A DOOR OF DESTINY | PART ONE
Morning breathed softly over the imperial city.
Stone towers rose in quiet authority, their tiled roofs catching the pale gold of dawn. Red banners hung motionless along the outer walls, still heavy with night air, their fabric holding the silence of the hours just passed.
The stones beneath them were dark with dew, cold and unyielding, as though the city itself stood awake before its people.
Beyond the market roads and inner courts, where carved dragons guarded the harbor road with open mouths frozen in vigilance, the shoreline curved like a waiting palm at the place where the river surrendered to the sea.
Trading ships rested in disciplined rows, their hulls knocking softly against one another, masts creaking as the tide whispered secrets to the shore.
Wet stone reflected the dawn like polished bronze. Flags tied to tall poles stirred gently, their ropes murmuring as the water lapped against the steps carved into the edge of the harbor.
In that great kingdom, a child had once been born with whispers following him into the world.
From childhood, elders spoke in lowered voices when he passed, their eyes lingering longer than courtesy required. Servants bowed deeper than custom demanded, as though compelled by something unseen.
Scribes paused their hands to record signs they did not fully understand. It was said destiny itself had pressed its seal upon his life.
His name carried expectation. His future had been spoken before he ever chose a path of his own.
Lucian.
His future was never spoken of as a question. It was announced as a conclusion. He was meant to be king.
Not by bloodshed.
Not by rebellion.
Not by inheritance.
Not by conquest.
There was only one door.
He was to marry the Princess.
The arrangement was sacred, spoken of in hushed reverence, as something heaven-timed, something that would not repeat itself.
A single opening.
A moment that would not circle back once it passed.
He had been told plainly, without poetry, without riddle. The words had landed heavy and exact, the way commands do when heaven is involved.
The air had been still when the instruction came, as though the world itself leaned in to listen. Authority pressed into the silence before sound ever formed.
The Voice (solemn):
“Meet the Princess at the shore, early in the morning. That is your day. That is your moment.”
The words settled like stone, immovable and final. Wind stilled. Breath slowed. Somewhere beyond sight, unseen forces aligned, and the future fixed itself to a single place upon the earth.
A time had been fixed.
A place had been chosen.
Nothing was vague.
Nothing was flexible.
The future stood still, waiting to be entered.
As the sun climbed, Valerine arrived.
Her carriage rolled to a stop at the edge of the stone pier, its wheels damp with morning mist, water dripping softly onto the stones below. The horses snorted low, steam rising from their flanks.
Silk curtains were drawn back, and she stepped down slowly, as though each movement had been measured long before this day arrived.
Her feet touched the cold ground with quiet resolve, as though she had already decided to endure whatever the day demanded of her.
Her royal robe flowed in soft layers, restrained rather than excessive, embroidered with symbols of lineage and peace. The thread caught the growing light, subtle but unmistakable.
A thin breeze lifted the edges of the fabric and brushed against her hair, carrying the scent of salt and distant incense.
Royalty without arrogance. Authority wrapped in humility.
The shore was quiet.
Water lapped gently against stone. Distant bells from the city chimed the hour, their sound carried thinly across the open space. A breeze moved through the banners overhead, and the harbor breathed with slow, patient rhythm.
Valerine stood where she had been instructed to stand.
Her posture was straight, her hands folded calmly before her, fingers relaxed but steady. Her eyes followed the path leading from the city gates, not with anxiety, but with expectation settled deep in her chest.
She believed in order. She believed in timing. She believed that what had been spoken would be fulfilled.
Sunlight spilled across the water, scattering gold across the waves until the surface seemed alive with promise. Ships passed in the distance, sails snapping softly as oars dipped and rose in quiet discipline.
Merchants crossed the pier, sandals slapping wet stone, casting curious glances at the solitary woman of unmistakable nobility standing without escort. Their murmurs faded as they moved on, leaving her framed by open sky and water.
Still, no footsteps approached from the city road.
Her posture did not change.
As the sun began its slow descent, clouds gathered like unspoken warnings, rolling in layered grays from the horizon. The air thickened. The breeze cooled, carrying the first scent of rain.
By midday, shadows stretched long across the harbor stones, and the sky dimmed as though holding its breath.
The first drops of rain fell—light, cautious, tapping against stone and fabric like questions whispered but unanswered.
Valerine lifted her face slightly, allowing the rain to touch her skin. Her robe darkened where the water settled, the fabric drinking in the cold. Her gaze remained fixed on the path where Lucian should have appeared.
The rain strengthened, soaking her garments until their weight pressed against her skin. Sound filled the shore—water striking stone, waves rising louder, wind threading through banners now pulled taut by growing force.
Her hair clung to her neck, strands plastered against her face. Her sleeves grew heavy, pulling at her arms.
So she waited.
Cold crept in, settling into her hands, her shoulders, her breath, and deep into her bones. People hurried past, cloaks drawn tight, footsteps quickened as they sought shelter beneath arches and tiled roofs.
She did not move.
Evening arrived without ceremony.
Thunder rolled beyond the hills, low and distant, like warning drums. Rain became relentless, drenching the harbor until the shore blurred beneath sheets of falling water.
City lights flickered on behind her, lanterns glowing faintly through the downpour, their reflections trembling across puddled stone.
She remained.
The rain turned violent, hammering the shore as the river churned beneath it. Lightning split the sky, tearing open the darkness and briefly illuminating Valerine’s figure—still standing, unmoved, resolute against the storm.
Her shoulders trembled once, then steadied. Her hands tightened, then relaxed. Somewhere unseen, the air seemed to strain, as though the heavens themselves watched in silence.
No sign of him.
Night deepened.
By the time midnight settled over the water, the storm had spent itself. Rain slowed, then ceased, leaving the world dripping and hushed. The city slept behind its walls. Lamps flickered faintly, their flames bowing to the damp air. The shore lay empty, save for her alone.
Clouds thinned, revealing broken shards of moonlight that glimmered weakly across the soaked stones.
Valerine remained.
Her robe clung heavy and cold against her skin. Her feet ached where stone had stolen warmth from flesh. Her lips were pale. Her body was weary, but her gaze did not lower.
There was no shelter overhead.
No seat beneath her.
No warmth offered from the city behind.
Only the shore.
Only the silence.
Only waiting.
She lifted her eyes toward the dark horizon, breath steady despite exhaustion. Faith held her upright when strength no longer could.
The air felt cleansed, stripped raw by rain, as though the storm had passed judgment and moved on.
And the door of destiny remained open—
but it would not wait forever.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
Aatsujnk
0
0
0
Comments
Post a Comment