Page 49 of The Moon's Daughter
In this hour, the heart’s choice shall bear its weight,
Deciding the course of future and fate.
In her hands, the power to mend or maul,
Her will must be steady, lest darkness enthrall.
For if the Daughter’s control slips from hand,
She will wreak havoc across the sands.
Should she be blinded by her bright light,
Daughter, fear the earthly moon’s hidden might.”
As Layna recited the ancient words of the prophecy, they seemed to wrap around her like a cloak woven from the threads of time itself.
The words burrowed their way into her very soul.
Soraya gazed thoughtfully at the worn script. She turned to Layna, her sister’s pale face illuminated by the soft light.
“It’s strange,” Soraya mused, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet chamber. “This was written long before our time, but it’s aboutyou.” The younger princess paused. “Your nightmares…it all makes sense now.”
Layna nodded silently, her eyes still fixed on the faded parchment.
Soraya continued, “You’ve always faced your responsibilities with such grace and strength. But this prophecy,” she paused, searching for the right words, “it’s like a path set out for you, one that’s been waiting since the stars first aligned.” She placed a reassuring hand on Layna’s shoulder. “I’ve seen you grow, confront challenges, and make difficult choices for Alzahra. But no matter what the prophecy holds or what destiny demands, you are not alone.”
Layna covered her sister’s hand with her own, her mind abuzz with the implications. This wasn’t just a tale from the past; it was a living, breathing part of her reality.
But was she really the Daughter of the Moon? What did the prophecy mean? What would happen to her during the eclipse?
As the sisters continued to read, they found references to the Medjai, described as guardians of balance and protectors of sacred knowledge. Soraya peered over her sister’s shoulder.
“Zarian must know more about this. You should talk to him.”
Layna considered her sister’s words. Despite her warring emotions—anger, mistrust, and betrayal—she knew that she needed to unravel the tangled threads of the prophecy.
And for that, Zarian was the key.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Layna wrapped her sister in a tight embrace before ascending the stairs and leaving the library.
Determined, she navigated the silent, shadowed hallways. Despite the late hour, Layna instinctively knew the prince would still be awake—their last conversation must haunt him the way it did her.
The council chambers were deserted. She received no response when she knocked on the door to his guest quarters, and the training grounds were empty.
Layna hurried along the palace corridors, heading to the rooftop terrace where he sometimes meditated. Her heart pounded with a mix of nerves and resolve. She reached the narrow, spiraling staircase, her footsteps echoing on the ancient stone as she climbed.
Pushing open the heavy door, she emerged onto the large terrace. The full moon cast its silvery light across the space, highlighting two stately pillars that stood like guardians. Beyond them, the city unfolded—a mosaic of rooftops and streets that faded into the vast desert stretching to the horizon.
At the terrace’s edge, near one of the pillars, Zarian stood alone, his silhouette stark against the starlit sky. He was staring at the moon, lost in thought. He turned as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise.
The tension between them was thick, the air charged with unspoken words. Layna took a deep breath and stepped closer.
“Prince Zarian,” she began, eyes fixed just above his shoulder. “I owe you an apology. I reacted harshly and with anger. A princess must always be composed, and I was not.” Her words were stilted, coated in a cutting formality.
“Layna, I’m deeply sorry you learned about the prophecy that way. I waited too long to tell you.” He tried to meet her gaze, willing her to see the truth in his eyes, but Layna refused to look at him. She walked past and slowly sat on the ground.
As she looked up at the moon, Zarian came to sit beside her.