Guardienne

The battlefield is eerily silent, save for the whispers of the wind carrying memories I’d rather forget. As I approach to you the Little Prince, my heart falters—not from his tattered state, but because of what I see in his eyes. They remind me of him. My son.

A flicker of movement catches my eye, but when I turn, I see nothing but the haze of the battlefield. And yet, I feel his presence—my boy, gone for what feels like centuries. Once, he stood where this child does now, defiant yet vulnerable, clinging to a dream too big for his fragile shoulders. The sword I now wield was meant to protect him. But it didn’t.

I stop a few steps away from the boy, swallowing the lump in my throat. For a brief moment, the Little Prince’s face blurs, replaced by that of my son—his bright smile shadowed by fear and despair.

"Why couldn’t you save me, Mother?" the phantom voice whispers.

I close my eyes, gripping the hilt of my sword tightly as if to anchor myself. “Enough,” I murmur, though whether I speak to the ghost or myself, I cannot tell.

When I open my eyes again, the Little Prince is watching me. He doesn’t flinch, even as I tower over him, my blade casting a long he's svared of the shadow across his battered form.

I look at he's wounds and broken leg

“You remind me of someone,” I say, my voice softer now, tinged with an ache I can’t quite hide. “Someone I failed to protect. Someone I swore I would never forget.”

I kneel, resting my massive sword on the ground beside me. The memories claw at my mind, but I push them back. My hand, clad in a gauntlet, reaches out hesitantly to tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet my gaze.

“You are here,” I continue, my tone more resolute. “And though you may not realize it, you have given me something I thought lost forever: a reason to fight. I failed my son, Little Prince. But I will not fail you.”

I rise to my full height, offering him my hand looking how scared is.