Elara had never been this deep beneath the palace. The narrow stone corridors twisted like roots, cold and damp, lined with torches that sputtered as if trying to warn her back. Behind her, M. moved in silence, his steps sure, his expression unreadable.
"The breach wasn't just a warning," he said. "Someone wanted the stone. Badly."
They passed through an iron gate that groaned under its own weight. Elara felt a strange pulse under her feet faint, but alive.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
"A vault," M. replied. "Built before the palace itself. A place meant to keep things hidden… or locked away."
Elara stopped in front of a door etched with ancient markings the same ones that shimmered across her palm when she touched the stone. Her pulse quickened.
"Only the Chosen can open it," M. said, nodding to her hand.
Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to the door. The runes flared to life, glowing with a soft amber light. A groan echoed deep in the earth as the door split open, revealing a chamber beyond.
It wasn't grand.
It was quiet. Still. Sacred.
In the center stood a pedestal and atop it, a stone twin to the one that had marked her. But this one was cracked down the center, its light dim, as if it were… dying.
Elara stepped forward, her heart lurching. "What happened to it?"
M. hesitated. "A failed Chosen. Long ago."
The room grew colder.
"They tried to take the power for themselves. Not to protect, but to rule. The stone rejected them… and shattered their soul along with it."
A shiver ran through her. "So why didn't mine reject me?"
"Because you didn't ask for power," M. said, quietly. "You were willing to carry the weight without demanding the crown."
Elara stared at the broken shard. Her reflection stared back, warped and split.
"There's more," M. said. "Legends say each Chosen leaves behind something memories, power, echoes of their choices. If you listen, really listen… you can hear them."
She knelt beside the pedestal, eyes closing. The chamber hummed softly. Then louder. Until it wasn't humming it was whispering.
Faces flashed behind her lids warriors, kings, mothers, rebels. Each had worn the mark. Each had bled for it.
And then a voice hers, yet not hers cut through the silence:
"You are the last. The cycle ends with you, or the world burns again."
Her eyes flew open.
The light in the cracked stone pulsed once. Then went still.
Elara staggered back, breath ragged. "The stone… it spoke."
"No," M. said. "They spoke."
She stared at the ancient fragment, heart racing. What legacy had she stepped into? What burden had she inherited?
But before she could ask, the ground trembled.
Dust rained from the ceiling. M. drew his blade.
"They found us," he said. "We have to go."
Elara turned once more to the broken stone, then ran.
The past had spoken.
And it had warned her:
The future was hers to protect or destroy.