The Echo of Ashara

The rain fell in sheets, a heavy curtain of water that blurred the boundaries

between sky and earth. Ashara stood at the edge of the cliff, the winds

tugging at her black cloak, her hair whipping behind her like a wild thing.

Her heart was as heavy as the storm clouds above, and she could feel the

weight of all she had lost—the kingdom, her family, her very life. A single

tear traced the curve of her cheek, mixing with the rain, indistinguishable

from the drops that fell from the heavens.

She had failed.

Ashara, the last of the royal line of Selvaris, had fought with every ounce of

strength she had to defend her people, but in the end, the armies of the

dark sorcerer Malrath had torn through her kingdom. Her soldiers had

fallen, her family had been slaughtered, and her heart had been shattered

long before her body was.

It was supposed to be the end.

And yet, as her knees buckled beneath her, as she gazed down at the chasm

below, a strange, ethereal light filled the space around her. She looked up

in confusion, her grief momentarily drowned by the sudden brilliance.

A voice unlike anything she had ever heard, ancient and soothing

—whispered to her soul.

"Your journey is not yet finished, child of Selvaris. The relic chooses you.

Rise, for you have not fallen. Not truly."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she reached out instinctively, her

fingertips brushing against something cool and smooth. She turned her

gaze downward and saw it—a glowing, intricate crystal nestled in the folds

of her cloak, one she had never seen before. It pulsed with a strange,

comforting warmth, and as she held it, her mind flooded with visions

—flashes of life she had never lived, faces she had never met, lands she had

never seen.

"This relic is the key to your rebirth," the voice continued. "The cycle will

begin anew. You shall be given another chance, but the price is steep. You

will not remember what was, nor will you know what is to come. You will

be born anew, but you must carry the burden of your past without the

memory of it."

The storm roared around her, but Ashara stood in stunned silence, the

weight of the decision pressing down on her chest. Could she accept this

offer? Could she truly give up everything—her memories, her identity, her

very essence—for another chance at life? Could she endure the loneliness

of being someone new, someone different?

But then, amidst the overwhelming sadness, something inside her stirred.

She had nothing left. Her family, her kingdom—those were gone. The

world she had known had crumbled into dust. But maybe, just maybe, this

was the one thing she could control. The relic offered her the chance to rise

from the ashes of her past and find something new.

"I accept," she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute.

The light around her flared brighter, and in that instant, the ground

beneath her feet gave way. The earth cracked open, and she fell—falling

through time, through worlds, through realities. The sound of her scream

was swallowed by the vastness, and then, there was nothing.

When Ashara awoke, the world was different.

Her first breath was sharp and cold, the air carrying with it the scent of

pine and earth. She blinked, disoriented, as her surroundings came into

focus. She was lying on soft grass beneath the canopy of a dense forest.

The remnants of the storm she had known in her previous life had passed,

leaving only the sound of gentle rain tapping against the leaves.

Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up, taking in the unfamiliar

sights. The trees were taller, their trunks dark and gnarled, and the

undergrowth was thick with moss and ferns. A part of her—something

deep inside—felt at home in this place, as if she had always belonged here.

But there was a hollowness too.

Her memory was gone. The names, the faces, the people she had once love

d—everything was lost to her. It was as though a veil had descended over

her past, and she could not find the threads to pull it back.

And yet, a fragment remained—a strange, persistent feeling that this was

not where she truly belonged. She did not belong here, not in this strange,

simple life, not as the person she had become. The whispers of the divine

relic haunted her thoughts.

"You are Ashara," the voice had said. "But you are also someone else. This

life is yours to shape."

Her heart twisted at the thought. What had she been before? Was she a

warrior, a princess, a leader? Or was she someone else entirely?

As the days passed, Ashara wandered through the forest, guided only by a

vague sense of purpose. She encountered people—humble folk, farmers and

hunters, who greeted her with kindness but seemed to treat her as if she

were a stranger. She had no memory of them, but there was a part of her

that longed to reach out to them, to connect with them in some way. She

was an outsider here, a lost soul, searching for a purpose.

And then, one day, as she passed through a village nestled on the edge of

the woods, a boy approached her. He was young, no older than ten or

eleven, with wild brown hair and eyes that glowed with a strange intensity.

His gaze locked onto hers, and for a moment, Ashara felt the unmistakable

tug of recognition.

"You don’t remember, do you?" the boy asked, his voice soft, as though

speaking to her alone.

She shook her head, her heart tightening. "I don't… I don't remember

anything."

The boy smiled, a knowing smile, like he had seen through the veil of her

confusion. "It’s okay," he said, stepping closer. "But you’ll find it. The relic

you carry—it's in you, Ashara. You’ve only forgotten how to hear it. But

you will."

And in that moment, a flicker of recognition ignited in her chest. She had

forgotten much, but the boy’s words—his presence—awakened something

deep within her, something she could not explain.

The journey of her rebirth had just begun. And though her memories might

never fully return, Ashara felt the stirrings of something more. A calling, a

purpose. The relic had chosen her, and she would find her path, piece by

piece, guided not by her past but by the strength of her heart.

The world was waiting. And she would rise again.