I was having a nightmare—one that has haunted me since I was a little girl. It always begins the same way: a blood-red sky hanging over a kingdom on the brink of collapse. In the nightmare, I witness the fall of a once-glorious realm ruled by a tyrant king and queen. They had sworn eternal peace through sacred alliances and vowed to protect their people, their lands, and the ancient oaths carved into the stones of their ancestors.
But their promises were lies.
Driven by greed and thirst for dominion, they betrayed their allies and turned their blades on their own. The gods, angered by their arrogance, unleashed a divine reckoning. The earth trembled, the rivers turned to ash, and the skies wept fire. I watched helplessly as their golden palace crumbled into dust.
The most harrowing part was what came after—the sacrifice. Their own children, innocent and unknowing, were offered to the gods in a desperate plea for mercy. Bound in ceremonial chains and cloaked in royal silks, they walked silently to the altar. I can still hear the chanting, still see the tears in their eyes. It was not justice. It was sorrow wrapped in ritual.
That vision never fades. Even in the light of day, its shadows cling to me. And sometimes, I wonder… was it just a nightmare? Or a memory from another life?
I sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, as I did every night because of the nightmare. I call it "night" even though it's always around 4:00 a.m.—that strange, heavy hour when the world is still cloaked in darkness and the silence feels almost too complete. The shadows seem to linger longer, as if the dream hasn't fully released its grip on me. The air is cold and still, pressing against my skin like the memory of unseen hands.
My breath comes in shallow bursts, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. Sometimes I can still hear the whispers from the dream—echoes of ancient voices, chanting in a forgotten tongue, mourning the fall of the royal bloodline. I try to convince myself it's just my imagination, that the visions aren't real. But each time I wake, the images are clearer. The faces more familiar. The sorrow more personal.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and plant my feet on the floor, trying to ground myself in the present. The wooden boards are cool beneath my toes, but I barely notice. I'm still caught between two worlds—the world of the waking, and that cursed kingdom lost to time. A part of me fears that if I fall asleep again, I won't return alone.
So, I wrapped a robe around myself and went to the bedroom door to call for a maid, hoping she could prepare a warm bath to help me wash away the haunting remnants of my nightmare. The air still held the chill of early dawn as silence clung to the halls, heavy and expectant. While I waited, I stepped quietly onto the porch, the wooden floor cool beneath my bare feet. I sank into a chair and looked up at the sky, where the stars still twinkled faintly, reluctant to give way to morning light.
Birds stirred in the trees, their soft melodies weaving a delicate love song that danced through the air, soothing my heart in ways I couldn't explain. For a brief moment, it felt as if the nightmare belonged to another world entirely—one that the light might never touch. I pulled the robe tighter around me, its fabric barely shielding me from the memory still clinging to my skin like smoke.
A soft breeze brushed through my hair, carrying with it the scent of dew-kissed roses from the garden below. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, wishing the sweetness could drown out the images that still lingered—burning cities, screaming voices, the cold eyes of the tyrant king staring through me like I was already dead. I had seen the kingdom fall again… just like I did every night.
My fingers tremble slightly as I rested them on the armrest, trying to focus on the present—the safety of my room, the warmth of the robe, the distant promise of sunrise. But deep inside, I knew this was more than a dream. It was a warning. A memory. Or perhaps… a prophecy.
"Princess, you shouldn't be outside when it's this cold in the morning. I fear you might catch a fever—and if you do, your father and mother will have my head," said a soft-spoken voice filled with worry and concern.
When I turned my head to acknowledge the maid, I saw that she was an elderly woman, her silvery hair neatly tied up in a bun. She stood no taller than my waist, her small frame wrapped in a thick wool shawl, and yet there was strength in the way she held herself. Her eyes—pale blue and slightly clouded with age—still held a spark of gentle wisdom, the kind that only comes with years of quiet observation. She wore a warm, comforting smile that reminded me of childhood lullabies, firelight, and the scent of lavender soap she always used when tucking me into bed as a child.
"I didn't mean to worry you, Merrin," I said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear as I looked back at the fading stars. "The dream returned again. I couldn't stay in bed a moment longer."
Her smile faded just slightly, and she stepped closer, laying a frail but steady hand on my shoulder. "The same one? The kingdom… the fire?"
I nodded, unable to speak for a moment as my throat tightened.
She let out a quiet sigh. "Some dreams are more than just dreams, Your Highness. I've told you before. Sometimes the old gods whisper to those who are willing to listen… and sometimes, to those who have no choice."
Her words lingered in the cold morning air, heavier than the mist creeping in from the forest beyond the castle walls. I shivered—not from the cold, but from the weight of something I still didn't understand.
"Come now," she said gently, wrapping her arm around mine. "Let's get you into that bath before the wind steals what's left of your warmth."
As we walked back inside, I couldn't help but glance one last time at the horizon. Something was stirring in the world—something I could feel in my bones. And I had a sinking feeling that my dreams were only the beginning.
As we reached the bathroom, I glanced at Merrin and asked a question that had been weighing heavily on my heart."Merrin," I began softly, "have the gods ever destroyed an entire kingdom just because the King and Queen were tyrants? And why should their children suffer for the sins of their parents?"
Merrin paused, her hands hovering over the brass handles as she adjusted the flow of hot water into the tub. She let out a quiet sigh, the kind that held both age and weariness."It depends, child," she said at last, her voice low but firm. "If the children are just as cruel—just as corrupted—then what difference is there? But even so… no one dares question the gods. We follow their will because they are the ones who choose rulers, who shape the fate of kingdoms. Whether we like it or not, it is not our place to defy them."
She shook her head and turned back to the tub, steam beginning to rise."Enough of this heavy talk. Into the bath you go now, before the water grows cold and your thoughts drown you more than the dream ever could."
I stepped slowly out of my robe, the chill clinging to my skin as I sank into the steaming water. The heat enveloped me, but it couldn't burn away the unease nesting deep in my chest. I stared at the ripples forming around me, watching them move and break like the people I saw in my nightmare—chaotic, powerless.
Merrin moved quietly around the room, laying out fresh towels and setting a vial of lavender oil by the edge of the tub. She said nothing more, but I could sense the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands hesitated before she placed them in her apron pockets. She was worried too. Maybe not just for me—but for the kingdom.
"I keep hearing a voice in the dream," I whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. "It keeps saying, 'The bloodline is cracked. The throne is soaked. Justice will fall with fire.'"
Merrin froze.
The silence was thick for several seconds. Then, without turning around, she said in a hushed tone, "That's an old prophecy. One not spoken of since before your parents took the throne."
My heart skipped a beat.
She turned to me slowly, her face pale, her eyes unreadable. "Where exactly did you hear those words, child? And are you certain… it was just a dream?"
The silence that followed fell like the world itself had paused to listen.
She didn't speak, didn't move. The steam from the bath curled between us like silent spirits, and for a moment, I wondered if I'd said something I wasn't supposed to—if I had crossed an invisible line.
Slowly, she turned to face me, her eyes wide, not with confusion—but recognition. A fear that was too old to be new.
"Merrin…" I sat up straighter, water sloshing gently around me. "You've heard it before, haven't you?"
Her lips parted, then closed again as if she were fighting with the words themselves. Finally, she sat on the edge of a nearby stool, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
"There are things," she said carefully, "I was never meant to speak. Oaths I swore before your birth, before your mother even became queen." Her gaze dropped to her hands, as though they were stained by the weight of the past. "But if the prophecy is finding its way into your dreams… then silence is no longer protection—it's a curse."
I waited, holding my breath.
Merrin looked up at me, her eyes glistening with the weight of decades.
"You were never meant to be the only child of this bloodline."
My heart lurched.
"What?"
She nodded slowly. "You had a brother. A twin. Born in secret. The Queen was told he died at birth—but that was a lie. He was taken… hidden away. There were whispers that the gods feared what the two of you might become if raised together. A twin flame born under the eclipse of war and blood. One of peace. One of fire."
My skin prickled, the warmth of the bath suddenly feeling too thin to shield me from the chill in her words.
"And which one am I?" I asked, barely able to speak.
Merrin didn't answer immediately. She reached into the folds of her apron and pulled out a small, ancient pendant—its surface etched with a symbol I'd seen once before… in the ruins of my dreams.
"You are the question," she said, placing it gently in my hand. "And now, it seems, your brother… may soon be the answer."