Crown Of The Forgotten

Chapter 3: The Price of Memory

Arin woke before the sun rose, though she had hardly slept. Her body ached like she had been dragged through the streets, and her mind burned with strange flashes of the vision. The crown. The ruins. The voice that had called her the last heir.

Her thin blanket clung to her skin with sweat, and she sat up in the small loft she called home, staring at the cracked ceiling boards above her. Her heart felt too big for her chest, pounding in her ears even though the room was silent.

She remembered. That was the problem. She remembered something she wasn’t supposed to.

The whispers of the chest had not left her. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the crown, jagged and glowing, waiting for her. She heard the word over and over. Remember. Remember. Remember.

But remembering came with a price.

She climbed down the ladder to the floor, careful not to wake Bren who slept on a pile of old rugs by the door. He was snoring softly, his arm draped over the pouch of coins they had earned. It was a habit of his, clutching money like it might vanish in the night. Arin almost smiled, but the weight inside her chest killed the moment.

She slipped outside into the early dawn air. The city of Kaelstead was gray and quiet, still wrapped in fog. The cobblestones were damp from night rain, and the smell of smoke and fish from the docks carried on the breeze. She pulled her cloak tighter and started walking, her boots splashing in small puddles.

Everywhere she went she felt watched. Not just by eyes in alleys or market corners—she had lived with that kind of watching all her life. No, this was different. This was heavier, like shadows themselves had turned their gaze toward her.

She thought of Kaelen and his strange eyes, the way he had looked at her when she touched the chest. He had known something. He had been waiting for someone like her. But why? Who was he really?

She shook her head. She couldn’t think about him now. She needed answers, and there was only one place in Kaelstead that might hold them.

The Archives.

The Archives were forbidden to people like her. Only scholars, priests, or nobles were allowed entry. Arin was none of those things. She was a thief, an orphan, a street rat. But she had snuck into harder places before.

If the crown had truly been part of some forgotten empire, if her vision had shown her truth and not madness, then the Archives might have records. Old scrolls, forgotten maps, something. Anything.

She turned her steps uphill toward the high walls of the inner city. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Hunger was easier to fight than the burning need to know who she really was.

The sun was just breaking over the horizon when she reached the gates. Guards in black-and-silver armor stood stiffly on either side, spears gleaming. They barely looked at her as she blended with the morning merchants carrying baskets and crates. She kept her hood low, her steps steady.

Arin slipped through side streets and climbed a broken wall she knew well, one she had used before to sneak into noble gardens. Her fingers scraped on stone, and she hissed under her breath as skin tore, but she kept climbing until she rolled over the top and dropped down on the other side.

The inner city was different. Clean streets, carved statues, tall houses with colored glass windows. Everything smelled of incense and fresh bread. Arin always hated it here, because it reminded her of what she would never have.

But today she wasn’t here to envy. She was here to steal knowledge.

The Archives sat at the top of the hill, a great domed building of white stone veined with gray. The doors were carved with scenes of battles, kings, crowns, and angels. She stared at the carvings a moment, her throat dry. One of the crowns looked too familiar.

Her pulse quickened.

Arin ducked around the side of the building, finding a narrow alley where broken crates and barrels leaned against the wall. She climbed again, slower this time, her muscles still sore from yesterday’s madness. At the top, she pulled herself through a cracked window into darkness.

The smell of parchment and dust filled her lungs. Rows upon rows of shelves stretched into the shadows, heavy with scrolls and leather-bound tomes. Shafts of light cut through high windows, painting the dust in gold.

Her breath caught. She had never seen so many books in her life.

She moved silently, her fingers brushing spines, her heart racing. Where to begin? How would she even know what to look for?

Then she saw it.

A symbol carved into the wood above one of the shelves—a crown, cracked in the middle. Her blood turned cold.

She reached up and pulled down the largest book she could see. It was heavy, bound in black leather, the pages yellowed with age. She laid it on a table and opened it carefully.

The first words she read made her chest tighten.

The Empire of Ash, lost to time, its memory erased, its crown shattered. The last heir vanished into the shadows of history.

Her hand trembled. The words blurred as tears stung her eyes. The vision hadn’t lied. The crown was real. The empire was real. And if there was a last heir—

She shut the book quickly, panic rising in her throat. If someone saw her here, if they knew what she had found—

“Curious place for a thief.”

Arin froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She turned slowly.

Kaelen stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his shadow stretching long across the floor. His eyes gleamed like steel in the dim light.

“How did you—”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to climb walls.” His voice was calm, but there was something sharp beneath it. “I warned you. The more you remember, the more dangerous this becomes.”

Arin’s fists clenched. “I need to know who I am.”

Kaelen stepped closer, his boots echoing softly. “And when you find out? Do you think the world will welcome you with open arms? Do you think the crown will bring peace? No. It will bring war. Blood. Fire.”

She swallowed hard, her throat burning. “Then why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?”

“Because you don’t.” His words were like a blade. “The moment you touched that chest, you stopped being just Arin Vale. You became a threat. And threats don’t survive long in this city.”

The air between them grew heavy, charged. Arin’s hand rested on the book, the words of the lost empire burning beneath her skin. Her mind screamed at her to run, but her heart refused to move.

She finally whispered, “Then teach me. If you know so much, if you want me to survive—teach me.”

Kaelen’s expression shifted, just slightly. A flicker of surprise, then something like approval.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was almost a whisper. “Very well. But understand this, Arin Vale. Knowledge has a price. And memory… is the most dangerous currency of all.”