Destiny

Clare’s feet pounded against the pavement, her breath coming in short gasps as the noise of the city closed in on her. The crowds, the honking cars, the overwhelming chaos—she had to escape. Without thinking, she veered off the sidewalk, heading toward the one place that had always brought her peace.

The sea.

As she reached the shore, the salty air wrapped around her, the wind tugging at her clothes. The crashing waves whispered a quiet lullaby, drowning out the turmoil inside her. Clare breathed deeply, letting the rhythm of the ocean calm her racing heart.

She sank into the sand, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the pendant around her neck—the only thing she had ever truly owned. It was all she had left of the mother she never knew. The pendant, an ornate silver locket, held two things: a small portrait of a woman with white hair and piercing blue eyes and, on the other side, a glimmering Swiss blue topaz. A gem so breathtaking that even the dimmest light made it shimmer like the ocean depths.

“Stand up.”

A sudden chill crept up Clare’s spine.

The voice was not her own, yet it echoed inside her mind with an undeniable command. Her muscles tensed as her body moved against her will, her legs jerking forward as though invisible strings controlled them.

“Forward.”

Her feet obeyed. Panic clawed at her throat as she fought to stop, but it was useless. She stumbled into the water, the icy waves wrapping around her ankles, then her knees. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she tried to scream, but no sound escaped her lips.

She kept walking.

The water rose to her chest, then her chin. Clare squeezed her eyes shut, terror numbing her senses as the ocean swallowed her whole.

Darkness.

Then—chains.

She awoke in a dimly lit chamber, her wrists bound by cold, iron shackles. The damp scent of saltwater filled the air. Panic surged through her veins. Where was she? What had happened?

A door creaked open.

A woman stepped inside.

Clare’s breath hitched. The woman was eerily familiar. Her unruly blonde hair cascaded down her back, her blood-red eyes gleaming in the dim light. The resemblance was unmistakable—this woman was just like her pendant’s portrait.

Memories that weren’t her own surged into her mind.

An underwater city. A place both foreign and familiar. Two girls—one with white hair, one with blonde—laughing together as children, training together as warriors. They weren’t strangers. They were sisters.

No, that couldn’t be right.

The woman from the pendant was Clare’s mother. Not her sister. Right?

Clare swallowed hard. "Who… who are you?"

The woman’s expression flickered with something unreadable—shock, relief, malice. Then, a smirk.

"No one you should know about, intruder."

Clare’s throat tightened. “Intruder? Where am I?”

The woman stepped closer. “You’re in Abyssara, the underwater city.”

Underwater? That was impossible.

"Oh, everything is possible here, little human," the woman continued, her voice smooth and cruel.

"I—I didn’t mean to come here. I was just on the shore and then—”

"It doesn’t matter how you arrived." The woman’s smile sharpened. "You won’t be leaving."

A chill raced down Clare’s spine. "You mean I’m stuck here forever?"

The woman laughed—a slow, mocking sound. "Oh, no, dear. You’re gravely mistaken." She raised a hand, and the air around her swirled, condensing into a gleaming, wind-forged blade. "This is the end for you."

A sudden pulse of energy surged through Clare. A power she didn’t recognize—yet it felt as though it had always been inside her, waiting.

Her straight brown hair turned white. Her hazel eyes shifted to an icy blue.

From the walls of her prison, water began to move. It twisted and coiled like living creatures, forming towering soldiers of liquid armor that rushed to her defense. The chains binding her snapped as if they were nothing more than twine.

Clare didn’t hesitate. She ran.

She sprinted up the water stairs, through a vast hallway that shimmered like the depths of the ocean. Every wall, every pillar—everything was crafted from flowing water, held in place by an unseen force. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

And it was familiar.

A piercing pain stabbed through her skull as another wave of memories crashed over her.

The battlefield.

The screams of fallen warriors.

Two women stood amid the bloodshed.

“We did it, Zephyrine! We won!” The white-haired woman beamed, her blue eyes glistening with exhaustion and joy. But behind her pride lurked something else—dread.

Zephyrine smiled. But it was not the smile of a sister. It was the smile of a traitor.

A blade of wind pierced the white-haired woman’s heart.

“Why?” she gasped, her hands trembling as they clutched the wound.

Zephyrine tilted her head. “Why? To take the throne, of course. You were always their favorite. Now, dear sister, you will be remembered as a hero who died in battle. May your spirit rest in peace Isoldea”

Her vision faded to black.

And then Clare understood.

The woman on her pendant wasn’t just anyone.

She was Isoldea.

The rightful heir of Abyssara.

Clare stumbled into a grand hall, her heart pounding. A large portrait loomed overhead, depicting two young girls standing beside a regal woman. Zephyrine. Isoldea. And their mother.

Before she could process it, a wan old woman emerged from the shadows.

“You must hurry,” she whispered urgently, grabbing Isoldea’s wrist and guiding her through a dark passage.

"Who are you?" Isoldea asked.

"There’s no time." The woman shoved open a hidden door, revealing the outside. It was the same place as in the memories.

The city was in ruins.

Shattered buildings. Fallen towers. Abyssara, once magnificent, now lay in wreckage.

What had happened after her mothers death?

Knights spotted her. They charged forward, weapons drawn.

Before they could reach her, the waters rose once more, forming protective sentries. But the power was too much. The water coiled around her, dragging her down.

Darkness swallowed her again.

When she awoke, she was in a hospital bed. Weak. Disoriented.

She stumbled to the mirror.

The reflection staring back wasn’t Clare’s.

It was Isoldea’s.

Then came another set of memories but this time it wasn't just a part of it, it was Isoldea’s whole life

She had been murdered by her own sister, reincarnated as a human, and now—now, she had returned.

The woman Clare always thought was her mother was in fact her, from her previous life

And wh

en she turned back toward her bed, Zephyrine sat there, twirling a dagger between her fingers.

"Hello, sister," Clare, no Isoldea– purred.