Crown Of The Forgotten

Chapter 2: The Whispering Chest

The city smelled of smoke and iron that morning. Kaelstead had never seen a crowd move so fast, or so silently, until fear clamped its fist around the throats of its people. Arin Vale pushed her way through the mass, heart hammering, boots scuffing against stones that had been worn smooth by centuries of forgetting.

The chest at the gate didn’t belong here. It had no right to be alive in this world, and yet, there it was. Chains groaned as the horses strained, pulling the heavy stone box forward. Runes flickered like little flames, and Arin could feel it even from where she stood—a pulse under her skin, a thrum in her chest that made the hair on her arms rise.

“By the gods,” someone whispered nearby. “It moves… like it breathes.”

Arin’s stomach clenched. She had dreamed of it. The same chest, the same whispers. Every detail matched, and yet no one else seemed to notice the small tremors in the air. The city screamed, but she heard the silence beneath it.

She had to see it closer.

---

She wove through the crowd, dodging merchants and carts, until she reached the edge of the square. The chest towered above her, its blackened stone surface scarred with cracks and marks of age. She reached out an instinctive hand—but the crowd pressed too close. A guard shouted at someone to move back, waving a spear, but Arin slipped through anyway.

“Stop! Back!” the guard yelled. But even his voice seemed muffled, swallowed by the strange hum that came from the chest.

Arin felt it in her bones—something alive inside the stone, something waiting, something hungry.

A whisper brushed her ears. Do you remember me?

Her eyes darted around. No one else seemed to hear it. Only her.

---

She leaned closer, daring to touch the chest with the tips of her fingers. The stone was cold, impossibly smooth in places, jagged in others, as though it had grown that way, not been carved. A soft pulse ran under her palm. Her hand trembled.

“What… what are you?” she whispered.

And then she heard a second whisper, fainter but unmistakable: I have waited.

Arin stumbled back, tripping over a loose stone. She landed hard, scraping her knee, but she didn’t care. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Something about this chest was more than old magic. It was older than anything she had known, older than the streets, the stones, the market, the city itself. It was something that remembered.

And it was calling her.

---

The crowd began to panic. Merchants screamed at the guards, children cried, and horses neighed and stamped. The noise faded around Arin. All she could hear was the chest. All she could see was the pulse beneath the stone, flickering like a heartbeat.

“Vale!” Bren’s voice cut through the fog of fear.

She turned to see him skidding to a halt beside her. “What is it?” he demanded, eyes wide.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it… it’s alive.”

He blinked at her, unsure if she was joking. But even he could feel the hum in the air. Even he could see the faint silver light crawling across the runes like veins.

---

A hand gripped her shoulder. Arin spun around, dagger at the ready. But it wasn’t a thief, or a guard.

It was him.

Tall, broad, golden-brown skin, dark curls tied back, eyes like amber flames. His presence alone seemed to pull the crowd back, creating a bubble of control around him. He looked at the chest, then at her, and finally smiled—an expression that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said smoothly, voice calm but commanding.

“Neither should you,” Arin shot back, chest rising with anger and fear.

“I have reason,” he said, gesturing at the chest. “You… might not.”

The hum thrummed louder. The chest seemed to react to him too.

Arin felt a cold spike of certainty. This man—Kaelen Drax, though she didn’t know his name yet—was connected to this chest. Somehow.

And so was she.

Arin’s fingers itched to touch the chest again, but Kaelen’s gaze pinned her in place. He didn’t move closer, but the air around him seemed charged, like he could command the chest with nothing but a thought.

“Step back,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. “It’s dangerous.”

Arin bristled. Dangerous? She’d survived worse than a stone box pulsing with light. She stepped forward anyway, ignoring the ache in her scraped knee. “And you know this how?”

“I know many things,” he said, finally lowering his hand. “But not everything. Only one person here might survive touching it.”

Arin felt her chest tighten. Him. The chest. And her. She couldn’t explain why her heart jumped in response. Why her skin tingled at the mere sound of his voice. Something about him felt like fire and ice all at once—dangerous, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

Bren, still clutching the pouch of coins, tugged at her sleeve. “Arin! Seriously, this is nuts. Let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”

She shook him off. “No,” she said firmly. “I have to know.”

Kaelen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought so.”

The chest pulsed again, and Arin swore she heard words in her mind this time, not whispers. Remember. Claim. Rise.

She staggered back, trying to steady her breath. Her palms were slick with sweat. The pulse from the chest seemed to seep into her bones, into her blood. She realized suddenly—it was calling her.

Calling her by name.

“Vale,” Kaelen said, a note of warning in his voice, “whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it. Touching that—”

She cut him off, voice trembling. “I have to. I have to know who I am. Who… what I’m supposed to be.”

The crowd parted instinctively, sensing the tension, the strange energy. Horses neighed and pawed the ground. Merchants whispered prayers under their breath. Somewhere, a child cried.

And the chest pulsed.

Arin stepped forward. The silver veins of light crawled up the cracks, reaching toward her. She held out her hand, trembling. The air around her thickened, pressing against her chest like water.

Kaelen’s eyes widened, and for the first time, he stepped closer. Not to stop her. Not yet.

The moment her fingers brushed the cold stone, a jolt shot through her. She gasped, stumbling backward. Her vision blurred.

The world dissolved.

---

She wasn’t in Kaelstead anymore.

She stood in the middle of a plain of ash and ruin, just like her dreams. Broken towers and shattered statues stretched as far as she could see. The sky burned with fire and shadow, and the wind carried voices in languages she did not know but somehow understood.

The crown. There it was. Gleaming faintly, its points cracked but glowing. It waited.

You are the last, a voice said, deep and resonant. You are the heir. Remember.

Arin fell to her knees, her mind reeling. She tried to speak, but no words came. Only a burning certainty that her life had changed forever. She was no longer just Arin Vale, street thief, orphan, survivor. She was tied to something greater. Something dangerous. Something that remembered.

And something that demanded she remember too.

---

The vision ended as suddenly as it began. Arin collapsed onto the cobblestones of Kaelstead, panting, sweat stinging her eyes. The crowd had been pushed back by guards, leaving a small circle around her. Kaelen knelt beside her, eyes unreadable.

“Are you… all right?” he asked.

She tried to nod, but words caught in her throat. “I… I saw it,” she whispered. “The crown. The empire… everything. I know now. I remember.”

Kaelen studied her closely, his expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t. Not yet.”

Her knees ached, her palms scraped, but she felt alive in a way she never had. The chest’s pulse had faded, leaving a faint hum in her veins, a whisper of power that felt both foreign and familiar.

“Then what now?” Bren asked from behind, voice shaky. “Do we… report it? Tell someone?”

Arin shook her head. “No. Nobody can know. Not yet. This… this changes everything. And I have to figure out what it means.”

Kaelen’s lips pressed into a thin line. He studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You’ll need guidance. Strength. Allies.”

She looked up at him, chest still pounding. “Why are you helping me?”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Because the world doesn’t care who deserves power. It only cares who survives long enough to take it. And right now… you’re part of that world whether you like it or not.”

Arin clenched her fists, standing. Her blood still thrummed with the memory of the chest, the visions, the whispers. She didn’t know what her next move would be. She didn’t even know if she could survive. But one thing was certain.

Everything had just begun.

And the ashes remembered her name.