On her twenty-first birthday she finally read the prophecy her father guarded so tightly and spent the night throwing things in her room while Meekah ducked skillfully and chased everyone away. Her father truly had given her the kind version as a small girl, her child version said that she would simply never bond, but would one day find a love to help her rule the nations. The King of Greatlings would stand by her side through all her days, and she would be a strong Queen, beloved by all her people Though the prospect of never finding the one person to love her no matter what had saddened her, the rest had never sounded anything more than lonely. Lonely could be handled, but that wasn't the real promise it declared.
The unabridged version she had snuck into her fathers War Room to read, promised a much darker life and future. Someone named The Man of War, would break her heart and leave her bitter and shattered. Then it promised betrayal by someone she loved, she would lose everything over and over, and feel heartache unlike any Elderald before her. If she survived this, she was to lead the armies of Imerald before the Dark Castle, and engage in battle with Demunik himself. It warned if she had hardened her heart to all love she would turn on her people and aid Demunik in their destruction. If she had somehow managed to still believe in love, she would be victorious.
Ahriana had been furious, it was clear with each passage, and side note and foot note that her life was going to be painful, long, and bitter And despite tormenting her she was still expected to march happily along for her people. Demunik would come after her again and again, taking all she cherished, turning it against her. What Meekah did would determine if Ahriana lived or died, there were mysterious figures named in the prophecy that apparently no one knew who they were. The Man of War would be the one to break her heart and soul. The Glass Woman would somehow strengthen Ahriana with her own fragility, and then there was The Woman of the Future. Not a single person mentioned had been identified based upon her fathers scribbled notes, the man had studied the pages of her life for her entire exitance and had no better understanding of who would come along and disrupt his daughters life. He refused to discuss what she had read, and would not answer any questions. When she mentioned it to her father, he waved the conversation off, there was more to learn, mearn to study he promised her. Like if he spent every day for the next hundred years staring at the pages he could somehow alter her destiny.
He instead was most intrigued by The Man with Many Lives. There had been the tiniest mention of him, on a line well within the book's pages, the King clung to that mention with all his hope. He was to be the Power Bearers equal, in all things, that did not concern Ahriana, as she had no power, and whoever this power bearer was he did not live in Imerald, or she would have been bonded with all her peers.
"I think this man is the one we should focus on finding, though it is not said I have this feeling he is the most important figure other than yourself. When I read his name I felt power. Do you feel power?" her father had to shout as she stormed around screaming obscenities he was fairly certain Fairsh had taught her. These conversations always led to her temper flaring and her shouting at the air in general. Like the magic would hear her and decide she was not equipped to handle what it had given her.
Ahriana finally heard him, when he shouted it a second time, and she stopped, facing him. This was the third time this month her father had found her sitting at his desk, tears falling on the book of prophecy he kept in his top desk drawer.
She stared , eyebrows raised and shook her head slowly. He was getting a bit old; maybe it was finally taking its toll she mused to herself. King Kieven looked at his daughter and saw that she found his worry over that one line, in the face of all the rest of the book, absolutely absurd. He laughed and walked over to her hugging her tightly.
"I am not going crazy dear daughter, I am joyful to be able to finally discuss this matter with you openly."
She managed to smile before excusing herself to her rooms where she threw books and pillows around until her arms shook and her legs wobbled as the adrenaline from her anger subsided, leaving her once again feeling like the prophecy had scooped out her soul for its own entertainment. Not only was her life decided before she had been a whisper in the world, but it was a truly awful one.
Meekah sighed and shook his head, when Ahriana finally stopped throwing things. She sunk to the floor and sobbed so hard she curled up into the smallest possible ball she could manage. The cool cheery wood floors soaking up her tears as they fell, one small crystalline drop at a time. Meekah desperately wanted to tell her the secrets that lived in his mind; he wanted to tell her that the book changed with each year, the the prophecy was alive not some words on a page. He wanted to tell her that she would never be alone and she would know love.
He could not; he was bound by ancient laws of magic and power, that in times like this he completely agreed with Ahriana and he too wanted to seek destruction to ease the heavy load the prophecy placed on them both. It was so strong that not even King Kieven had noticed how the passages rearranged and altered all these years. No one could see it but the King of the Greatlings, and he was forced to remain silent as Ahriana clung desperately to his fur, begging for some kind of solace against pain that was yet to come, fear holding her hostage. Tomorrow often brought some relief because Meekah made sure to let Fairsh know on these hardest days that she had once again studied her future.
Meekah made sure Ahriana used her quickly diminishing spare time to be outside with Fairsh trying to ignore her fate. She ran and sparred, or fished and relaxed on the shores of the lake near her home. Her skin darkened caramel, glowing underneath the brilliant summer skin. Her muscles lost their childish softness, stripping away her soft lines, leaving only hardened edges that no longer looked like a princess, but a warrior.