The burn of a Harbinger

#1

Furina's breath hitched, her heart racing as the reality of the situation hit her full force. She was no longer the Furina she once knew—the Hydro Archon who ruled Fontaine. The people outside, their faces filled with curiosity and awe, whispered her name like she was a ghost, a myth come to life. But more than that, they were speaking of someone else.

"That's Lady Focalors, the Chief Justice!"

Her mind reeled. Focalors? The title buzzed in her ears, foreign yet disturbingly familiar. She stumbled back from the window, her reflection staring back at her with wide, confused eyes. The long hair, the regal yet modern clothes that hugged her frame... This wasn't her. But it was.

"No... no, this isn't right," she muttered, shaking her head as if denying the truth could make it disappear. Her hands, trembling, gripped the fabric of her unfamiliar clothes as if they could anchor her to reality. She needed to get away—away from the eyes, the whispers, the stares that only confirmed how out of place she was in this world.

She turned on her heel and bolted for the door, her heart pounding in her ears. Her legs felt weak and unsteady, but she forced herself forward, each step more desperate than the last. Her mind raced with questions she couldn't answer. How was she here? Why was she in this body? And how could she be this... Focalors?

The moment she burst out of the building, she was hit with the cacophony of the city. Cars sped past, their engines roaring, and pedestrians rushed down the streets, their footsteps a constant rhythm against the pavement. But when they saw her, everything seemed to stop.

The crowd parted like the sea, people gasping, whispering, and pointing at her. Phones were raised, cameras clicking, as more and more voices rang out.

"Isn't that the Chief Justice?"

"Focalors! What's she doing out here?"

"She looks different... but it's definitely her."

"Could it be? Could she be... Focalors?"

Furina—or was she Focalors now?—froze, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as the weight of their stares pressed down on her. She could hear the confusion in their voices, the mixture of reverence and doubt. But underneath it all, there was something else—fear. Not of her, but of what she represented. They saw her as a figure of authority, of judgment, someone who wielded the power of justice in this new Fontaine. But she wasn't that. She wasn't Focalors. She was Furina, wasn't she?

Her legs began to move on instinct, carrying her away from the crowd, deeper into the city. She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to escape, to think, to breathe. Her chest heaved as she ran, dodging through the streets, past towering glass buildings and strange machines she didn't recognize.

Everything felt so foreign, so cold. The Fontaine she remembered was elegant, flowing with water and artistry, not this harsh, metallic landscape.

As she ran, her long hair whipped behind her, catching the wind, and she could hear the murmurs of the people trailing after her.

"Where is she going?"

"Focalors never acts like this. What's wrong with her?"

The words stung, as if she was a stranger in her own skin. And perhaps she was. She had woken up in a world she didn't recognize, in a body that wasn't hers, with a name that wasn't hers. She didn't know who she was supposed to be anymore.

Her legs carried her down a narrow alley, away from the prying eyes of the public. She stopped only when she reached the far end, her back hitting the cold brick of the building behind her. Her chest heaved, each breath shaky and uneven, as she slid down to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest.