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 palace loomed in the distance, its marble spires gleaming beneath the stars like cold ivory blades.

Eira stood in the rebel war room, staring at the map sprawled across the table. Red markers dotted key locations — servant passages, tower patrols, vault access.

"This is not an assault," she said. "It's a message."

Caius nodded. "We take back what they stole — not with fire, but with proof."

Eira's fingers hovered over a small chamber marked Vault of Memory. "And in that vault… lies my mother's sealed chronicle."

"Only royal flameblood can open it," one whispered.

Eira's eyes flashed. "Then it's time I reclaim my birthright."

Night fell like a cloak over the city.

Eira, Caius, and two rebels — Lysa the thief and Daren the scout — slipped through the servant tunnels beneath the eastern tower. Damp, narrow, and foul-smelling, but unguarded.

Above, nobles danced in jeweled halls. Below, vengeance crept closer.

As they emerged into the palace cellar, Lysa froze.

"There's something wrong," she hissed. "It's too quiet."

A runic seal flared to life on the wall, pulsing crimson. The air thickened. Magic twisted.

The walls ignited in shimmering fire — not hers, but something darker.

From the flames, a floating shard of obsidian emerged — carved with the Phoenix Sigil.

Caius stared. "That's—impossible."

"It's a Phoenix Mirror," Eira whispered. "A cursed relic. It reflects not what you are… but your greatest fear."

Daren collapsed, screaming as he saw his own death on a battlefield.

Lysa clawed at her face — haunted by visions of betrayal.

A throne of ashes. Her sitting atop it, crowned in fire, and alone.

"Is that your fear?" a voice echoed from the flames.

"You claim you'll save the kingdom, child. But all I see is ruin."

Eira dropped to her knees, clutching her head as memories and doubt flooded her.

> You'll become like your mother… cursed. Doomed. Alone.

Her mother's voice, calm and kind:

> "The fire is not evil, my flameheart. It's what you choose to burn."

Eira's eyes opened — glowing gold.

She rose, stepped toward the mirror, and whispered:

"I am not afraid of the fire. I am the fire."

She thrust her hand into the mirror.

The magical seal faded. The rebels groaned, rising slowly.

But footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond.

Because from the shadows… emerged a man.

But someone she hadn't seen in ten years.

Brown eyes. Scar over the lip. A silver pendant — shaped like a flame.

"You were taken," she whispered. "The night of the fire. They told me you burned—"

"I escaped," he said. "Barely. I've lived in hiding. Working in the archives. And now... I'm here. For you."

The room fell into stunned silence.

Embers of the Past