THE CROWN THEY HID FROM ME

Chapter 4 — The Forbidden Wing

The hallways of Astryss Royal Academy were hushed at night. Perhaps it was simply that the students not permitted to be there had finally departed. Aera’s footsteps reverberated softly on the polished stone, her heartbeat louder than any other sound.

Kael had cautioned her—never venture near the Restricted Wing. He had not provided an explanation, merely advised her to stay away. However, something about the warning ignited her curiosity. After the events of the initial lesson, her curiosity had become insatiable.

She paused before a lengthy corridor shrouded in shadows. Torches flickered in iron sconces, yet even their light appeared to evade the end of the hallway, which was sealed by a colossal oak door intricately carved with symbols that twisted and shimmered under her gaze.

“This is it,” she thought. The Forbidden Wing.

The sensation in her chest was not fear; it was something more profound, akin to a magnetic pull. As if the wing itself were alive, beckoning her.

Aera glanced back. The Academy was eerily silent. Even Kael, usually never far, was nowhere to be found. “He must be occupied,” she whispered to herself.

Her hand hovered over the door. The symbols responded to her presence, emitting a faint glow. The warmth in her palm returned. She felt… recognised. A voice—soft, almost a whisper—resonated in her mind:

“Come… it is time to witness.”

Shivers ran down her spine. It was not a direct threat, not precisely. However, it was not entirely safe either.

She pressed the door, and to her astonishment, it creaked open. Within, the air was cooler, and dust motes danced in beams of moonlight emanating from narrow windows. The corridor stretched longer than anticipated, adorned with statues and murals depicting robed figures with radiant eyes and sigils etched into their palms.

One mural caught her attention. A young maiden stood at the centre of a battlefield, her hair mirroring Aera’s, her eyes radiating like molten gold. A crown rested upon her head, and behind her, a throne burned, flames licking at its periphery but never extinguishing it.

Aera’s breath caught in her throat as she drew nearer to the mural. Every instinct urged her to touch the stone, and when her fingers grazed it, a surge of warmth coursed through her veins, more intense than before. The eyes of the girl in the painting seemed to flicker—alive.

“Impossible,” Aera whispered, her voice barely audible.

The floor beneath her trembled softly, and the murals shimmered. For a fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of another figure—masked, watching her intently. Her pulse quickened. She spun around, but the corridor was devoid of any presence.

“Kael?” she called out softly, her voice barely audible.

There was no response.

Panic gripped her chest, but she forced it down. A pull emanated from this place, a truth she desperately needed to comprehend. Something about the Forbidden Wing was intertwined with her, a connection she could not fully grasp. Her magic, her lineage, a profound aspect of her being that even she failed to fully understand.

She proceeded further, exercising utmost caution to avoid making any sound. Ancient tapestries adorned the walls, depicting battles and royal ceremonies from centuries past. One tapestry depicted a girl remarkably similar to the one in the mural, kneeling before a throne with her eyes closed, hands raised, and a sigil emanating from her palms.

Aera’s heartbeat accelerated. Could it be… her? Could she have existed in the past?

A soft noise—a clink of metal—made her freeze. She turned abruptly and observed a relic resting on a pedestal, bathed in a faint blue glow. A small orb, hovering slightly above a carved stone base, pulsed steadily. Her hand yearned to reach out to it.

“Refrain from touching it,” a thought that was not her own echoed in her mind.

Despite the internal resistance, she found herself unable to resist the allure.

The moment her fingers touched the surface, a jolt of light and warmth surged through her body. Her vision blurred, and she was overwhelmed by flashes: the battlefield from the mural, the throne engulfed in flames, robed figures kneeling, their voices indistinct in a language she could not comprehend—yet somehow recognised.

And then—pain.

Aera gasped, stumbling backward. The relic’s glow had imprinted a sigil upon her palm, delicate yet undeniably alive. It burned softly, searing into her skin like a brand that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.

Her vision cleared, and she was no longer alone.

Kael stood at the corridor entrance, his expression tense, his eyes wide. “I warned you not to—“ He paused. “Aera, what have you done?”

“I—“ Aera attempted to speak, but the sigil burned, and a whisper echoed in her mind once more:

“You are mine… chosen. Do not fail.”

Kael’s lips pressed into a thin line. He stepped forward, but not to touch her—he was too afraid. “This… this is not supposed to occur. You were not intended to touch that relic. Not yet. Not until…” His voice trailed off.

“Until what?” Aera demanded.

Kael shook his head. “I cannot reveal it to you. Not yet. But they will become aware. The Headmistress will be informed. And everyone will witness you now.”

Aera looked at her palm. The sigil glowed faintly, as if it were alive, as if it were breathing with her. Every instinct screamed danger. However, beneath that, something else flickered—power, strength, belonging.

Something she had never experienced before.

Suddenly, the corridor seemed to grow darker. Shadows gathered at the edges, twisting unnaturally. The murals along the walls shimmered once more, and she could swear the girl in the painting had moved her head to look at Aera directly.

Her heart pounded. She was not imagining it.

Kael’s voice snapped her attention. “We must depart. Immediately.”

Aera hesitated. Her fingers still tingled from the relic. Something deep within her urged her to remain, to explore, to comprehend.

“I… I cannot leave,” she said softly.

Kael’s jaw tightened. “Aera, listen to me. You are unaware of what you have awakened. Whatever power that is—it does not belong to you… not fully. And it will bring them down upon us. The Academy, the Council, everyone.”

Aera looked down at the sigil glowing on her palm. It feels as though it belongs to me.

Kael’s expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “Then we shall confront it together,” he said. “But not here. This place… it observes. Constantly.”

Before she could respond, a metallic clanging echoed through the wing. The sound was deliberate, heavy, and deliberate in a manner that made Aera’s stomach twist. Someone—or something—was approaching.

Kael’s hand briefly touched hers, anchoring her. His eyes, deep and impenetrable, met hers. “We have limited time. Depart.”

As they sprinted back towards the central hallways, Aera cast a glance over her shoulder. The murals erupted in violent shimmering, as if in protest. Suddenly, she perceived a shadowed figure standing at the far end of the corridor, motionless, observing, and waiting.

Her heart seized.

The sigil intensified, almost as if it were responding to the figure. Aera’s pulse accelerated. An ancient, potent, and cognizant entity had taken cognizance of her.

And she was certain, with a chilling certainty, that nothing in her life would ever be mundane once more.