The imprisoned princess

The chains around Princess Lyria’s wrists hummed softly, glowing with the faint silver of suppressed magic. She had grown used to the sound—like a whisper reminding her that even her own light was forbidden here. Wind howled around the Tower of Nyx, the prison suspended between the borders of Elandris and Vhalaris. The tower never slept. Its black stone absorbed moonlight, its halls breathed secrets, and its shadows crawled like living things. No one ever entered willingly. No one ever left unchanged. Lyria stood at the narrow window of her cell, watching the two kingdoms stretch out on opposite horizons. To the east, Elandris, her home—forests glowing with enchanted mist, the faint sparkle of mage-lights drifting above the treetops. To the west, Vhalaris—endless red sands and jagged stone, ruled by warriors forged in unforgiving heat. And in between them stood her. A girl woven into a prophecy she never chose. Footsteps echoed down the hallway—heavy, disciplined, unhurried. Not a guard she recognized. The tower had many, and every change of shift meant a new pair of eyes judging her, fearing her. The door creaked open. He stepped in, tall and rigid, wearing the black-and-crimson armor of Vhalaris. His presence filled the room with an unfamiliar tension. “I am Prince Kael Vhalar,” he announced, his voice cold and sharp as desert steel. “By order of the High Council, I am assigned as your new guardian.” Lyria turned slowly, her moonlit eyes meeting his for the first time. A prince guarding a prisoner. A soldier watching a girl he believed could destroy kingdoms. She lifted her chin, refusing to look away. “If you’re here to fear me,” she said quietly, “you’ll be disappointed.” Kael’s jaw tightened. “I’m not here to fear you,” he replied. “I’m here to make sure you never become what they say you are.” The chains around Lyria’s wrists pulsed, as if sensing the unspoken war between them. Outside, the moon shifted behind clouds— and for the first time in a century, the Tower of Nyx trembled.