All Chapters of The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

It happened too fast for prophecy to catch.One moment, Elara was walking alone through the scorched corridors of the Eldorian Temple ruins, the fragile flame flickering low in her palms. The air around her was thick with dust and silence, a silence so deep it pressed against her skin like a physical weight.The next moment, the weakened ceiling above her shuddered, trembling with a low, guttural groan that echoed like a warning too late to heed.And then,Collapse.Stone shattered.Ash billowed.Darkness swallowed everything.The world roared in violent fury, then fell utterly silent.Elara Flameborne was buried alive beneath a tomb of ruin.She woke coughing, gasping for air that wasn’t there. Her lungs burned, choking on choking dust and the bitter taste of crushed stone. Every breath was a jagged blade scraping raw her throat. Panic clawed at her ribs.Her body was pinned, limbs twisted and trapped beneath an impossible weight. The cold press of broken rune-carved pillars lay acro

The dawn that broke over Hollowgate was nothing like what the bards would later sing. There was no triumphant chorus of trumpets, no procession of banners streaming in the wind. Instead, a hush fell upon the shattered capital, thick and suffocating, as though the world itself paused to catch its breath. This silence claimed every broken street, every collapsed wall, every scarred fountain; it settled into the hearts of the survivors, reminding them that life after hell felt more fragile than any moment spent in the blaze.Elara Flameborne crossed the threshold of the newly rebuilt throne room alone. No guards flanked her; no courtly retinue heralded her passage. Her cloak, still singed at the hem, dragged a faint trail of ash across the polished marble floor, ash born of the fires she had set and the inferno she had endured. Each footfall echoed like a confession. She was alive, undeniably so, but every line of her body bore witness to battles that threatened to break her: gouges acro

Elara woke just before dawn, the sky already painted in soft hues of ash and rose. The Keep's battered walls, scorched and blackened from the last siege, loomed like tired giants guarding a kingdom on the edge of rebirth. Their stones still smoked faintly, holding memories of fire and fury. Wrapping a coarse woolen cloak around her shoulders, more for dignity than warmth, she stepped into the courtyard where frost clung stubbornly to broken statues and benches, reminders of a time before everything had changed.Kael was already by the fountain, where water once surged in triumph but now sat frozen mid-splash, a sculpture of winter's grip. A trace of her golden healing light still lingered there, faint and flickering against the cracked marble. He had waited there all night, leaning silently against the fountain's moss-covered rim, arms crossed, watchful as always."You managed to sleep?" he asked, not expecting an answer."I tried," Elara replied, lifting her hands. The skin was unmar

Elara's footsteps echoed like a quiet storm through the Hollow Wards, swallowed by the mossy earth beneath her boots. The soft glow of her lantern danced over twisted roots and the ghostly runes etched into the blackened bark of ancient trees. The air held its breath, the marsh thick with a tension that hummed just beneath the surface, as if the land itself waited for her to speak, or turn and flee. But Elara pressed on, the hem of her cloak whispering against thorn and vine. Around her wrist, a red thread pulsed in rhythm with her heart.She reached the clearing just as the moon broke free from the clouds, casting silver light across a ring of jagged stones and the pool of ink-black water they enclosed. Three witches stood there, veiled in cloaks dusted with moonstone. Their faces were shadows made solid, their presence as old as the marsh and twice as cryptic. Elara felt their gaze settle on her, ancient, unyielding, as she placed her lantern on the altar stone."This is where memor

The scent of smoke returned to Kaer Nyx.But not the smoke of burning villages or war camps, the kind that still lingered in the stones after battle. Nor the cruel reek of scorched flesh or collapsing keeps. No, this was older. Sharper. More spectral. A scent that curled through memory, not air. It reminded Elara of prophecy, of ink ignited by forbidden flames, of truths written only to be destroyed. It smelled of things never meant to be found.She had always hated it.Because she knew what it meant.And tonight, as it slithered under her chamber door and wrapped itself around her ankles like a whisper in smoke, she could not pretend otherwise. She had tried denial before. She had tried forgetting. But smoke like this didn’t forget. It remembered, and worse, it returned.She left her chambers without a word, robes whispering against stone. The castle was quiet, caught in the hush between moonset and dawn. But Elara didn’t need light. She followed the scent.Down the long, cold corrid