THE FORBIDDEN SCROLL

The mark on Zina's arm still pulsed long after she left the trial chamber.

Not just heat—but memory.

It moved beneath her skin like a whisper tracing her veins, like a warning from the past and a prophecy of what was to come.

Kain didn't try to stop her as she walked away.

He watched her as if something sacred was breaking—and knew better than to touch it.

> "You were never meant to carry that sigil," he said once her back was turned.

Zina didn't stop walking.

> "Maybe that's the problem."

That night, the palace shuddered.

Not in an earthquake, but a mourning.

Paintings wept oil. Candles relit themselves, flickering in blues and greens. The mirrors rattled in their frames, cloths fluttering like wings.

Zina didn't scream.

She watched.

Waited.

And then it came.

The tearing.

Paper. Rough. Slow. As though being unraveled by a hand both ancient and reluctant.

It came from beneath her bed.

She knelt down, pulled aside the loose plank. Dust swirled as if in reverence.

There it was.

A scroll.

Wrapped in a black silk ribbon.

Bound in symbols older than the house itself.

Held together by a bone handle so smooth, it looked as though it had been kissed a thousand times by flame.

Zina didn't hesitate.

She drew it out.

The second she touched it, her sigils flared.

All three.

She sat cross-legged by the fire.

And unrolled the scroll.

The parchment wasn't just old—it breathed. It beat in her hands like a living thing. Symbols shimmered in three tongues: one she could read, one she dreamed in, and one that made her nose bleed the moment she tried to sound it aloud.

But she understood the message anyway.

It wasn't just a ritual.

It was a reckoning.

> "To sever the Shadow Bond.

To unmake the King.

To free the Brides.

To awaken the throne forgotten."

The instructions were chilling in their precision:

First: Her blood.

Then: Her memory.

Finally: The moment of her greatest joy.

A final line, written in the darkest ink:

> "She must choose willingly, or the house will consume her piece by piece."

She paused, breath trembling.

Her thumb traced the final sigil on the scroll.

It was a woman's face.

Her face.

But not the way she was now.

Older.

Powerful.

Smiling not from joy—but from dominance.

Eronna.

Behind her stood a man crowned in shadows—Kain.

But in this image, he wasn't a king.

He was bound at her feet, bleeding, reaching.

A single word was written beneath the drawing:

> "Executioner."

Zina rose and tossed the scroll into the fire.

The flames surged—

Then curved away.

Refused to burn it.

The scroll hovered in the air, untouched, ashless.

Zina backed up.

The flames hissed. Not like a warning.

Like they were… bowing.

A soft knock at the door.

Laila stepped in.

She didn't wait for permission.

She didn't meet Zina's eyes.

But she saw the scroll—and froze.

Her face went pale. She staggered backward until her back hit the wall.

> "You opened it," she whispered.

"You weren't supposed to find it this soon."

Zina's voice was a quiet knife.

> "What is it?"

> "The Queen's Bargain," Laila said.

"The price of rebellion. The cost of memory."

Laila pulled up her sleeve.

Zina's breath caught.

Etched into her forearm was the same sigil that had appeared on Zina's arm.

Not similar. Identical.

It pulsed once—synchronously with hers.

Zina stepped closer.

> "You were chosen?"

Laila's mouth twitched.

> "No."

> "I was her sister."

> "The one who died in her place."

The room tilted.

Zina sat down quickly, her heart pounding.

It didn't make sense. Laila had always seemed quiet, tragic—but ordinary.

A ghost in service.

But now—

She looked like something sacred. Shattered. Stitched together by fate.

> "I don't understand," Zina said. "Why are you here?"

Laila's eyes glossed with something that might have been tears—or the memory of too many deaths.

> "Because the house didn't just keep my soul."

> "It cloned it."

> "Fifty times now. Always a servant. Always forgotten."

> "But this time…" she exhaled. "You remembered me."

Zina looked again at the scroll.

Her eyes lingered on the line that said "greatest joy."

> "If I finish the ritual," she asked, "what happens?"

Laila stepped closer.

Her voice was tender and terrible.

> "You break the bond."

> "You destroy the King."

> "And you free us all."

Zina's voice wavered.

> "And if I don't?"

> "Then the house devours you like it did the rest."

A beat.

> "But slower. Because it likes you."

Zina stared at the scroll.

The ink shimmered.

Then began to fade—line by line—as if waiting for her to make a choice.

Not yet.

But soon.