Princess: Blades of Time and Starlight

Then Mother turned and began to walk out of the throne room, her silken robes whispering against the stone floor. A hush seemed to fall over the chamber, as if the very walls were holding their breath. Without looking back, she said,"Follow me, Anna. The time will come when the blade's flame must fade and rest once more… but not yet. Not while its song still echoes in the air. I can feel it stirring—like a heartbeat buried deep within the earth—awakened by fate itself."

She paused at the doorway, her hand resting lightly on the carved frame, etched with ancient runes."There are forces older than the crown, older than this kingdom. The blade remembers… and it knows you."

Anna stood frozen, the words threading through her mind like ghostly wind. Her fingers instinctively brushed against the pendant at her chest—it pulsed faintly, as if in response. A thousand questions burned on her tongue, but her voice caught in her throat.

"Knows me?" she finally whispered, more to herself than anyone else. The weight of her mother's words settled over her like mist—chilling, yet strangely familiar. Her feet moved before her thoughts could catch up, drawn forward by something ancient… something calling her home.

As she stepped into the corridor beyond the throne room, the air shifted—warmer, thicker, laced with the scent of old stone and forgotten fire. Her vision flickered. For a heartbeat, the walls around her dissolved into gold and shadow, and she found herself standing in a place both known and unknown.

A soft voice, younger and distant, echoed in her ears: "Anna, do you remember what you promised the stars?"

Flashes came in pieces—her child-self reaching toward a glowing sword on an altar of moonstone; her mother's younger face, lined with sorrow, whispering a ritual in an ancient tongue; hands glowing with silver light.

The memory hit like a wave—half-dream, half-truth. She gasped, stumbling slightly. The pendant burned against her skin now, a steady thrum syncing with the memory's rhythm.

"I… I've been here before," she murmured. "Not in this life, but… in the space between."

The world around her dimmed. The torches lining the corridor flickered, then vanished, swallowed by shadow and starlight. Time unraveled.

Anna's knees gave way, and before she could fall, the ground beneath her softened—not stone, but grass kissed by moonlight. A silver sky stretched overhead, unfamiliar constellations swirling like ancient runes.

She stood now in a sacred glade, moonflowers blooming at the edge of a still, glassy lake. In its center stood a pedestal of stone, and upon it rested a blade of shimmering crystal, its surface etched with living light.

From the shadows stepped a figure—herself, but not herself. She wore flowing robes woven from starlight and ash. Her hair was longer, her eyes ageless. A sigil burned faintly on her brow: a crescent moon cradling a flame.

"This is who I was," Anna breathed, unable to look away. "Before the sealing… before I forgot."

The past-self raised her hands and spoke to a gathering of cloaked figures around the lake. Her voice rang with quiet power, echoing with every word:

"When the crown grows hollow and the throne weeps blood, the blade shall awaken.When fire sleeps in the heart of ice, she will return.She who walked the silver path before the first bell tolled—She will remember, and in remembering, the world will choose."

As the prophecy was spoken, Anna's pendant flared, and so did the sword on the pedestal. The lake reflected her two selves—past and present merging like breath on glass.

A voice echoed once more, now closer, almost inside her:"You are the flame reborn, Anna. And the time to choose… is near."

The wind stirred the petals at her feet. The moon above shimmered brighter, and the air held the hush of sacred time.

Anna stepped forward, her heartbeat loud in her ears, though the world around her felt weightless—like walking through a dream too real to be false. Her past self, the one cloaked in light and prophecy, slowly turned to face her.

Their eyes met—identical yet not.

"You've come," the past Anna said, her voice layered with ancient echoes. "I wasn't certain you would survive the sealing."

"What… what is this place?" Anna asked, her voice wavering. "Who are you—who was I?"

The past self approached, every step silent over the grass. Her presence was radiant, yet grounding, like starlight woven into a human form.

"You are the last daughter of the Astral Flame," she said gently. "You were born when the Veil between realms thinned, shaped by prophecy, chosen by the blade. I am the echo of who you were before the memory was locked away to protect you… and this realm."

Anna's chest tightened. "Why was it taken from me? Why couldn't I remember?"

The other Anna reached out and gently touched her brow.

"Because knowledge without strength is a curse. You were too young. The blade would have consumed you, and the darkness watching from beyond would have claimed your light. But now—" her hand drifted to the pendant, glowing with the same fire as the sword, "—you are awakening."

The grass trembled, and the stars above dimmed.

"There isn't much time," her past self said. "When you leave this place, your power will begin to return. But you must be careful, Anna. The world remembers you—and so do your enemies."

Anna's fingers curled. "Then I won't run from it anymore. Not from the blade. Not from who I was."

The past self smiled, proud and solemn. "Good. Then listen now, and listen well, for the rest of the prophecy was never spoken aloud…"

She leaned in, and as her lips parted to speak the forgotten lines—

The dream-world trembled, stilled only by the steady breath of Anna's past self. She leaned close, her voice falling to a whisper that resonated in the bones of the earth and stars alike.

"And when the stars weep silverand the twin moons bleed into one,the Sealed Flame shall rise,her shadow and light bound by oath and blood.She shall stand at the edge of ruin—not to stop it,but to choose which world must burn."

Anna's breath caught. "Choose… which world?"

The past self's eyes shimmered with sorrow. "Your soul bridges two destinies, Anna. The world that birthed you, and the world you were meant to remake. One will wither. One will thrive. The blade does not protect—it awakens what already sleeps inside the wielder. Your heart, your memories, your pain… all of it will decide."

Anna's surroundings began to flicker—the stars dimming, the wind shifting, as if reality were unraveling around her. The past self straightened, raising a hand toward the sky.

"Before you go, take this."

From her palm formed a shape of light—a shard of crystal flame, floating between them. As Anna reached out, the moment her fingers brushed its surface, it melted into her skin, sending warmth rushing through her veins.

Suddenly, Anna's head reeled with a thousand voices—her own, yet layered across time. She saw glimpses:

A battlefield of ash and sky, the blade glowing in her hands

A young man cloaked in shadow, calling her name with tears in his eyes

A queen's crown shattered, falling from a pale hand

Two towers crumbling, one of light, the other darkness, and her reflection between them

Her past self began to fade, glowing brighter as her form dissolved into starlight.

"Remember this, Anna: You are not just the heir to a throne. You are the flame that chooses. And the blade—" her voice echoed one last time, "—only answers to truth."

The world tilted.

The lake, the stars, the flowers—all spiraled away in a swirl of light and memory.

Anna's eyes flew open.

A gasp tore from her throat as she jolted upright, light crackling briefly along her arms like silver fire. The pendant on her chest was burning hot, and her breath came in short bursts, the prophecy still echoing in her ears.

Merrin, who had been kneeling beside her, flinched back in shock."Anna!" she cried. "You—your eyes—"

Anna looked up, and for a fleeting second, her irises shimmered with the reflection of twin moons, one bleeding into the other. The glow faded as quickly as it came, but Merrin had seen it—and she paled.

Across the chamber, the Queen stood frozen, her posture tight, hands clenched at her sides. Her face betrayed nothing, yet her eyes shimmered with something more complex: recognition… and fear.

"The Flame is stirring," she said quietly, as though the words were forbidden. Her gaze never left Anna. "She's touched the memory."

Merrin turned sharply. "What does that mean? What did you seal inside her?"

The Queen's voice was low, but laced with unease. "Not what. Who."

She stepped forward, each footfall echoing in the silent hall. Anna, still on the ground, stared up at her mother, confusion slowly being overtaken by something else—clarity.

"You knew this would happen," Anna said, her voice steadier than expected. "You kept the truth from me… all of it."

The Queen looked down at her daughter. For the first time in years, there was no regal detachment—only a deep weariness.

"Yes. And I would do it again. Because what's inside you, Anna… it doesn't just remember the past. It can reshape the future. And not all futures deserve to survive."

Merrin stepped protectively between them, her voice fierce. "Then maybe it's time she decides for herself."

The Queen didn't respond. Instead, her eyes flickered to the pendant—and the faint glow that still pulsed from within it.

"So… it begins."