Crown Of The Forgotten

Chapter 4: Shadows in the Blood

The city did not feel the same anymore.

Arin walked its streets with her hood pulled low, but it was like every stone and shadow knew her name now. People passed her in the market without a glance, yet she felt their eyes, like they could sense something clinging to her skin. The crown’s memory still hummed inside her veins, a whisper she couldn’t silence.

She hated it. She needed it. She feared it.

Bren noticed the change in her before anyone else. He always did. That morning, as they sat in the cramped loft with stale bread between them, he had stared too long at her hands.

“Your fingers are twitching again,” he muttered, tearing his bread with sharp teeth.

Arin froze. She hadn’t realized it, but her hands had been tapping against her knee in rhythm, like the pulse of the chest had burned itself into her body.

“I’m fine,” she lied, stuffing bread into her mouth.

Bren narrowed his eyes. “You’re never fine when you say that.”

Arin wanted to snap back, to tell him to shut up, but she couldn’t. He was right. He always had been the one to catch her lies, to drag her back when she went too far. She looked away, chewing hard, her throat dry.

She didn’t want him tangled in this. Not Bren. Not anyone.

When night came, she slipped out again, leaving him snoring in the corner. She had told him it was just another job, another purse to cut, but her steps carried her toward the inner city again. Toward Kaelen.

He was waiting, as if he had known she would come. He leaned against the stone arch of an abandoned chapel, shadows curling around him like smoke. His face was unreadable, but his eyes pierced through the darkness.

“You’re late,” he said.

Arin bristled. “I wasn’t aware we had a schedule.”

He pushed off the wall and walked closer, his cloak brushing the ground. “If you want to survive what’s coming, you’ll learn quickly that timing is everything.”

She crossed her arms. “And what exactly is coming?”

He studied her, tilting his head slightly. “War. But not the kind you’ve seen in the streets. The kind that burns kingdoms to ash. The kind your blood remembers even if your mind does not.”

Her chest tightened. She hated when he spoke like that, like he knew her better than she knew herself. “Stop talking in riddles. If you know something, tell me. Straight.”

For a moment, he almost smiled. Then it was gone. “Your blood is not ordinary. You carry shadows with you now. You felt it, didn’t you? The whispers that won’t leave, the way your body aches when you dream.”

Arin swallowed hard, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to deny it, to spit in his face and call him a liar. But the truth was already gnawing at her.

“Why me?” she whispered. “Why not someone else?”

Kaelen’s gaze hardened. “Because you are the last. And because shadows always seek their own.”

The words chilled her more than the night wind.

Before she could respond, a noise cracked the silence. A scrape of boots on stone. Arin spun, her dagger sliding into her hand by instinct.

Figures emerged from the alley, cloaks drawn, blades glinting in the dim light. There were five of them, maybe six. Their movements were too precise for common thieves.

Kaelen muttered under his breath. “The Watchers.”

Arin’s heart raced. She had heard the name only once, in hushed whispers of taverns. Enforcers of silence, killers sent when knowledge itself became too dangerous.

And they were here for her.

The first rushed forward, sword swinging low. Arin ducked, her body moving before her mind could catch up, and slashed with her dagger. Steel clanged, sparks flying. She stumbled back, teeth clenched.

Kaelen moved like a shadow given flesh. His blade sang, cutting through the dark with terrifying grace. He blocked one strike, spun, and drove his attacker into the wall with a single motion. His eyes flicked to her, sharp and urgent.

“Move, Arin! Don’t freeze!”

She forced her legs to obey, ducking another strike. Her blood roared in her ears. She wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough. One of them slashed her arm, pain flaring white-hot. She cried out but didn’t stop moving.

The whispers in her blood surged. Rise.

Arin’s dagger caught the next man’s throat almost on its own. She stared as he fell, shock flooding her. She had never killed before. Not like that. Not so quick.

Her stomach lurched, but the fight gave her no time to choke on guilt.

Kaelen grabbed her wrist, yanking her aside just as another blade sliced the air where her ribs had been. He shoved her toward the chapel door. “Inside!”

They stumbled through, slamming the heavy wood shut. The Watchers’ fists pounded against it, muffled shouts filling the night.

Arin’s chest heaved, sweat stinging her eyes. She stared at her bloodied dagger, her whole body shaking.

“I killed him,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I… I killed him.”

Kaelen’s gaze didn’t waver. “Better him than you.”

Her stomach twisted. She wanted to scream, to run, to scrub the blood from her skin. But deep inside, beneath the horror, there was something else. A dark, hungry whisper curling in her veins.

She remembered the crown. The ruins. The empire that had burned. And for the first time, she wondered if its shadows had already claimed her.

“Shadows in the blood,” Kaelen said softly, watching her face. “That’s the price of memory. And now, Arin Vale… you’ve paid it.”

The pounding on the chapel doors slowed, then stopped. The silence that followed was worse. Arin’s breath rattled in her throat as she pressed her back to the cold stone wall.

“Are they gone?” she whispered.

Kaelen moved to the window slit, his profile lit by faint moonlight. He peered out, his shoulders tense. “No. They’re waiting. Watchers don’t leave until the task is done.”

Arin hugged her arms around herself. Her sleeve was sticky with blood where the blade had cut her. The pain was sharp, but the heavier ache was inside. She kept seeing the man’s face—the one she had killed. His eyes widening, his hands clawing at nothing before he fell.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered.

Kaelen turned, his expression unreadable. “You wanted to live. That’s enough.”

She shook her head, teeth clenched. “No, it’s not. I wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Kaelen stepped closer, and she felt the weight of his presence, like shadows wrapped around him. “You think you’re the first heir to spill blood? You think you can carry a crown without carrying death? This is only the beginning.”

Her stomach turned. She shoved him back, her voice breaking. “Stop calling me that! I’m not an heir, I’m not a queen, I’m not—anything!”

Her shout echoed in the empty chapel, bouncing off stone walls carved with saints and angels long forgotten. For a moment she thought the figures themselves judged her, their cracked eyes watching.

Kaelen didn’t flinch. He only said, quiet but firm, “Your blood disagrees.”

Arin sank down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. The air smelled of old incense and dust. The candle stubs on the altar were long burned down, melted wax hardened into strange shapes. She thought of the Archives, of the words she had read, of the crown waiting in ash.

She whispered, “Then I don’t want it. Let someone else remember. Let someone else burn.”

Kaelen crouched in front of her, his face level with hers. His eyes were softer now, though still sharp as steel. “That choice isn’t yours anymore. The crown has remembered you. And once it remembers, it does not forget.”

Tears stung her eyes, hot and angry. She hated him for being right. She hated herself more for knowing it.

Outside, the silence broke. The Watchers’ boots scraped against the stones, their low voices chanting something she couldn’t make out. The hairs on her arms rose.

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “They’re calling more.”

Arin’s chest clenched. “More? There are already too many!”

“They won’t stop until you’re silenced.” He stood and offered her his hand. “So you learn to silence them first.”

She stared at his hand. Her own was trembling. For a heartbeat she thought about refusing, about running out the back and vanishing into Kaelstead’s alleys. But she knew it wouldn’t matter. The Watchers would find her again, and next time she wouldn’t be so lucky.

She took his hand.

His grip was strong, grounding her. He pulled her to her feet. “Good,” he said. “Now listen. When the shadows rise inside you—don’t fight them. Use them.”

Arin’s throat went dry. “Use them? I don’t even understand them!”

“You will.” His eyes locked on hers, fierce and unyielding. “The crown chose you. That means the shadows will answer you. Trust that.”

The pounding started again, heavier, harder. The wooden doors shuddered under the blows. Splinters flew.

Arin’s heart raced. Her blood roared. She could feel it again—the same dark current that had driven her dagger true. The same whisper. Rise.

The door cracked. Moonlight speared through.

Kaelen drew his sword, its steel catching the pale light. “This is the price of memory, Arin Vale. Are you ready to pay it again?”

She lifted her dagger with shaking hands. Her whole body trembled, but she forced the words through clenched teeth.

“I don’t have a choice.”

The doors burst inward, and the shadows spilled into the chapel.