The chains of the past

Lysandra followed the prince.

His steps were quiet, purposeful, cutting through the underbrush of the Wilds without hesitation. The farther they went, the thicker the air became heavy, charged with something unseen.

Something watching.

Lysandra's claws flexed at her sides. "Where are we going?"

The prince didn't turn. "Somewhere safe."

She scowled. "You mean somewhere where I won't ask questions?"

This time, he did glance at her. His silver eyes, usually unreadable, flashed with something sharper. "You're asking the wrong ones."

Lysandra bristled. "Oh? And what are the right ones?"

The prince didn't answer.

Instead, they stepped into a clearing.

Lysandra stopped.

A ruined temple stood before them, half-swallowed by the Wilds. Its once-proud stone pillars were cracked and worn, vines twisting around their edges like the fingers of something ancient. The air here hummed alive with whispers just beyond hearing.

Lysandra shivered. "What is this place?"

The prince exhaled, stepping forward. "The last remnants of the gods."

Her breath hitched.

He moved toward the temple's entrance, pausing only when he noticed she hadn't followed.

"You're afraid."

Lysandra's fingers curled into fists. "I'm not."

The prince's head tilted slightly. "Then why haven't you moved?"

Lysandra clenched her jaw and forced herself forward. As she passed beneath the broken archway, the whispers in the air grew. They weren't words just echoes of something long forgotten.

Something watching her.

Her heartbeat quickened. "Why bring me here?"

The prince walked to the center of the temple. There, carved into the stone floor, was a massive sigil—the same one she had seen in her vision.

Her stomach dropped.

He turned to face her. "Because if you want to break the curse, you have to understand it."

Lysandra's breath came faster. The weight of the temple, the history it carried, pressed against her like unseen hands.

"The first heir," she said slowly, "he was here, wasn't he?"

The prince nodded. "This is where it started."

Lysandra swallowed. "Then I should be asking… why?"

The prince's silver eyes locked onto hers. "Because he did what you're trying to do."

Silence.

The whispers twisted, growing restless.

Lysandra's pulse pounded. "You mean—"

"He tried to break the curse." The prince's voice was quiet. "And he failed."

Lysandra staggered back.

The sigil beneath her feet seemed to pulse, the lines of it glowing faintly—not with light, but with something deeper, something ancient.

The first heir had tried to do what she was doing.

And he had failed.

"What happened to him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The prince hesitated. Then—

"He became the curse."

The air in the temple shook.

Lysandra's breath caught. "What?"

The prince didn't look away. "The first heir is the reason we bear this burden. The gods didn't just punish him." His fingers curled at his sides. "They turned him into the curse itself."

Lysandra's blood ran cold.

She had stood in that golden palace. She had seen the first heir. He had spoken to her.

Had she been speaking to the curse itself?

A sharp, deep laugh echoed through the temple.

Lysandra froze.

That wasn't the prince.

The whispers died all at once, leaving behind a suffocating silence.

Then—

"You are learning… but far too late."

The voice wasn't human. It was layered, ancient, shifting between tones as if a thousand voices spoke at once.

The prince tensed, stepping in front of her. "We need to leave. Now."

But Lysandra's feet wouldn't move.

Because standing at the edge of the sigil—shrouded in twisting darkness—was the figure from her vision.

The first heir.

His golden eyes burned into hers.

And this time, when he spoke, his voice wasn't a whisper from the past.

It was a warning.

"If you continue down this path, you will share my fate."

Lysandra's breath hitched.

The darkness lunged—

The temple shattered.

And the world went black.