The Forgotten Crown

Prologue: Shadows of the Forgotten

The first thing I learned about destiny is that it doesn’t knock politely. It kicks the door in, dumps its baggage on the floor, and dares you to deal with it.

For me, it all started with a key—a small, unassuming piece of metal that had hung around my neck for as long as I could remember. Grandma called it an heirloom. A keepsake. A reminder of our family’s "legacy." I thought it was just a piece of junk, something to keep me tied to a history I didn’t care about.

But the thing about legacies? They don’t stay buried forever.

I can’t tell you the exact moment everything changed, but I know it began with whispers in the dark. Not metaphorical whispers—actual voices. Soft, curling murmurs that started in my dreams and followed me into the daylight. I told myself I was imagining it. Stress, school, whatever. But then came the shadows.

They weren’t normal shadows, the kind that stretched lazily at dusk. These shadows moved. They crept, slithered, watched. And when they came for me—when they tore through the fragile bubble of my normal life—I realized the stories Grandma used to tell me weren’t just stories.

They were warnings.

She used to talk about a Crown, ancient and powerful, hidden away to protect the balance between worlds. She’d whisper about enemies cloaked in darkness, waiting for the day it resurfaced. I always thought it was just her way of lulling me to sleep. Turns out, the bedtime stories were a lot closer to a manual for survival.

Now, I’m standing at the edge of a war I didn’t ask to fight, holding a power I don’t fully understand, and running out of time to figure it all out. The Crown has awakened, and with it, so has everything that was waiting for its return. The shadows are coming. The whispers have turned into screams.

And me? I’m the heir to it all.

This wasn’t the life I wanted. But it’s the one I have. And if I’ve learned anything so far, it’s that running doesn’t help when the dark already knows your name.