira said quietly. "Someone wants me to pay for the blood I carry."
Later that day, the Council convened.
The usual circle of nobles filled the chamber—Duke Renwar, Lady Mirae, Sir Thallen. All eyes turned to Elira as she entered, draped in the black and silver robes of her rank.
Lucien stood behind her, silent and firm.
"I received a summons," she began, placing the letter in the center of the long oak table. "The House of Theralyn is not as dead as we believed."
Lady Mirae's face paled. "That crest... it's from the Vale?"
Elira nodded. "Three nights. That's the demand."
Duke Renwar scoffed. "You cannot be expected to entertain ancient threats from a ghost realm."
Lucien stepped forward. "It's not a request. If Elira does not go, they've threatened blood."
"What blood?" Thallen asked.
Elira's voice dropped. "Mine. And perhaps... others connected to Theralyn's fall."
The chamber fell into hushed silence.
She added, "There's more. The Virelle curse—it didn't originate in Verdane. My mother brought it with her from Theralyn."
Gasps. Whispers.
"It binds not only lovers, but lineages. What we thought was isolated to me, to Lucien, even to Cael—it may have always been part of something larger."
That evening, Lucien found her in the Moon Garden.
"You don't have to go," he said softly.
"I do," she replied. "It's in my blood, Lucien. My past. My birthright. And I can't ignore it anymore."
He reached for her hand. "Then I'm going with you."
"You can't. If Theralyn still exists, they'll see you as an enemy duke. You could be taken hostage."
"Let them try."
She smiled. "Stubborn man."
He leaned down, brushing his lips to her forehead. "Just promise you'll come back."
"I will. But if I don't..."
He held her gaze. "Don't say that."
"I love you," she whispered.
He kissed her, hard and warm. "Then you'll come back. Because I still haven't heard you say it when the sun rises."
As Elira prepared for the journey, a shadow watched her from the edge of the hallway.
Cael.
He stepped forward. "You're going to Theralyn?"
She turned. "You heard."
He nodded. "You'll need someone who knows how to walk between worlds."
"You think you're that someone?"
He held up a pendant—one etched with the Theralyn crest. "I wasn't just exiled. I was buried. My memories were taken because they held secrets. I think they're starting to come back."
She hesitated. "Then we go together."
He raised an eyebrow. "You trust me?"
"No," she said. "But I trust the boy who once promised to protect me, even if he was erased."
His eyes softened. "Then I won't let you down again."
That night, beneath a sky full of strange stars, Elira stood at the edge of the royal gates. Her horse waited, saddled. Cael beside her, his blade strapped across his back.
Lucien walked up in silence, holding out a bundle wrapped in black silk.
"What is it?" she asked.
He pressed it into her hand. "Something I had made for you the first time I realized you might leave me one day."
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a dagger—elegant, silver, engraved with her name and a single line: Return to me, always.
Her throat closed. "Lucien…"
He pulled her into his arms. "I'll be here. Until you come back. Or until the world ends. Whichever comes first."
She smiled through the tears.
"I'll return," she said. "Not because of duty or blood or curses. But because you are home."
Then she rode out beneath the stars, the dagger close to her heart, and the ghost of a kingdom calling her name.