Morning light filtered through the tall arched windows of the palace, painting the corridors in soft gold. Draven woke earlier than usual, the silk sheets tangled around him like a gentle reminder that this life was real. No more dusty streets or empty bottles. But the curse lingered—a subtle chill in his veins, like winter waiting to claim spring.
He sat up, rubbing his temples. Last night's "accident" with the wine had bought him time, but Thorne and Aurelisse wouldn't stop. The system had rewarded him handsomely, yet he felt no rush to burn through points. Patience, he reminded himself. In his old life, rushing had gotten him nowhere. Here, it could get him killed.
"Status," he whispered.
The blue window materialized:
[Host: Draven Eryndor]
[Level: 3]
[Points: 30 (after level-up allocation)]
[Stats: Vitality +3 | Perception +2 | Strength 8 | Agility 9 | Mana Affinity (Dormant) 5]
[Skills: Basic Swordsmanship (Improved), Perception (+10%), Stealth (Passive – Minor)]
[Curse: Shadow Veil – Vitality -18%. Whispers intensify during stress. Origin: Sealed.]
[Active Quests: Survive the Week (Main) | Investigate Mother's Disappearance (Side)]
He exhaled slowly. The curse's description had updated—Sealed. That meant something or someone had placed it deliberately, and it wasn't fully active yet. Good. Bad. Both.
A soft knock. Liora entered with a tray: fresh bread, cheese, poached eggs, and a pot of herbal tea said to "clear the mind." Her eyes searched his face.
"Your Highness, you look... rested. Better than in months."
Draven managed a small smile. "The curse is quieter today. Thank you, Liora."
She set the tray down, hesitating. "The guards are whispering. Last night's spill... some say it was fate. Others say you're changing."
"Changing is dangerous in this palace," he replied. "But staying the same was more dangerous."
After breakfast, he decided against the training grounds—too public, too many eyes from Thorne's faction. Instead, he headed to the Royal Archives, a place the original Draven had avoided in his depressed years. Memories supplied the layout: towering shelves of leather-bound tomes, enchanted lanterns that never dimmed, and the faint scent of aged paper and magic dust.
The archives were quiet, almost reverent. A few scholars murmured in corners, but no one paid the prince much attention. He wandered deeper, fingers trailing over spines etched with gold leaf. Titles in ancient Berakh script: Treatises on Curses and Bindings, The Fall of the Elder Houses, Isolde's Reign: A Chronicle.
His heart skipped at the last one. He pulled it down carefully. Dust motes danced in the light as he opened to a random page.
Empress Isolde Eryndor, beloved for her wisdom and affinity with light magic, vanished on the night of the Harvest Moon in the year 512. No trace was found. Rumors of dark sorcery persisted, but investigations yielded nothing.
Draven's grip tightened. The original memories flickered: a woman's gentle voice singing lullabies, hands glowing with soft white light as she taught him his first spell—a simple spark. Then... emptiness.
He closed the book, mind racing. Need more. Deeper access.
A voice interrupted—young, curious, slightly amused.
"Looking for ghosts in old pages, Your Highness?"
Draven turned. A boy—no, young man—leaned against a shelf. Perhaps eighteen, with silver-streaked black hair tied back loosely, sharp violet eyes behind thin spectacles, and robes of deep indigo embroidered with silver runes. He held a thick grimoire under one arm, fingers stained with ink.
"Who are you?" Draven asked, keeping his tone neutral.
"Kairos Vaelor," the young man replied with a slight bow. "Apprentice archivist and occasional nuisance to Master Eldrin. I've seen you in portraits, but never wandering these halls. Curiosity finally won over seclusion?"
Draven studied him. No malice in the eyes—just genuine interest. Memories supplied little; Kairos must have joined after the original Draven's withdrawal.
"Something like that," Draven said. "I'm researching... family history."
Kairos raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous topic. Especially the empress's disappearance. Most avoid it like a plague ward."
"Most people avoid a lot of things," Draven countered. "You don't seem to."
Kairos chuckled softly. "I'm paid to dig up the past, not ignore it. If you're hunting curse lore, the restricted section has better material. But you need permission from the head archivist... or a very good reason."
Draven considered. Trusting strangers was risky, but allies were necessary. "What would constitute a good reason?"
Kairos leaned closer, voice dropping. "Proof that the curse isn't just melancholy. Show me something real, and I might bend the rules. I've always wondered why the talented first prince suddenly became... dimmed."
Draven hesitated, then extended his hand. He focused inward, drawing on the faint Mana Affinity. A tiny spark flickered in his palm—weak, but blue-tinged instead of the original's warm gold.
Kairos's eyes widened. "That's not normal curse suppression. That's... resistance. Interesting."
He glanced around, then nodded toward a side door. "Follow me. Quietly."
They slipped into a narrower corridor lined with locked cases. Kairos produced a small crystal key, unlocking one. Inside: scrolls sealed with black wax, radiating faint cold.
"Bindings of the Veil," Kairos read aloud. "Forbidden to most. Describes curses that feed on emotion, growing stronger with despair. Sound familiar?"
Draven unrolled a section carefully. Diagrams showed shadowy tendrils wrapping around a figure's core, siphoning light. Runes matched the faint marks he sometimes saw in mirrors on his chest.
"It's like it's alive," he muttered.
Kairos nodded. "And placed by someone with access to royal blood. Not an outsider. Someone close."
Before Draven could respond, footsteps echoed. They quickly hid the scroll.
A tall woman in silver-trimmed armor entered the archive wing—long dark hair braided for battle, emerald eyes scanning sharply. She wore the insignia of the Royal Vanguard.
"Sylvara Kaelthorn," Kairos whispered. "Captain of the inner guard. Loyal to the crown... but which crown?"
Sylvara spotted them. Her hand rested on her sword hilt, but she didn't draw.
"Prince Draven. Apprentice Vaelor. The archives are not a meeting hall."
Draven stepped forward. "Captain. I was consulting on historical matters."
Her gaze lingered on him—assessing, not hostile. "You've been absent for years. Now twice in two days you're visible. People notice."
"Good," Draven said. "Let them."
Sylvara's lips twitched—almost a smile. "Bold. But boldness without support is suicide. The palace has ears everywhere."
She turned to leave, then paused. "If you seek truth about the empress... be careful who you ask. Not all answers are kind."
She departed, leaving silence.
Kairos exhaled. "She's not one of Aurelisse's. But she's careful. Could be useful... or dangerous."
Draven rolled the scroll back. "I'll take useful over safe right now."
They parted ways. Kairos promised to copy key pages discreetly. Draven returned to his chambers, mind buzzing.
Afternoon brought training—private, in a small courtyard behind his wing. He practiced forms with a practice sword, feeling the curse resist every swing. Sweat poured, but each motion loosened something inside.
System pinged mid-swing:
[Daily Quest Complete: Train for 2 Hours. +15 points. Total: 45.]
[New Passive: Sword Intent (Level 1) – Minor boost to precision.]
He collapsed against a wall, breathing hard. The whispers came again—faint, insidious: Weak. Unworthy. Give in.
He clenched his fist. "Not today."
Evening fell. Liora brought dinner, concern etched deeper.
"Your Highness, rumors are spreading. Thorne was furious this morning—said you humiliated him."
Draven ate slowly. "Good. Let him rage. Rage makes mistakes."
As night deepened, he sat by the window, staring at the moon. The side quest burned in his mind: Investigate Mother's Disappearance.
A new notification:
[Optional Quest Unlocked: Seek the Sealed Tome. Location: Restricted Vault. Reward: Clue to Curse Origin + 100 points.]
[Warning: High risk of detection.]
Draven smiled grimly. Slow steps. One at a time.
Tomorrow, he'd test Kairos's loyalty. Probe Sylvara if possible. And inch closer to the truth.
The curse whispered once more, but this time, he whispered back.
"I'm coming for you."