Alina had spent two days under Madam Jia's care, adjusting to the reality of her new world. She had learned how to bow properly, how to lower her gaze in the presence of nobility, and most importantly, how to remain unseen. The world of the Eastern Dynasty was beautiful, but it was also ruthless. Here, one misstep could mean death.
As Lin Mei, a mere servant seeking work, she had no reason to stand out. And yet, fate had other plans.
Madam Jia had given her one final warning before sending her on her way toward the city's outer markets, where she might find work within the palace or a noble household. "Keep your head down, speak only when spoken to, and trust no one."
But as Alina entered the sprawling city, keeping her head down proved difficult.
The capital was breathtaking. Grand pagodas stretched into the sky, their golden rooftops glinting in the afternoon sun. Wide, bustling streets overflowed with merchants selling silks, spices, and rare trinkets from distant lands. Yet, as she moved through the crowds, something tugged at her senses. An inexplicable feeling, as if she had been here before.
It wasn't just familiarity—it was certainty.
Then, amidst the chatter and the rhythmic clatter of horse hooves on stone, she heard something that made her freeze.
"Have you heard? The astrologers say the Red Star has returned."
A group of elderly men sat outside a tea house, their voices lowered in conversation. Alina lingered nearby, ears straining to hear.
"The last time it appeared, the empire was nearly torn apart."
"Yet the old scrolls speak of a greater fate… A woman, marked by the heavens, will return to rewrite destiny."
Alina's heart pounded. She had read enough legends and myths to know that prophecies were often taken as warnings rather than blessings. She didn't want to believe their words had anything to do with her, but deep inside, doubt gnawed at her.
A sudden gust of wind sent a shiver down her spine. The pendant beneath her simple linen robes warmed against her skin. It had not glowed since the night of the eclipse, yet now it pulsed faintly, as if answering something unseen.
She turned her gaze toward the towering palace walls in the distance. Drawn by an invisible force, she moved closer, slipping through the crowds until she found herself near an ornately carved stone wall marking the outer court of the imperial palace.
Then she saw it.
Her breath hitched, her fingers instinctively reaching for the pendant. There, etched into the centuries-old stone, was a symbol identical to the one on her pendant.
It was unmistakable—the swirling interwoven lines, the delicate crescent framing its centre. It was hers. And yet, it had been here for centuries.
"How—" she whispered, stepping closer, running her fingers over the grooves in the ancient stone. The carving was weathered, old beyond reckoning, yet as familiar as the necklace she had worn her entire life.
Had she been here before? Or had someone, long ago, known she would come?
A shadow loomed behind her.
"You shouldn't be here."
Alina spun around, heart leaping into her throat. A palace guard stood a few feet away, his sharp eyes narrowed in suspicion. She scrambled for words, bowing low as Madam Jia had taught her. "F-Forgive me, honoured sir," she stammered. "I—I was only admiring the craftsmanship."
The guard studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "This is sacred ground," he said at last. "Only those of noble birth or the imperial scholars may linger here."
Alina swallowed hard, nodding quickly. "I understand. I will leave at once."
She turned, ready to flee, but the guard's voice stopped her.
"That symbol," he said, his tone quieter, almost reluctant. "You recognize it?"
Alina hesitated, then slowly shook her head. "No," she lied. "It only caught my eye."
The guard seemed unconvinced, but he merely exhaled and gestured toward the street. "Go, before someone less patient finds you."
Alina didn't need to be told twice. She hurried away, forcing herself not to run, not to let her fear show.
But deep inside, fear was not the only thing she felt.
The past was speaking to her.
And somehow, impossibly, it already knew her name.