Anastasia’s hands trembled as she lowered the ancient parchment, her eyes scanning the last lines once more, as though searching for a hidden meaning that would bring her peace. But there was no peace to be found—only riddles wrapped in shadows, questions with answers buried in the past.
She exhaled sharply, her mind spinning with the weight of the prophecy. Who am I? What am I?
The silence between her and Valerian grew heavy, thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Valerian, ever the pragmatist, broke it.
"Anastasia, do not let this prophecy consume you. We will take it one step at a time."
She lifted her gaze to his, her golden-red eyes flickering with uncertainty.
"But Valerian," she murmured, "I thought reading it would bring me clarity. Instead, it has only deepened my confusion.
