The Final Bride...
The moon hung low and swollen, veiled in mist—a quiet omen I tried not to interpret too deeply.
I moved swiftly through the shadowed corridor, the hem of my cloak whispering across the stone floor, my breath held taut in my chest. The guards would soon be changing shifts. If we were caught, I'd be confined to my chambers for a month, if not more.
Kiai emerged from behind the heavy tapestry near the old armor gallery, a flickering lantern trembling in her grip like a captured firefly.
I gave her a tight, grateful smile.
"The east gate's unguarded," Kiai whispered. "The drunk one finally passed out."
"And the priest?" I asked, eyes scanning the hallway behind her.
"Waiting beneath the old bell tower," she replied.
We didn't speak after that. Words would only give our fear form.
We slipped through servant passages and forgotten stairwells, finally crawling through a narrow tunnel beneath the stables I hadn't used since I was ten. The air turned damp, the stone beneath our feet cold as frost. Somewhere above, the bells tolled midnight.
When we emerged beneath the ruins of the abandoned chapel, my heart seized.
A cloaked figure stood beneath the cracked spire of the old bell tower, casting a long, skeletal shadow over the frost-bitten grass. Crows scattered into the night as we approached.
The priest turned.
His eyes were milk-white, his face lined like ancient bark.
"You came," he rasped, voice like dry leaves scraping across bone. "Just as she dreamed."
"Who dreamed?" I asked, my voice a trembling thread as I clutched the edge of my cloak.
"The one who bore the flame before you. Auron's sister. She left behind the truth—sealed until the stars turned red."
From beneath his cloak, he produced a leather-bound tome, weathered and worn. The cover bore no title, only the sigil of a three-winged dove encased in eclipse.
"This book holds your answers, Princess. Names. Powers. Failures. Prophecy. Even the truth about the one who still sleeps."
"Daemon," I whispered.
The priest nodded solemnly.
"But know this—knowledge bears weight. And once this book is opened, it will change how you see everyone… especially yourself."
He pressed the book into my hands. It was cold, heavy with centuries of silence.
"You'll find more than prophecy within," he murmured. "You'll find his final warning. And yours."
"What do you mean?"
But he was already backing into the dark, dissolving into it like mist before dawn.
"Read before sunrise. Choose before eclipse."
And then he was gone.
I turned to Kiai, the lantern's flame shivering between us.
"Do we go back now?" she asked, voice hushed and fearful.
I clutched the book tighter to my chest.
"No," I said, resolve hardening in my voice. "We find a place to read. Tonight—the truth won't wait."
Kiai's house was tucked deep within the lower city, a crooked little dwelling wedged between a lantern-maker's shop and a collapsed mill. By the time we slipped through the alleys and closed the door behind us, my heart was still racing.
The air inside smelled of old parchment, crushed herbs, and candle wax. A kettle hissed gently in the corner.
I greeted her family. They were so full of warmth—an ordinary sort of happiness. Her younger sister beamed at me like I were a queen from a storybook.
"Upstairs," Kiai whispered. "There's a loft. No windows. No one can see or hear us."
Still holding the book like something sacred, I followed her into the attic.
A single enchanted stone glowed faintly blue, casting gentle shadows across the walls. I knelt before a low wooden table, unfastened the book's iron clasp, and opened it.
The air shifted. Warmer. Heavier. As though something ancient stirred awake.
The first page held no title. Only a line, scrawled in crimson ink:
"This is not a history. It is a warning."
---
🌑 THE ORIGIN OF THE CURSE
I turned to the first chapter, eyes scanning the faded ink.
"It began with a broken vow."
Long ago, my ancestor, King Velarion, sought eternal dominion. He made a pact with Nythera, Weaver of Shadows—offering her his loyalty, his soul, and… his firstborn son.
But Velarion betrayed her.
Instead of fulfilling the pact, he stole Nythera's sacred relic and gifted it to the gods of light in exchange for immortality. Furious, Nythera unleashed a blood-curse upon his line.
"Your sons shall be mighty, but never whole.
Their gifts shall become graves.
And when the seventh moon bleeds, your line shall either end… or consume the world."
My fingers trembled as I turned the page.
---
⚔️ THE CURSED PRINCES — THEIR POWERS AND FAILURES
Each entry unveiled a prince. A story. A downfall.
1. Malric – Flamebinding
Tried to purify the curse with holy fire.
Failed: Burned alive from within.
2. Vaelen – Shadowweaving
Attempted to imprison his cursed half in a mirror.
Failed: Soul lost; whispers still echo in glass.
3. Kaelrin – Bloodcraft
Tried to pass the curse to his unborn heir.
Failed: Child stillborn; Kaelrin went mad.
4. Dravon – Immortality
Bound his soul to the land to outlive fate.
Failed: Madness overtook him. Still haunts the shadowlands.
5. Sylas – Empathic Fire
Sought to heal through love.
Failed: Wife perished in childbirth; palace incinerated in grief.
6. Lucien – Silent Flame
Tried to forget himself entirely.
Failed: Only his warm ashes remain.
7. Auron – Ice Will
Attempted to erase the prophecy by killing all moon-born girls.
Failed: Slain by his own sister.
My breath hitched.
---
🕯️ THE FINAL PRINCE: DAEMON
"He was different. Hidden before the curse could fully root."
His gift — Soulbinding — allows his essence to entwine with another. One soul. Two fates.
He is not dead. He sleeps. Waiting.
---
🩸 IF THE FINAL CURSE IS NOT BROKEN
I turned another page—and gasped.
The text here bled red, as if written in blood.
"If Daemon is lost… the curse will no longer remain blood-bound.
It will infect every soul born beneath the moon."
"Day and night will merge into one — an eternal eclipse."
"Love will perish. Magic will decay. Dreams will turn to weapons."
"Nythera will no longer need to rise… for the curse shall live in all things."
At the bottom of the page, a final prophecy unfurled—written in a delicate feminine hand:
"Only the one born beneath the seventh blood moon can rewrite the curse—not break it.
She must love without chains.
Bind without fear.
And either fall with him… or save them both."
Tears burned my eyes.
"It's him," I whispered. "Daemon. He isn't the curse… he's the key."
Kiai sat opposite me, pale, stunned.
"So what now?"
My fingers gently closed the book, the leather warm against my palm.
"Now…" I breathed, "I find him. Before the eclipse does."