Chapter 62

The night was quiet — too quiet for the palace of the Kingdom of Zareth. The moon hung low and red, like a bleeding wound in the sky, and the air felt heavy with a strange stillness that whispered of doom.

King Zerach sat in his chamber, reading through old scrolls when the sound of faint, muffled screams reached his ears. At first, he thought it was his imagination — a trick of age or exhaustion. But then came another cry — sharp, echoing through the marble halls.

He froze.

“Lyra,” he breathed.

Without a second thought, he rose from his chair, the parchment fluttering from his hand as he rushed toward her chamber. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the sound growing louder with each step — a sound like the wind and thunder mixed, and underneath it, something like… pain.

He reached her door and knocked. “Lyra! Are you all right?”

No answer.

He pounded again, harder this time. “Lyra!”

Still nothing — only the humming vibration of power building within. His instincts screamed. Without another thought, he shoved the door open.

And what he saw made his heart stop.

Lyra floated above her bed — her body arched, her hair rising like dark fire around her. Her eyes glowed red, burning with an unnatural light that spilled across the room. The mark on her arm blazed — ancient runes swirling in patterns that pulsed with raw, forbidden power.

Every candle blew out at once. The air turned hot, dry, suffocating.

The King stumbled backward, his chest tightening with dread. His voice cracked as he whispered, “No… this cannot be.”

He knew what he was looking at.

He had read about it in the lost scrolls of the ancients — the mark of the Second Forbidden One. The first had destroyed an entire dynasty centuries ago. And now… the second stood before him.

His son’s bride.

His future queen.

His doom.

“Guards!” he shouted, his voice shaking. “Guards! Take her down!”

The heavy doors burst open, and armed men rushed in — spears and armor glinting in the dim light. They hesitated, uncertain of what they were seeing. Lyra was still levitating, her body trembling, her hair whipping wildly around her, her mouth moving in silent words.

“Take her down!” the King roared.

The first guard stepped forward, gripping his spear, and reached out — the moment his hand brushed her arm, a burst of light exploded from her skin.

He screamed.

The fire consumed him instantly, his armor melting, his body collapsing into ashes before anyone could breathe.

Another guard tried, then another — each one burned the instant they came near her.

Their screams filled the hall — haunting, echoing, agonizing.

The smell of smoke and scorched flesh filled the air.

Lyra’s voice broke through — “No! No, I’m not— I’m not doing this!” But her eyes were not her own, glowing with crimson fury.

The chaos spread — servants screamed and fled, soldiers froze in terror, and within moments, the entire palace had gathered outside her chamber.

Queen Freda pushed through the crowd, her gown dragging across the floor, her face pale. “Zerach, what is happening?”

“She’s awakened,” the King said, his voice hollow. “The second forbidden one…”

Mira came running behind, her face pale and frantic. “Move! Let me through!”

She ran to Lyra’s side — and though the heat seared her skin, she pressed her hand to the girl’s forehead. Her lips moved in a whisper, her voice trembling with ancient words.

“Lyra… wake up, child. Come back to me. Wake up.”

The glow in Lyra’s eyes flickered. Her breathing slowed. Slowly, her body descended until she lay still on the bed, the mark on her arm fading to a faint ember.

For a moment, silence.

Then the King’s voice rang cold and clear.

“Imprison her.”

The guards hesitated.

“Now!” he thundered. “Before she awakens again!”

Mira looked up, tears filling her eyes. “Your Majesty, she is just a child—”

“Enough!” the King’s voice shook with fury and fear. “Before she destroys us all!”

The remaining guards, trembling, obeyed. They bound her wrists with enchanted cuffs and carried her away toward the dungeons.

Mira followed helplessly behind, her heart heavy.

And the palace — once filled with music and laughter — now echoed with whispers of horror and doom.

Morning came, heavy and gray.

Lucien burst into the throne chamber without knocking, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild with fury.

“Father!” he shouted. “What have you done?”

King Zerach sat in silence, staring out the tall window overlooking the courtyard. “I did what was necessary,” he said calmly.

“Necessary?” Lucien’s voice broke. “You locked her in chains! She’s frightened, she doesn’t even understand what happened!”

The King rose slowly, turning to face his son. “You saw what she did. My men were burned alive, Lucien. That power — it isn’t human.”

“It wasn’t her fault!” Lucien snapped, stepping closer. “She was dreaming, she didn’t even know—”

The King’s hand slammed onto the table. “That thing inside her could destroy the entire kingdom! And you want me to stand by and do nothing?”

Lucien’s chest heaved. “You don’t understand. I love her!”

The King’s expression hardened. “You are a prince. Your love does not outweigh the safety of your people.”

“I don’t care about the crown!” Lucien’s voice cracked. “I care about her!”

For a moment, silence. The King’s jaw clenched, his eyes glinting with something dark — fear, anger, or perhaps sorrow.

“You speak like a child,” Zerach said finally. “Blinded by emotions. If you truly cared for her, you’d see that she’s cursed. And so are you for standing beside her.”

Lucien’s fists tightened. “If you harm her, Father—”

Zerach’s hand flashed out before the prince could finish. The slap echoed through the chamber.

Lucien froze, his cheek stinging, his vision blurring with shock and anger.

“Enough!” the King roared. “Do not defy me in my own court.”

Lucien’s chest heaved with silent fury. He didn’t bow. He didn’t speak. He simply turned — eyes cold with grief and rage — and walked out, slamming the great doors behind him.

The Visit

The dungeon was dim, smelling of damp stone and magic. Lyra sat in the corner, her wrists bound in silver cuffs that glowed faintly blue. Her face was pale, her eyes dull and tear-streaked.

When the door creaked open, she looked up — and there he was.

Lucien.

He rushed to her, kneeling beside her cell. “Lyra,” he whispered.

“Lucien,” her voice broke as tears welled up. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I swear I didn’t.”

He pressed his hand against the bars. “I know, love. I know. None of this was your fault.”

Her body trembled. “They think I’m a monster.”

He shook his head fiercely. “You’re not. You’re the woman I love. And I’ll fix this — I promise you that.”

Her eyes searched his face. “How?”

Lucien didn’t answer right away. He simply held her gaze, the fire in his eyes returning. “Whatever it takes,” he said quietly. “Even if I have to fight my father himself.”

She smiled weakly through tears. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

He smiled faintly. “Then I’ll die for you.”

Their fingers brushed through the bars, their eyes locking in the dim light. For a moment, all the fear in the world seemed far away.

Nightfall — Three Hearts in Conflict

That night, three people lay awake under the same roof — each trapped in their own storm of thoughts.

The King

King Zerach stood by his window, watching the torches flicker in the courtyard below. His reflection stared back from the glass — tired, aged, haunted.

He whispered to himself, “If she stays, my son dies. The kingdom falls.”

The memory of the scroll haunted him — the prophecy carved in ancient ink:

When the second forbidden rises, blood shall follow. The heart that loves her will be consumed by her flame.

He shut his eyes, his voice trembling. “I cannot lose him. Not him.”

He made his decision then — hard, cold, and final.

“She must die. To save him. To save them all.”

The Prince

Meanwhile, in his own chamber, Lucien sat on the floor beside the window, his sword lying across his lap. His mind churned, heart torn between love and duty.

He thought of Lyra — her laughter, her warmth, the way she looked at him like he was more than a prince.

He thought of her screams the night before, of her power, of her fear.

And then he thought of his father’s eyes — cold and unyielding.

He clenched his fists. “I won’t let them take her from me. Not like this.”

His mind was set.

He would run away with her.

He didn’t care if it meant losing the crown, the kingdom, or even his life. He just couldn’t let her die for something she couldn’t control.

“She’s mine,” he whispered to the night. “And I’ll protect her — even if I have to become the enemy.”

Mira

Across the castle, Mira sat in her small chamber, her head buried in her hands.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her thoughts spiraled.

“This is what I feared,” she whispered. “Oh, Queen Daphne, what have you done? You hid the truth from the King… from everyone. And now the past repeats.”

She rose to her feet suddenly, her heart pounding. “No. I cannot let this happen again.”

Gathering her shawl, she hurried through the corridors until she reached the King’s chamber.

“Your Majesty,” she said softly, kneeling before him. “Please… spare her.”

King Zerach looked at her, eyes cold. “You’ve seen what she is, Mira. You know what must be done.”

“Let me take her,” she pleaded. “I’ll take her far from here. You’ll never see her again. She’ll never hurt anyone.”

The King shook his head slowly. “You cannot run from darkness, Mira. It always finds its way back. The forbidden ones are cursed by the gods themselves. To spare her is to doom us all.”

“But she’s a child!” Mira cried, tears slipping down her face. “She doesn’t even know what she is!”

Zerach turned away, his voice quieter now, almost sorrowful. “You think I want this? I must choose between my son and the safety of my kingdom. Do you think I take joy in it?”

His shoulders sagged. “I loved her too, once — as my son’s joy. But I will not watch my people burn.”

Mira’s sobs broke the silence.

“You can run,” he said finally, his voice like iron. “But you cannot hide from destiny. The only way to end this is to kill her.”

Mira stared at him — heartbroken, defeated. “Then may the gods forgive you,” she whispered, and turned to leave.

The halls were silent when Mira made her way to the dungeon later that night. She moved quickly, her hood drawn, the keys clutched tight in her trembling hand.

“I’ll get you out, my child,” she whispered. “We’ll run far away from this cursed palace. I’ll keep you safe.”

She reached the iron door, her fingers shaking as she slid the key into the lock—

“Stop right there.”

The cold voice made her freeze.

Two guards stepped out from the shadows, swords drawn.

Mira turned slowly, her heart pounding.

“By the King’s order,” one said, “you’re under house arrest.”

Her knees weakened. “Please… please, she’s innocent.”

But they grabbed her arms, forcing her back.

As she was dragged away, she screamed, “Zerach! You’re making a mistake! You’ll regret this!”

The guards said nothing. The door to her chamber slammed shut behind her, locked tight.

And in the dungeon below, Lyra sat alone — unaware that her last chance for freedom had just been taken from her.