Md_Alamin_1251

Three hundred years ago, Princess Mira Elowen was burned at the stake—accused of witchcraft, cursed blood, and defying the royal order. But as the flames devoured her body, she made a chilling vow:

"I shall return—not as your princess, but as your reckoning."

Now, in a quiet village far from the capital, a healer’s apprentice named Eira begins to have terrifying dreams of fire, betrayal, and blood-soaked crowns. Her golden eyes, once ordinary, now burn with memories she doesn’t recognize. And when a dying priest calls her "Your Highness", her world begins to unravel.

Reborn in a new body, Mira must navigate a kingdom that has forgotten her—but her vengeance is not forgotten. With ancient enemies in power, buried secrets resurfacing, and a mysterious prince who may be her greatest enemy or her only salvation, she must reclaim what was stolen from her...

Rise OF THE Cursed Queen

The morning sun broke through the mist like golden spears, bathing the village of Eldershade in light. But even the warmth of dawn couldn't chase away the chill that clung to Eira's bones.

She sat quietly by the stream, feet dipped in the icy water, eyes lost in the reflection of her own face.

They weren't hers. At least, they never used to be.

Eira used to have soft brown eyes—like riverstone. But now? A strange golden hue shimmered in the light, like twin flames refusing to be hidden. They had changed two months ago… right after the dreams began.

Dreams of fire. Of screaming crowds. Of betrayal.

Of a name burned into her soul—Mira.

And now the dreams were growing stronger. Vivid. Violent.

Last night, she had awakened screaming the name aloud. Her foster mother, old Maerin, had rushed in with herbal tea and worried eyes, but Eira couldn't explain what she had seen:

A burning stake. A cruel priest. A kingdom watching.

But it couldn't be real. Could it?

Later that day, Eira accompanied Maerin to the village square. It was market day, and the cobbled streets were filled with life—traders shouting, children laughing, and the occasional nobleman passing by on horseback.

"Isn't that the girl with the strange eyes?"

"They say she talks in her sleep… ancient words."

"She's cursed, like that girl from the old legend."

Eira kept her head down, heart pounding. The villagers were afraid of what they didn't understand—and that made her dangerous.

Suddenly, a shrill voice called out.

Eira turned and saw a cloaked man approaching. He looked like a traveler—dust-covered boots, long cloak, a leather satchel strapped across his chest.

But his eyes—sharp, piercing—studied her with unsettling intensity.

"You're Maerin's apprentice, aren't you?" he asked.

She nodded slowly. "Yes, I am. Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone," he said, his voice low. "Someone with your face. But… not your name."

Eira's breath caught. "What do you mean?"

He leaned in. "You bear the mark. In your eyes. In your aura. I never forget a soul that has died in fire."

Her fingers trembled. "Who… who are you?"

The man smiled faintly. "Someone who remembers the Queen who never got her crown."

And before she could ask another word, he vanished into the crowd.

That night, Eira stared at the flame of her candle. It danced softly, casting shadows that seemed to whisper.

She picked up the locket she wore around her neck. It had no family crest, no name. It was the only thing found with her as a baby—wrapped in cloth on the steps of the healer's hut.

Inside was a single rune, etched in gold: ᛗ.

But tonight, for the first time, the rune glowed.

And in the mirror across the room, her reflection whispered:

"You are not Eira. You are Mira Elowen. And your kingdom has forgotten you."

Echoes of a Forgotten Name