Chapter 80 - The Cursed Heart of Elira

## 📘 CHAPTER 80: _"The Dead Remember, Too"_

The first night after the coronation was colder than any winter Elira had ever known. And not just in air, but in spirit. Arien walked again, yes. But the man who had knelt before the crown was not the one who now wore it.

His eyes, gold like dying suns, saw too much.

His silence had grown longer.

And when he slept, he screamed.

Lysia sat beside him in the grand tower chamber—once the War Room, now transformed into a quiet sanctuary warded by magic. The walls were carved with runes only she could understand. But not even her magic could soothe him now.

"He dreams of people who never existed," she whispered to Caelum, the last surviving Seer. "He says names that history forgot."

Caelum's eyes dimmed. "The Crown is not just a relic, my lady. It is a graveyard."

---

Far beyond the palace, in the ruins of Virelle—the forsaken city where the curse was first born—a tomb cracked open. No hands had dug it. No beast had disturbed it. But the magic that pulsed in the blood of the cursed prince had called something old… back.

A woman rose from the tomb.

Her eyes were stitched shut.

Her lips were blue.

But she spoke the name: "Arien."

And the ground trembled.

---

Back in the capital, Arien stood at the balcony overlooking the crowd. Thousands had come to see their crowned ruler, to beg for a cure, for justice, for food. But he could barely hear them.

All he heard were *voices*—faint, overlapping echoes of past rulers, dead lovers, fallen friends. Some of them spoke in riddles.

Some just cried.

One—just one—whispered: "The woman from the tomb walks again."

Arien's eyes narrowed. He turned to Lysia.

"She's awake."

Lysia paled. "Who?"

"The Queen of Cinders."

She gasped. That name had not been spoken in over a century.

Arien closed his eyes. "She was my grandmother. And the original curse-bearer."

---

The journey to Virelle began the next dawn.

Arien did not ride a war horse. He walked.

With Lysia at his side, Caelum behind them, and a guard of only thirteen—the Silent Circle, soldiers who had each died once and been reborn by spellfire.

As they crossed the Shadow Forest, trees bent away from them. Birds flew backward. Time warped.

At night, the stars whispered the same phrase:

> *"The blood remembers."*

And Arien's dreams grew clearer.

He dreamed of a woman burning alive.

But the flames came from within her.

He saw himself as a child, watching her from a mirror.

And then he saw Lysia—kneeling over his broken body in a field of roses.

> "You'll forget me," future Lysia said.

> "Not in this life," he replied.

> "Then the gods will break you."

> "Let them try."

---

When they reached Virelle, it was already on fire.

And in the heart of the blaze, the Queen of Cinders stood, her eyes now unstitched—black voids. Her hair floated like smoke. Her voice shattered glass.

"Come, boy. Fulfill your inheritance."

Arien drew his sword.

"I'm not your heir," he said.

"I'm your shadow."

She smiled. And everything went red.

The battle had no trumpet.

It was magic on magic, curse versus blood, prophecy against rebellion. Buildings collapsed in silence. People aged ten years in a blink. Caelum bled gold.

And in the end, it came down to three heartbeats:

One—Lysia's, screaming his name.

Two—Arien's, slowing.

Three—the Queen's, stopping.

He did not kill her. He *absorbed* her.

Just like the Crown.

And for a second, his soul burned white.

The city was saved.

But Arien fell.

Again.

Lysia caught him. Blood at his lips. "Why do you keep choosing to die for us?"

"Because dying... is the only way I remember how to live."

And this time, his heart stopped for real.

To be continued…