Two days have passed and the Imperial Palace moved as it always had—quietly, precisely, wrapped in centuries of ritual and restraint.
Sunlight spilled through towering stained-glass windows, casting long ribbons of gold and crimson across marble floors polished smooth by generations of footsteps. Courtiers drifted through the halls in hushed clusters, voices low, glances cautious. Servants passed with practiced silence, trays balanced perfectly, expressions carefully neutral.
Yet beneath the calm, the palace breathed differently.
Whispers followed in the wake of passing guards. A nervous tension lingered in the air, subtle but unmistakable, like the echo of distant thunder. The wards woven into the stone hummed more actively than usual, their ancient sigils glowing just a fraction brighter—as if the palace itself were paying closer attention.
In the eastern wing, far from the public chambers and council halls, the atmosphere shifted again.
Here, the corridors narrowed, the ceilings lowering slightly, the décor softening from imperial grandeur to something more personal. Silk tapestries gave way to hand-painted murals—scenes of forests, rivers, and stars—chosen long ago to soothe rather than impress. Plush runners muffled footsteps. Light filtered in gently, warm and constant.
Guards stood watch at regular intervals, their armor less ceremonial, more functional. They spoke little, eyes sharp, posture alert. Every one of them had been personally vetted.
The hall bent once… then twice… leading deeper into the private royal quarters.
At the very end stood a single door.
From behind it came a muffled voice—young, indignant, and unmistakably Anna's.
"But why can't I go back already?" she demanded, the words stretched into a dramatic pout. "I feel fine. I'm not exploding, I'm not glowing, and nothing has caught on fire in two whole days."
A pause.
Then, softer—but no less stubborn:
"That has to count for something."
The door opened mid-complaint as a maid entered with a tray of refreshments.
Warm light spilled into the corridor, along with the faint scent of herbal tonics and clean linen. Inside, Princess Anna sat upright on her bed, her pink hair pulled into a loose braid that kept slipping over her shoulder as she gestured animatedly. Color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes—bright, expressive, very much awake—were fixed on her mother with pointed accusation.
Empress Selene stood at her bedside, arms crossed, expression composed but fraying at the edges. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes that no amount of imperial poise could fully hide.
"You destroyed half a training ward," Selene replied evenly. "Forgive me if I'm not persuaded by two days of good behavior."
"I did not destroy it," Anna protested. "I just… rearranged the floor a bit.."
From the sitting area near the window, Elara snorted into her sleeve.
Talia, seated beside her, says to lighten the mood. "Well technically Tanya did the damage when Anna knocked her across the courtyard."
Anna brightened immediately. "See? It wasn't my fault."
Selene shot her a look.
Anna sank back against her pillows with a huff. "Everyone else gets to train. I'm just stuck here drinking awful tea and being told to 'rest' while nothing happens."
Talia tilted her head, watching Anna carefully. "You're really feeling okay? No buzzing? No pressure?"
Anna hesitated—just a fraction—then shrugged. "It's quieter," she admitted. "Like… something's there, but it's sleeping."
Selene's gaze sharpened at that, concern flickering before she smoothed it away. She stepped closer, brushing a hand over Anna's braid. "And that," she said softly, "is exactly why you're not going anywhere yet."
Anna groaned, flopping back dramatically. "This is so unfair."
But even as she complained, the room felt lighter—full of warmth, familiar voices, and the fragile comfort of family gathered close.
For now, at least, Anna was home.
The room gradually settled into a companionable hush.
Elara claimed the cushioned chair near the window, a thick tome levitating just above her palm as she flipped pages with idle flicks of her fingers, the soft glow of runes reflecting in her focused eyes. Talia leaned back against the wall at the foot of the bed, polishing the edge of a training dagger with slow, methodical strokes—less out of necessity, more out of habit—its faint metallic whisper a steady rhythm in the quiet.
Selene moved to the small writing desk nearby, reviewing a stack of correspondence while pretending—poorly—not to watch Anna from the corner of her eye. Every few moments, her pen paused, as if she were listening for something only a mother could hear.
Anna, for her part, lay half-reclined against her pillows, mug of cooling tea cradled between her hands. She traced idle patterns on the ceramic with her thumb, gaze drifting from the ceiling to the murals beyond the sitting area—trees painted in gentle greens, stars caught mid-glimmer. The faint ache beneath her ribs had faded to a distant memory, replaced by a calm she didn't quite trust but welcomed all the same.
Outside the window, the palace gardens rustled softly in the afternoon breeze. Somewhere far off, a bell chimed the hour.
No one spoke.
And yet, the silence wasn't empty. It was full—of shared breath, unspoken questions, and the quiet certainty of being watched over. Wrapped in that gentle presence, Anna let her eyes slip closed, if only for a moment, allowing the stillness to settle over her like a promise she didn't yet have words for.
Time drifted.
Then she heard it.
At first, she thought it was nothing more than the fragile residue of a half-formed dream, the kind that lingers between waking and sleep. A sound so delicate it might vanish if she tried to name it.
A melody—thin as a silver thread—floated through the quiet. It was violin-like, distant yet intimate, as if played somewhere far beyond the palace walls and yet impossibly close all at once. The notes rose and fell slowly, searching, each one stretching the air around it, teaching the silence how to breathe.
Anna's eyes fluttered open.
The room hadn't changed. Elara still read in silence, Talia's dagger still whispered softly against cloth, Selene's pen still moved in measured strokes across parchment. No one else reacted. No one seemed to hear it.
The music deepened, not louder, but closer—resonating in a way that made Anna's chest warm, her heartbeat unconsciously matching its slow, patient rhythm. It wasn't coming from the corridor, or the gardens, or even the palace at all.
It was inside her.
Anna remained perfectly still, afraid that moving might break it. She listened as the melody curved and unfolded, sorrowful and hopeful all at once, like roots stretching through unseen soil. Something within her stirred in response—not awake, not asleep—just listening back.
She said nothing.
She only closed her eyes again, letting the sound carry her, memorizing it in the quiet, as though some part of her knew this music mattered… even if she didn't yet understand why.
The melody swelled.
Not in volume, but in presence—like a tide easing closer to shore without ever breaking. The single, violin-thin thread was joined by others: softer notes slipping in beneath it, gentle harmonies chiming like distant bells heard through leaves. They wove together carefully, never clashing, each sound knowing exactly where it belonged.
Anna's breath slowed.
The warmth in her chest spread outward, threading through her ribs, down her arms, into her fingertips. It wasn't pressure. It wasn't pain. It was recognition—an answering hum, as if something deep inside her had heard its own name spoken aloud for the first time.
The murals along the walls seemed to shimmer at the edges of her vision. The painted trees did not move, and yet they felt… closer. The air itself carried a faint vibration, subtle enough that it never disturbed the room, only her. The music curled through her like roots through rich earth, steady and patient, ancient and alive.
More notes joined—low, grounding tones that resonated in her bones, and higher ones that rang clear and bright, like sunlight filtering through canopy leaves. Together, they formed a quiet chorus, complex but gentle, layered with intention rather than force.
Anna lay still, eyes closed, listening.
She sensed the world beyond the walls—not as places or names, but as lines of connection, distant and vast. Something far beneath the palace stirred in response, not awakening fully, but turning, as though stretching in its sleep.
Still, nothing broke.
No glow. No vines. No sudden surge of power.
Just the music—present, attentive, waiting.
And somewhere deep within that harmony, Anna understood, without words, that this was not something she was doing.
It was something that knew her.
The melody lingered, steady and sure, as if marking time… until, little by little, it softened, folding back into itself. The harmonies thinned. The warmth eased, settling into a quiet ember beneath her ribs.
Anna drifted with it, held gently between listening and dreaming, the song fading not into silence—but into her.
Sleep claimed her gently.
The last threads of the melody unraveled into warmth, and Anna's breathing evened as the room around her slipped away. The familiar weight of blankets, the murmur of family, the quiet safety of the palace—all of it faded like mist at dawn.
She dreamed.
She stood in a vast, otherworldly chamber, one that felt both impossibly distant and intimately familiar. The walls were not stone, but something living—woven of light and shadow, etched with slow-moving patterns that pulsed like veins. Soft luminescence drifted through the air, neither warm nor cold, casting no clear source yet illuminating everything.
At the center of the room rested an egg.
It was enormous, suspended just above the floor as though cradled by unseen hands. Its surface shimmered with layered colors—deep emerald, pale gold, and veins of silver light that shifted when she looked too closely. Fine cracks traced its shell, not broken, but waiting, glowing faintly with the same gentle rhythm as the music she had heard while awake.
Anna took a step closer.
With every movement, the chamber responded. The light brightened. The patterns along the walls flowed toward the egg, converging as if the entire space existed solely for it. A quiet hum filled the air—low, steady, familiar.
Her chest tightened—not with fear, but certainty.
She knew this place.
Not as a memory, but as an extension of herself.
The realization bloomed softly, unmistakable and profound: this room wasn't somewhere she had traveled to.
It was within her.
The egg pulsed once, and Anna felt the echo ripple through her—through her heartbeat, her breath, the deepest parts of her being. A connection stretched between them, wordless and absolute. Whatever lay inside the shell was not separate from her. It was bound to her existence, growing as she grew, listening as she listened.
"Hello," she whispered, though she wasn't sure if her lips moved at all.
The egg answered—not with words, but with warmth. With recognition. With the faintest answering note of music.
Anna smiled in her sleep.
She lifted her hand.
The air between her fingers and the egg shimmered, resistance like the surface of still water just before it breaks. When her palm finally touched the shell, warmth bloomed instantly—gentle, steady, and alive. It was not heat, but presence, flowing into her skin and settling deep within her chest.
The egg responded.
Light surged softly beneath the shell, tracing the fine cracks in glowing lines of silver and gold. The hum deepened, resonating through the chamber and through Anna herself, until she could no longer tell where the sound ended and her heartbeat began.
Then, from somewhere far deeper than thought, a name formed.
Not spoken. Not heard.
Known.
Alistar.
The name echoed through her mind like a chord struck long ago and finally answered. It carried weight and age, tenderness and strength—something ancient, patient, and unmistakably real.
Anna's breath caught.
As the name settled, the egg pulsed again, brighter this time, and she felt an unmistakable bond tighten between them. A thread—no, a root—anchored itself within her, deep and unbreakable. Whatever Alistar was, whatever he would become, he was not merely within her.
He was with her.
The chamber seemed to bow inward, light folding gently around them as if sealing the moment. The hum softened, becoming a lullaby once more, and the glow dimmed to a steady, comforting warmth beneath her palm.
Anna didn't pull away.
Cradled by the dream and the presence it revealed, she drifted deeper into sleep—one hand resting against the shell, the name echoing quietly in her heart, as though it had always been there, waiting for her to remember it.
Anna gazed at the egg, her hand still resting against its warm, shimmering surface. The light beneath the shell pulsed softly, as if listening—waiting.
"Hello," she said again, more clearly this time.
The word felt small for something so vast, but it was hers, and she offered it without fear.
"I'm Anna," she continued, her voice echoing gently through the chamber. "I don't really know how this works… or why you're here." She let out a quiet, almost shy breath. "But I think you've been with me for a long time."
The warmth beneath her palm deepened, steady and reassuring.
"I can hear your music," she said softly, a smile touching her lips. "It's really pretty. It makes me feel… safe."
She leaned closer, resting her forehead lightly against the shell. The chamber glowed a little brighter around them, the living walls breathing in slow, content rhythms.
"I don't know when we'll meet," Anna whispered, "or what you'll be like when we do. But I think you're important. And I think you're kind."
The egg answered with a gentle pulse, light tracing its veins like a heartbeat.
"I can't wait to meet you one day, Alistar," she said, warmth and wonder woven into her voice. "I'll do my best to be ready. I promise."
The hum softened into something almost like contentment.
Cradled by light, sound, and a bond newly named, Anna smiled—small and certain—as the dream held her fast, and the promise of a future neither of them yet understood settled quietly into her soul.
The egg began to glow.
At first it was gentle, a deepening warmth beneath Anna's palm, but then the light surged—silver and gold flooding the chamber in widening waves. The veins along the shell blazed bright, the fine cracks shining like living constellations.
The hum rose, no longer a whisper but a clear, resonant chord that filled the space and her.
"Alistar—" Anna breathed.
The egg pulsed once more, harder this time, and the light flared—brilliant, blinding—washing over her hand, her heart, her name.
For a single, timeless moment, everything became light.
Then Anna gasped awake..