Time Of Troubles Forgotten Realms Novels & Stories

Two nights later, beneath a sky painted with shifting hues of red and black, Aria stood at the edge of the Forgotten Vale. It looked like a place time had fled from. The trees were petrified, stone-gray and twisted. The ground crunched underfoot, brittle as ancient bone. Magic here was wrong. It *tasted* wrong. Like it remembered being something else. Something alive. The warband moved slowly. Kael, Callen, Lyra, Aria, and two dozen of their finest fighters. But Aria heard it first. A whisper in her blood. “Elara,” she whispered.

A warrior entered, bowing slightly before speaking. “We captured one of the rogues,” he said. “He’s refusing to speak. But before he passed out, he said one thing.” Eve’s heart pounded as the warrior hesitated before repeating the rogue’s chilling words: “The Forgotten will rise again. And you, Queen, are the key to our return.” Silence fell over the room. Eve swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words settle deep into her bones. The war wasn’t just coming. It had already begun.

--- They left the Hollow at dawn. No fanfare. No farewells. Only purpose. The journey to the Forgotten Star was not measured in miles. It was measured in passage—through time, memory, and the fragile folds of the world. The path took them north first, across the frozen woods where snow fell upside down and time bent in strange ways. Then east, through lands where spirits walked openly and whispers spoke of things that crawled beneath the earth. Each night, Elira dreamed. Sometimes of Aelithe. Sometimes of Vyreth.

Rohan Present day. “Rohan! Rohan!” I could hear Damon’s voice calling me from the fog. I snapped back to reality and found him staring at me with his brows furrowed. “What the hell are you doing? Blacking out at an important time?” He asked, barely hiding the irritation in his voice. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. The memories were coming back faster, and I didn’t want to remember them. But if this was what was happening, then I had to make sure that I did better than last time.

“And what do I do?” “You were studying art history before… Before your brother sent you away to Switzerland last year. After he suspected someone had caught us together.” Switzerland. More empty rooms in the mansion of my memory. My head throbs harder as I struggle to force recollection. “Stop pushing,” Elio urges me. “Moretti warned it would only make things worse. Memories might return naturally, or…” “Or never,” I finish for him. His hand finally touches mine, and the contact feels unexpectedly warm and familiar. “I’m here either way.”

“Queen of the Ashes. Heir of the Forgotten Goddess.” Elara closed her eyes. For the first time, she did not deny. She did not flee. She accepted. The flames wrapped around her, and the ruins trembled with awakening power. ---

When she appeared in the doorway he turned — a fraction of something that might have been relief, gone before she could see it. The Greymere pack, Riven said. Eastern border. Their Alpha found dead three hours ago — not natural causes. Succession unclear, two rival claimants already moving. What do you need? she said. Caelan looked at her with the assessment of someone determining what help was available. Can you read a territorial map? Teach me. * * * The maps were nothing like she had expected — not geography but overlapping boundaries in a colour system she did not recognise.

"The world is shifting. Changing. I can feel it." He studies my face, his silver eyes searching. "What do you mean?" "The Forgotten are back. But their return has unbalanced something. The threads of reality are fraying." "Threads?" I close my eyes, reaching for the sensation. "Everything is connected. Past, present, future. The Forgotten were erased, but they were still part of the pattern. Now they are back, and the pattern is adjusting." "How do we fix it?" "I do not know." The next morning, Freya arrives with troubling news.

The grandfather clock in the grand hallway of the Silvercrest packhouse struck midnight, its heavy, rhythmic ticks echoing like a countdown through the silent room. Evelyn Vance sat perfectly still on the edge of the leather armchair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The silver band on her left ring finger felt exceptionally heavy tonight, cold against her skin. Three years. For exactly one thousand and ninety-five days, she had worn that ring, and for those exact same days, she had been a ghost in her own home.

A disturbance. The Forgotten was still there. And he was not alone. He closed his eyes and looked into the crystal. He saw the Forgotten, trapped in the center, but around him, he saw other figures—figures he had never seen before. Other gods, cast out by the old ones. Other powers, hidden away for centuries. And they were waking up. The Forgotten looked up at him and smiled. You think you’ve won? he said, his voice echoing in his mind. You’ve just awakened an army. An army that will destroy everything you’ve built. And when they break free… There will be no one to stop them.