The Starborn Prince

The lantern's glow quivered like a dying breath, its flickering light casting jagged shadows along the walls of the observatory.

But the figure standing before Ophelia needed no light.

He stood at the edge of the darkness, a form carved from the void itself—tall, still, watching. The air around him felt wrong, as if the space he occupied had been forcibly pulled from another world.

His cloak, black as the abyss, shifted despite the absence of wind, its tattered edges dissolving into the shadows. Beneath it, his clothing was torn, faded remnants of something that had once been regal, noble—ancient.

But it was his eyes that held her in place.

Twin suns, burning golden in the darkness.

Alive.

And watching her.

Ophelia's breath came shallow, her body frozen between fear and disbelief.

This was no dream. No whisper from the stars.

He was here.

Her voice caught in her throat, but she forced the words out.

"You're real."

Silence stretched between them, thick with something unseen, something unspoken.

Then—he moved.

Not a step, not a shift of weight—just the slightest tilt of his head, the barest adjustment of his posture. A silent acknowledgment.

Ophelia felt her heartbeat thunder against her ribs.

She had seen him before. In visions. In dreams. The golden-eyed stranger who haunted the edges of her mind. Zoriel.

His name sat on the tip of her tongue, a dangerous thing waiting to be spoken.

Then, his voice—low, rough, and edged with something ancient—broke the silence.

"You shouldn't have found me."

A tremor rippled through the observatory.

The lantern's flame guttered violently, casting long, erratic shadows. The pages of the forbidden book flipped wildly as if caught in an invisible wind.

Outside, the sky shifted.

Ophelia felt it—a pull, a change, a disruption. The stars above trembled, their once-fixed positions flickering, unsettled.

But she did not step back.

She should have. Every part of her screamed at her to move, to run, to fear what stood before her.

But instead, she held his gaze.

"You called me," she whispered.

Zoriel's expression did not change.

"No," he murmured. "The stars did."

His voice—velvet and storm, sand and fire—sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. It was not unkind, nor welcoming. It simply was.

Ophelia clenched her fists. "Then why have I been dreaming of you?"

Zoriel exhaled slowly, a motion that seemed too human, too familiar, for something that should not exist.

"Because you were never meant to."

The weight of his words pressed into her chest, but she did not falter.

"You were erased," she said, carefully. "They tried to remove your name, your kingdom. But the stars—" She glanced toward the heavens, still shuddering in their constellations. "The stars did not forget you."

Something flickered in his golden gaze. Not surprise. Not anger.

Something… tired.

"You do not know what you are saying," he murmured.

"Then tell me," Ophelia shot back.

A silence followed, thick with the unspoken.

Zoriel studied her, his stare holding something indecipherable. There was an intensity in the way he looked at her, like someone reading a script they had once known by heart but could no longer recognize.

Then, he exhaled again, quieter this time.

"You are not ready for the truth."

Ophelia's pulse quickened.

"You think I don't know what's happening?" she whispered. "The Forgotten have already come for me. They tried to erase my memories, they tried to stop me from finding you. And yet, here you are. Here I am. If I was never meant to find you, why am I still standing?"

Another silence.

Then—

Zoriel took a step forward.

A single step.

But it was enough.

The air shuddered as he moved. The lantern snuffed out.

Darkness flooded the room, leaving only him—his golden eyes, his burning presence, the space he commanded.

Ophelia's breath caught, but she did not step away.

"You don't fear me."

Zoriel's words were not a question.

Ophelia lifted her chin. "Should I?"

His gaze did not waver.

"You should fear what I am."

A whisper of wind curled through the observatory, brushing against her skin, but it was not cold. It was warm—charged with something old, something that did not belong to this world.

And with it, a realization settled in her chest.

This man—this forgotten prince—was not mortal.

Not entirely.

A strange calm filled her, pushing aside the tremor in her limbs. "Then tell me, Zoriel." She met his gaze, steady. "What are you?"

His name left her lips before she could stop herself.

The moment it did, the room tensed.

The moment his name left her lips, the room shifted.

The observatory, once familiar and safe, felt suddenly foreign—as if the space around them had been pushed slightly out of alignment with the rest of the world.

Ophelia felt it in her bones. A sensation of wrongness. Like something had been woken up.

Zoriel's expression did not change, but his golden eyes darkened slightly, the glow within them flickering like fire caught in a sudden wind.

"You shouldn't have said that," he murmured.

The walls creaked. The pages of the book flipped wildly.

Outside, the sky trembled again—as if the universe itself had heard his name and was reacting to it.

Ophelia clenched her fists. "Why? Because it's forbidden? Because they tried to erase it?" She took a step closer, heart pounding. "Because it holds power?"

Zoriel did not move.

"You don't understand," he said quietly. "Names—real names—are not just words. They are bindings. They are chains."

Ophelia frowned. "Then what happens when you break them?"

Zoriel exhaled, his gaze never leaving hers. "You invite the things that forged them to return."

A chill prickled across her skin.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the weight in her chest. "Then tell me the truth. What are you?"

His eyes burned brighter for a moment, as if something within him was deciding.

Then—finally—he spoke.

"I am the last of the Starborn," he said, his voice low, heavy with something ancient and sorrowful.

"The last prince of Vordane. The heir to a kingdom that no longer exists."

Ophelia's breath hitched.

"You were erased," she whispered.

His jaw tightened. "I was buried. Forgotten. Locked away where no one could find me. And yet—" His gaze pierced her. "Here you are."

She felt it again—that strange pull, like unseen threads being drawn tighter and tighter between them.

"You said the stars called me here," she said slowly. "But I don't think that's the whole truth."

Zoriel didn't reply.

Ophelia took another step closer. "I think you called me."

Silence.

Then—a flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

She was right.

Somehow, he had called to her.

Through the stars, through time, through something neither of them yet understood.

And that meant—

"You're not just forgotten," she whispered. "You're waiting."

A slow exhale. His expression was still unreadable, but she saw it now—a deep, aching weariness beneath the fire in his eyes.

Waiting.

For what?

For who?

Before she could speak again, the wind outside howled suddenly, slamming against the glass panes of the observatory.

A sharp, unnatural sound.

A warning.

Zoriel stiffened. His gaze snapped toward the window.

"They're coming," he murmured.

Ophelia's pulse spiked. "Who?"

Zoriel turned back to her, his voice grave.

"The ones who erased me."

Outside, the sky cracked open.

And the Forgotten came.