Category: Blood of the Silverwood

The Shadow Falls

The great bells of Wisteria had not tolled in alarm for three hundred years.

The deep, bronze voices that had once warned of invasion and catastrophe had remained silent through generations of peace, their massive forms hanging motionless in the crystal towers of the Starwind. But as Princess Cora sat in the Royal Library, lost in an ancient tome about the medicinal properties of Silverwood flora, their ancient song suddenly split the morning air.

*Dong. Dong. Dong.*

The sound reverberated through the living walls of the castle, shaking the crystal leaves of the Starwind and sending vibrations through the polished river-stone shelves that held the kingdom’s memories. Cora’s book tumbled from her lap as she shot to her feet, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The bells only rang for one thing now: mortal danger to the royal family.

“Princess Cora!” Captain Thrain’s voice echoed across the gardens as he burst through the archway of living vines. His usually pristine uniform was disheveled, his face pale beneath his pointed ears. “You must come quickly!”

Cora gathered her pale blue skirts and ran, her bare feet silent on the star-moss paths. Behind her, the bells continued their funeral song, each toll like a hammer blow to her chest. Where was Melhiya? Her sister had left after breakfast to walk the forest paths, as she did every morning. She should have returned by now.

The spiraling corridors of the castle blurred past as Cora ran, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Servants pressed themselves against the luminescent walls as she passed, their expressions mirrors of her own fear. The singing-orchids that usually filled the air with melody had fallen silent, as if even they sensed the approaching darkness.

She burst through the final archway into the Grand Hall just as the main doors exploded open.

Princess Melhiya stumbled through the large doors, supported by two guards whose silver armor was stained with something dark and wrong. Her cream-colored gown was torn and bloodied, her golden hair hanging in tangled snarls around her face. The perfect composure that had always defined the heir to Wisteria was shattered, replaced by something Cora had never seen before: raw, animal terror.

“Melhiya!” Cora’s cry echoed through the vast chamber as she rushed forward.

Her sister’s sky-blue eyes found hers across the hall, wide with pain and confusion. Melhiya’s lips parted, and she spoke a single word that would haunt Cora for the rest of her days:

“Damian.”

Then Princess Melhiya, heir to the throne of Wisteria, collapsed onto the moonstone floor.

The hall erupted in chaos. Healers materialized from the corridors like ghosts, their hands already glowing with soft green magic as they surrounded the fallen princess. Queen Ingrid appeared as if summoned by the bells themselves, her face a mask of royal composure that couldn’t quite hide her terror.

Cora dropped to her knees beside her sister, reaching out with trembling hands before Master Meir, the chief healer, gently but firmly pushed her back.

“Let us work, Princess,” the elderly elf murmured, his silver eyebrows drawn together in concentration. “The wound is… unusual.”

Through the crowd of healers, Cora caught glimpses of the injury that had felled her sister. It was a gash across Melhiya’s shoulder, but not like any wound Cora had ever seen. The edges were black and writhing, as if the flesh itself was being consumed by some terrible curse. A sickly green light pulsed from within, and where drops of infected blood had fallen, the moonstone floor was beginning to crack and blacken.

The corruption seemed alive, spreading like spilled ink across her sister’s pale skin. Each heartbeat pushed the darkness further, and with each pulse, Melhiya’s breathing grew more labored.

“What happened?” Queen Ingrid’s voice cut through the commotion like a blade. Her storm-grey eyes fixed on the guards who had brought Melhiya home.

Captain Gerard, the elder of the two, stepped forward. His weathered face was grim, his silver hair disheveled from hard riding. A deep cut across his cheek still wept blood, and his armor bore the scorched marks of some terrible fire.

“Your Majesty,” he began, his voice hoarse. “We were patrolling the northern borders of the Silverwood when we heard screaming. We rode toward the sound and…” He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. “We saw Prince Damian of Hayryn standing over the princess.”

A collective gasp echoed through the hall. Queen Ingrid’s hand flew to her throat, her pale face growing even whiter.

“The prince was cursing the trees, Your Majesty,” the younger guard added, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. “Blue fire was pouring from his hands, turning the Silverwood black and dead. When Princess Melhiya tried to intervene, to stop the destruction, he turned on her like a rabid beast.”

“We saw him strike her down,” Captain Gerard continued, his voice thick with fury. “Saw that cursed fire burn into her flesh. The princess… she tried to shield the sacred grove with her own body. When he spotted us approaching, he fled toward the mountains like the coward he is. By the time we reached the princess…”

“The corruption was already spreading,” the younger guard finished, his hands clenched into fists. “The entire grove was dying around her, Your Majesty. The flowers turning to ash, the trees screaming as their life force was drained away. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

Cora’s world tilted on its axis. Prince Damian, the heir to Hayryn, their supposed ally in maintaining the fragile peace between kingdoms. She’d heard stories of him, of course. Tales of his coldness, his barely controlled power, the barely contained violence that lurked beneath his royal facade. But this? This was beyond her worst nightmares.

“The Grey Rot,” Master Meir whispered, pulling back from Melhiya’s still form. His ancient hands were trembling, the green light of his healing magic flickering and dying. “This is the Grey Rot, but… it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. The curse runs deeper than any we have recorded. It’s fighting our magic, consuming it.”

The Grey Rot. The very name sent ice through Cora’s veins. She’d read about it in the dusty tomes of their library, a curse born of dark magic and hatred, one that had turned entire kingdoms into poisoned wastelands during the last great war. But those accounts were centuries old, relegated to the realm of historical horror. It wasn’t supposed to exist anymore.

Queen Ingrid’s legs gave out. Her maid caught her as she swayed, her own face a mask of barely controlled grief and rage. Around them, courtiers whispered in hushed, horrified tones. Some wept openly. Others spoke of war, of vengeance, of making the Hayryns pay for his unprovoked attack.

“Can you save her?” Cora’s voice came out as a broken whisper.

Master Meir met her eyes, and in his ancient gaze, she saw the answer she dreaded. “We will try, Princess. We will try everything within our power. But the curse is… aggressive. It’s fighting our magic at every turn, turning our own healing against itself.”

He didn’t need to finish. The Grey Rot was a death sentence. Everyone knew that. In all the recorded histories, there had never been a cure, only the slow, agonizing decay that followed in its wake.

Cora looked down at her sister’s peaceful face, at the wound that pulsed with malevolent light. Melhiya, who had never hurt a soul in her life. Melhiya, who had tried to save the forest and paid the ultimate price for her courage.

“Princess Melhiya spoke one word before she collapsed,” Captain Gerard said quietly. “The prince’s name. It was like a warning, or perhaps… an accusation.”

*Damian.*

The name echoed in Cora’s mind as the healers worked their increasingly desperate magic. Around them, servants scurried back and forth, bringing fresh bandages, rare herbs, anything that might help. But Cora could see the futility in their movements, the growing desperation in their eyes.

The prince had destroyed the most precious thing in her world.

…

The first day passed in a blur of desperate activity. Every healer in the kingdom was summoned to the castle, their combined magic creating a soft aurora of green and gold light that danced across the walls of Melhiya’s chambers. They worked in shifts, pouring their life force into the battle against the curse, but for every small victory, the Grey Rot claimed twice as much ground.

Cora rarely left her sister’s side. She sat in the carved wooden chair beside the bed, holding Melhiya’s hand and watching the subtle changes that marked the curse’s advance. The black veins had spread from the original wound, creating a web of corruption that stretched across her sister’s chest and down her arm. Where they passed, her skin took on a greyish pallor, as if the very life was being drained from her flesh.

“The princess needs rest,” Master Meir said gently on the evening of the first day. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his usually steady hands shook with exhaustion. “As do you, young princess.”

“I’m not leaving her.” Cora’s voice was hoarse from hours of silent vigil. “She would never leave me.”

The old healer studied her with eyes that had seen centuries pass. “Your sister is strong. The curse advances slowly because of her will to live. But you must maintain your own strength if you wish to help her.”

But Cora couldn’t bring herself to leave. Not when Melhiya’s breathing was so shallow, so fragile. Not when the dark veins continued their relentless march across her sister’s skin.

On the second day, the first reports came from the outer kingdom. The section of the Silverwood where Melhiya had been attacked was indeed dying. The luminescent moss was turning grey and brittle, the singing-orchids falling silent one by one. The Glimmer-stags had fled deeper into the forest, their crystal antlers dim with fear.

Most troubling of all, the corruption was spreading. Slowly, but inexorably, the Grey Rot was claiming more of their sacred forest with each passing hour.

“It’s connected to her,” Master Meir explained to the gathered healers, his voice heavy with dread. “The curse binds the princess to the land itself. As long as it consumes her, it will consume our kingdom.”

Queen Ingrid’s face had grown more haggard with each report. The weight of watching her heir die while her kingdom withered around them was taking its toll. She had barely spoken since the attack, spending her days in silent prayer before the Silverwood.

By the third day, even the most optimistic healers were beginning to whisper of the inevitable. The curse had claimed nearly half of Melhiya’s torso, and her periods of consciousness were becoming shorter and more infrequent. When she did wake, she spoke little, her sky-blue eyes clouded with pain and confusion.

It was during one of these brief wakeful moments that she squeezed Cora’s hand.

“Little sister,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I’m here.” Cora leaned close, desperate to catch every word. “I’m right here, Melly.”

“The forest… I could hear it screaming.” Melhiya’s eyes focused with effort, finding Cora’s face. “He was killing it. I had to… had to try to stop him.”

“You did everything right,” Cora said fiercely. “You were brave. You were protecting our home.”

A faint smile crossed Melhiya’s lips. “Always… always trying to protect everyone.” Her hand tightened weakly around Cora’s. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t let them start a war over this. The people… they don’t deserve to suffer for what one prince did.”

Cora’s throat closed. Even now, even dying, Melhiya was thinking of others. “I promise.”

“Good.” Melhiya’s eyes drifted closed. “Good girl.”

She slipped back into unconsciousness, leaving Cora alone with her guilt and the steady rhythm of labored breathing.

…

As the third night settled over the castle, Cora found herself remembering. The chair beside Melhiya’s bed had become her world, and in the quiet darkness, her mind drifted to better times.

*Ten years earlier*

“Hold still, Cora. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

The memory came with such vivid clarity that Cora could almost smell the jasmine-scented oil Melhiya had used in her hair. She’d been seven, wild and untamable as a forest sprite, her dark locks perpetually tangled from her adventures in the palace gardens.

“It hurts,” seven-year-old Cora had complained, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“I know, darling. But if we don’t get these knots out, Mother will insist on cutting it all off.” Melhiya’s voice had been patient, musical. At twelve, she was already everything a princess should be, graceful, beautiful, kind. Everything Cora wasn’t.

“Maybe she should cut it,” Cora had muttered. “Then I wouldn’t have to sit still for stupid hair brushing.”

Melhiya’s hand had stilled. In the mirror, Cora could see her sister’s reflection, the perfect heart-shaped face, the golden hair that never seemed to tangle, the blue eyes that sparkled with gentle amusement.

“You don’t mean that.” Melhiya had set down the brush and gathered Cora’s dark hair in her hands. “Your hair is beautiful. It’s like spun shadow, all dark and mysterious. Very dramatic.”

Despite herself, Cora had giggled. “Dramatic?”

“Oh yes. When you’re older, all the court ladies will be desperately jealous. They’ll spend fortunes trying to get their hair to look like yours.” Melhiya had picked up the brush again, working more gently now. “Trust me. I’m an expert on these things.”

In the present, Cora reached up to touch her own hair, now clean and carefully braided, so different from the wild tangles of her childhood. She’d spent so many hours in that chair in front of Melhiya’s vanity, letting her sister work patience and love through every knot.

“There,” Melhiya had said that day, running her fingers through Cora’s now-smooth hair. “Beautiful.”

Cora had studied her reflection doubtfully. She’d still looked like herself, too thin, too pale, too ordinary. Nothing like the radiant princess beside her.

Melhiya must have seen the doubt in her expression because she’d leaned down and wrapped her arms around Cora’s shoulders, resting her chin on top of her sister’s head.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Melhiya had asked softly.

Cora had shaken her head.

“I see someone brave enough to climb the highest branches in the Silverwood, even when everyone tells her it’s too dangerous. I see someone kind enough to share her lunch with the palace cats, even when she’s still hungry. I see someone who asks a thousand questions because she wants to understand everything.” Melhiya’s arms had tightened around her. “I see my little sister, and I think I’m the luckiest person in the world.”

Cora’s chest had felt warm and tight. “Really?”

“Really.” Melhiya had pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Now, shall we see if Albert has any of those honey cakes left? I might have mentioned to her that a certain little princess had a very trying morning.”

*Seven years earlier*

Another memory surfaced, darker and more painful. The thunderstorm that had come without warning, turning the usually gentle Lumina River into a roaring torrent. nine-year-old Cora had been playing near the banks when the flash flood struck, sweeping her downstream faster than anyone could follow.

She remembered the terror of the cold water closing over her head, the way the current had tumbled her like a leaf. Her lungs had burned as she fought to reach the surface, her small hands grasping at nothing but foam and fury.

Then, suddenly, there had been arms around her, strong and sure and warm.

“I’ve got you.” Melhiya’s voice had been calm despite the chaos, even though she was only eight years old herself. “Hold onto me, Cora. I won’t let go.”

Melhiya had pulled her to the muddy bank, both of them gasping and shivering. Cora had clung to her sister like a lifeline, sobbing against her shoulder.

“I was so scared,” Cora had hiccupped. “I thought… I thought I was going to disappear.”

“Never,” Melhiya had said fiercely, running her fingers through Cora’s soaked hair. “I will never let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

Later, when their mother had scolded them both for playing too close to the river, Melhiya had taken all the blame. She’d stood straight and proud before their mother’s disappointment, never once mentioning that it was Cora who had wandered too close to the water.

That night, as they’d lain in Melhiya’s bed sharing warmth and whispered secrets, Cora had made her own promise.

“When I’m big,” she’d whispered into the darkness, “I’m going to protect you too, Melly. Just like you protect me.”

Melhiya had laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Cora’s head. “Silly little sister. I’ll always be the one protecting you.”

…

The memory crashed back into the present like a physical blow. Here was Melhiya, the sister who had promised to always protect her, lying broken and dying before her eyes. The sister who had saved her from drowning, who had dried her tears, who had never once failed to catch her when she fell.

And Cora had failed her.

While Melhiya had faced a monster alone, where had Cora been? Safe in the library, reading about healing plants while her sister bled her life away in the forest. All those years of promises, of vowing to protect Melhiya in return, and when the moment came, she’d been nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the still form on the bed. “I’m so sorry, Melly. I should have been there. I should have been with you.”

The dark veins had reached Melhiya’s neck now, creeping up toward her face like grasping fingers. Her breathing was so shallow that Cora had to lean close to make sure her chest was still rising and falling.

Outside the window, dawn was breaking over a dying forest. The Silverwood that had stood for millennia was withering away, its ancient magic poisoned by the same curse that was claiming her sister. Reports from the outer villages spoke of animals fleeing, of flowers turning to ash, of streams running black with corruption.

All because of Prince Damian. All because of the prince’s unprovoked attack on an innocent princess who had only tried to defend her home.

Cora closed her eyes and felt something cold and sharp take root in her chest. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before, pure, crystalline hatred. Not the petty anger of childhood squabbles, but something deeper and more dangerous. A need for justice so fierce it threatened to consume her from within.

“I’m going to save you,” she whispered fiercely, pressing Melhiya’s hand to her cheek. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to find a way. And then… then I’m going to make him pay for what he’s done.”

The healers had given up hope. The forest was dying. The kingdom was in mourning. But Cora refused to accept defeat. Somewhere in the vast libraries of Wisteria, in the ancient tomes that held centuries of accumulated knowledge, there had to be something. Some cure, some magic, some way to fight the Grey Rot and save her sister.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, painting the walls in shades of gold and rose, Cora made a vow that would reshape the fate of kingdoms. She knelt beside her sister’s bed, still holding that pale, cold hand, and spoke the words that would bind her destiny to vengeance.

“I will save you, Melhiya. No matter what it costs, no matter what I have to sacrifice, I will find a way to heal you.” Her voice was steady now, hardened by resolve. “And I will make Prince Damian answer for what he’s done. I will make him pay for every drop of blood, every moment of pain, every dying flower in our forest.”

The bells had finally fallen silent, their bronze voices exhausted by three days of mourning. But in that silence, Cora heard something else, the whisper of wind through dying leaves, the distant weeping of a kingdom in despair.

Prince Damian had struck the first blow in what would become a war between light and shadow, life and death, love and vengeance. He had destroyed the most precious thing in Cora’s world and poisoned the very heart of her kingdom.

But he had also awakened something in the quiet princess that no one, least of all Prince Damian himself, could have anticipated. In trying to destroy the heir to Wisteria, he had forged his own doom.

Cora sat back in her chair, her hand still clasped around her sister’s, and began to plan. She would save Melhiya, she would heal their forest, and she would bring justice to the monster who had started this darkness.

Even if it meant sacrificing everything she was.

The dawn light grew stronger, but in the chambers where Princess Melhiya lay dying, the shadows seemed to deepen. And in those shadows, something new was being born, a determination so fierce and absolute that it would remake the world itself.

The bells were silent now, but their warning had been heard across two kingdoms.

War was coming.