Sunlit Fate

He looked down at the sleeping young woman who was prophesied to be the end of him one day. He could not stay long; though he was powerful beyond belief, this world was not his own and traveling between them was quite difficult and draining of his powers. She was very beautiful; those full lips were awfully tempting and that hair - Oh, how long it was, he thought of eternity when looking it. It was the color of her eyes when he first saw her face from his looking glass however - they were the color of what he loved most; darkness.

“Stella, my dearest.” He could never forget her name, it was like a bittersweet song to his lips. It sounded odd to him – as many earth names did. This world had many strange languages and each time he visited, it never ceased to amaze him how different each can be. If his memory served him correctly, the odd tongue from which her name derived from was ‘Latin' symbolizing 'star.' He began stroking her face with the back of his hand. It then crept down to her neck, where he wrapped his fingers around her throat ever so lightly. He gently released her. Not only did the prophecy say that she will be the cause of his demise - that they will be the cause of each other's demise - but it also claimed that he would not be the one to kill her, nor she the one to kill him. He even tried sending assassins to do his dirty work, as he couldn’t kill her directly, but what of indirectly? It was all futile: every person that he has sent died tragic deaths traveling to this foreign world, as though fate were warning him not to cheat it. Oh prophecies, how annoyingly fickle they were. It had to be just right for them to work. If something opposing to the revelation was to happen, the fates of the participants would all spiral into destruction - including himself.

“Hmm...” he breathed, “how troubling.” Every year he went through this, ever since she was a child. He visited this world and each time he fought the urge to eradicate her, but always he knew that he couldn’t, as he would be ruining his own destiny. Guilt overcame him too; what a pathetic life she has lived so far. How unfair of him, really. Still, the time was drawing near! Someone - a messenger - would come to her, according to the prophesier's telling scrolls, yet this time, it would be to sway her to arrive in Mysta, his world, and undo all that he has worked hard to accomplish and that would only be the beginning.

It was decided. He will make sure that no one will be able to journey between either world, even himself. In this way, no one will send her a message and she will never be able to stop him from bringing his Mysta to purity. She wouldn’t die either, he was following the principles. His lavender eyes flickered, summoning the portal back to his home in the dresser mirror behind him. There was just one person he essentially needed to get rid of before attempting to close all entryways; the dying prophetess who seemed determined to make sure the savior arrives.




“He will never win, I will not let him.” She foretold his coming and as predicted, she sensed him approaching the castle. He knew she saw his preparations in advance through her visions, nonetheless he is making it his mission to stop her from defying his wishes. She saw all of it, except what was to happen moments from now. She worried why her visions ceased suddenly when they had been raging all day up until this point. She worried that the spell wouldn’t work. Usually, the outcome would appear in her mind in the form of a vision, but it hasn’t and she had a feeling it wouldn’t at all. Perhaps that was a foretelling itself.

The power of darkness overwhelmed her, especially in her sickly state. The moon was at its highest, heightening the dark forces, strengthening him. From her balcony she could see his army of over a thousand dark knights marching towards the royal palace. She scrambled all over her bedroom for the ingredients to the spell, but in her weak condition, her dizziness prevented her from working effectively. She let out a sound in frustration, followed by an everlasting cough, when her bedroom door swung open. A man in royal uniform breathed heavily at the entryway. “Soren,” she wheezed.

She fell to the floor as her coughing wouldn’t stop. “Rosalba!” her loyal companion ran to her, holding her in his arms. He examined her face; her color had worsened. Her usual petal-pink lips became a pale, dull and dry white, while her apple-red hair had lost its shine and fullness. Her thin, frail body became thinner, and now, the coughing simply would not end.

“The aira blossom,” she whispered, “hurry.” She managed, clutching the small vial in her hands, knuckles turning whiter than her already sickly translucent skin.

There were cries from a distance, getting louder and closer. Her eyes widened in fear and that same fear allowed her to stand up shakily. He aided her and handed the ingredient over, in which she inserted into the small glass bottle filled with enchanted water. Finally, she touched her lips to the rim of the vial and breathed into it, causing the liquid to glow a faint silvery color.

They both smiled, laughing breathlessly. It lasted barely a moment as footsteps approached down the hall. Soren closed the doors quickly, locking them. “Your highness, what now?” He asked desperately, adding, “he is here.”

She extended her shaking hand to him calmly, despite the door being pounded on behind them, with yells and mocking laughter. Soren took her hand gently, squeezing it sincerely. “You will find her Soren.” Rosalba whispered.

His looked at her, utterly confused. “What? No, I am to stay with you - to protect you! I cannot go-”

“You must! You are the only one who can. Soren…” She hesitated, “...I... will die before finding her and that is why I cannot go myself - nor with you.” She spoke evenly, accepting that death was waiting behind those doors. It must explain the sudden disappearance of her foretelling gift. She stroked the emerald stone on the ring he wore, crying softly. She remembered giving it to him, as a gift long ago. She had just learned how to use magic and blessed the ring with the protection of aether. They were the best of friends and she always wanted it to be something more. How clueless he was! It made her smile, despite the pain she was in. She grew angry for a moment then, remembering the day the ring was given to him. It was when they were children; she had saw a blurry vision of Soren as a man, gazing at someone lovingly, giving this very ring to someone else. The man she loved was never truly hers, as fate made it clear years ago even when she was a child. The worst part was, she knew who the ring would belong to in the future.

His eyes became glassy as well and before he can protest again, she poured the enchantment onto his ring. A beam of light emitted from the jewel, opening a gateway to the stars on Rosalba's balcony, leading to the Savior's home world. The doors suspended open with great strength, the enemies came flooding in. “Go! Go now!” Rosalba cried, “The only way both of you can return, is if she wears the ring! You must pour the rest of the enchantment on the ring! You have to be sure she wears it Soren!" She sobbed grossly, liquid slightly running from her nose, "Goodbye..." she whispered.

He nodded to her affirmatively and she let go of his hand. He knew what had to be done. With that, he ran into the portal, and disappeared from her sight as it closed behind him.

She collapsed onto the floor again, crying freely now. The dark knights surrounded her in a circle, hovering dauntingly over her. “What did you do!” He growled, storming in. He was too late by only a few measly seconds and it was all her fault. While he succeeded in closing every known portal, he could not stop the magical princess from making one on a whim. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, lifting her off the ground. She clawed at his arms, drawing blood, but it was no use. Pain meant nothing when anger overcame it. They both breathed heavily, glaring at one another. “Look at what you have done!” He roared, throwing her aside. She hit the wall with such force, that blood spurted from her mouth. “This world will never find salvation and you are to blame my princess!” He went to her again, lifting her up by the collar of her dress. “Leave us!” He yelled to his followers and with fright, they scurried away.

“You will not win, Dawn. You think you will bring this world redemption, yet I saw that you will only bring it to darkness.” She spat blood on his face and grinned, ready.

He simply grinned back, licking her spit and blood off his lips. His eyes flashed mischievously. “You are wrong, my dearest Rosalba.” He said, hissing her name like a curse. Then, still holding her, with his free hand he pierced her chest, grasped her heart and ripped it out. He dropped her lifeless body to the floor, blood pooling at his feet. He tossed her heart aside, scowling. “Pathetic little girl. Fate will bend to me, no matter what your worthless prophecy says.”