Disclaimer: don't own it or everything would have gone differently

Spoilers: Prince of Persia: Sands of Time

Author's Notes: I finally managed to play it, after two years of it collecting dust. What was I waiting for? Dunno. Anyway, I was—like most people— pretty disappointed with the end. So I wrote a sequel heavy in Greek mythology because I don't know shit about Persian and India mythology and it's the summer… I'm not researching. No way. No how.

Warnings: no connection whatever Warrior Within. Mostly because I haven't played it. Secondly, because I heard Farah isn't in it and the Prince gets together with some sluty Empress of Time. But let's keep our fingers crossed for Kindred Blades, I hear Farah's in it and that the romance between her and the Prince might be renewed. Oh and the Empress person-woman-thing dies (yay!)

Story notes at the bottom.

/Prince of Persia: The Fate of Heaven/


"A word is dead
When it is said
Some say
I say it just
Begins to live
That day"
-Emily Dickinson, "VI. A Word"

"Just call me… kakolukia…"

For a long moment Farah couldn't think of anything to say to him. Then, during her speechlessness, the mysterious Prince made his escape down the tree.

Then she snapped out of her trance and rushed to the balcony, a thousand questions clogging her voice. Who are you? How do you know my mother's magic word? Was that story… true…?

But he was gone already, athletic body disappearing into the forests below her room. She stared after him for a long moment, her hand becoming outstretched in the process. Was she trying to recall him? Bring back so she could ask the proper questions?

He shouldn't know… shouldn't know that word but he does

She glanced down at the dagger she clutched tightly in her hand. Her fingers gripped the handle of the Dagger of Time so strongly that her knuckles became white around it. Slowly, purposely, she loosened her grip on it, allowing the blood to flow back into her tips.

It was possible that she could rewind time and bring the young man back. Farah's hands went even as far as to touch the tiny, silver button on the Dagger's handle. But then she stopped and held the tiny weapon away from her, as if to resist the temptation of it.

No matter how much she wished for the young man to come back, she couldn't use the Dagger of Time for a means to her ends. It was be… irresponsible and truthfully, she was afraid of its power. Something that could bend time to its will had much power… perhaps too much power. It would be dangerous to use it, even once.

The young man had used it though, hadn't he? That was what he said. And why else would he have it if, at one point, he had used it? There had been so much regret in his eyes when he had looked upon her, sadness in him when he had told her his fantastic story, that she believed the Dagger of Time had left its imprint on him.

It had to be returned to her father's treasure vault, Farah knew. She touched the pointed, narrow tip of the Dagger…

…A memory flashed in her mind. The Dagger covered in blood only… only it wasn't her blood. Whose blood was it?

Farah shook her head and backed away from the terrace, away from the man and her questions. There was an odd tingling to her lips, a feeling she couldn't place. Where had that come from? She didn't remember anything special happening to them recently but… they tingled as if they been caressed, kissed even.

"Ridiculous," she muttered to herself, as if to dispel the notion. If she had received a kiss she would have remembered it. Especially if it had been recently.


She glanced down at the Dagger, her fingers once again touching the tiny, silver button on it. Was it her imagination or was it still warm from his fingers? What if he had used to Dagger recently… and on her? What if he had erased a…

"Stop being foolish," she commanded herself, gnawing on her lip. Impossible. He couldn't have… could he? No, of course not.

Erased kiss or no, the Dagger had to be returned to its resting place before her father found it missing. And he would be up soon. The rosy fingers of dawn were already slipping into her pristine and marble bedroom, light seeping between the trees, heralding a new day.

The thin white of her skirt flirted around her knees as she slipped from her bedroom and followed the intricate hallways of her palace. She had grown up among the twisting and twining hallways and whereas anyone else might become lost, she could navigate the palace in her sleep.

Within minutes she had slipped passed the guards and moved into her father's treasure vault. The Hourglass, housing the Sands of Time, glowed in the darkness of the vault. She approached it like a shy animal, almost afraid it would awaken and lash out at her in all its terrifying might.

The Dagger of Time was located at the top, above the Hourglass. She knew of the secret door that led to it. Other than that it seemed impossible to reach. How had the boy managed to get to it?

A small shake of her head had the thoughts dissolving. Farah placed the Dagger back on its pedestal, watching as it glowed with a silver hue. For a long moment she stared at it, transfixed.

Then she turned and hurried from the treasure vault. She had to be back in her bed before her handmaid came in to help her dress for the day. Farah didn't think she could handle answering questions.

Especially when she didn't have the answers.

When she entered her home she was half surprised to find the young man wasn't there. It had been wistful thinking, but she had hoped he would come back to her. She could imagine it all…

…He would come into her room with a small, so sure of himself in a foreign place and say he had changed his mind and would like the Dagger of Time back, if she pleased. Of course, Farah wouldn't give it to him and he would just find a way to steal it, like he had before, and she would have no choice but to follow…

Farah lowered herself onto her soft bed, smiling soft, dreamily. Nice thoughts… but completely foolish. Perhaps she was a child, to be thinking about such nonsense.

But there was no denying the tingling sensation of her lips. They had been kissed and nothing would convince them otherwise, even if her experience with such things were minimal.

She hadn't realized how tired she was. It shouldn't have surprised her—after spending almost an entire night with the mysterious Persian—but it did.

When she fell asleep her fingers were resting lightly on her lips.



Story notes: er… well… there are none. Anything about history and myths I use in the story go here. So there'll be some stuff later. Just not now. I know it's a boring prologue, but deal with it. Things get better. Promise. I hope.

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"Now, Lord Rashym…" her father began. "We should—"

There was a commotion. Farah blinked as her father's strong arm wrapped around her elbow and pulled her back toward him. Guards rushed into the throne room, their armor black against the bright sunlight.

"We under attack!" one of guards shouted at her father. Then an arrow ripped into the flesh on his neck, blood pooling along the pristine floor.

Farah stared at the red as it consumed the black, transfixed. Then she looked up as the fresh crop of screams filled the air…

…As her world gave way to chaos Farah found herself focusing on the hair, transfixed by it. Who had such color in their hair? People died around her and she focused on the bright hair against pale skin.

"Who are you?" Rashym demanded as his sword clashed with the woman's. "What do you want? The gold, the treasure…?"

"Stand down," the woman ordered coldly. "I have no fight with you, king. Surrender now and I'll let you live." She swung her right blade to the left and Rashym blocked it. Farah had the impression that she was just toying with him.

"You won't leave here alive," Rashym promised. He thrust forward but she spun away.

"Fine then," the woman replied and feigned an attack to the right. Rashym tried to block and as he did, the woman brought her left sword up.

It caught in Rashym's stomach and she yanked it back. Blood spilled onto the white floor as Rashym collapsed, hand outstretched in some helpless plea to live. The gods did not hear him as he ribs closed over his lungs and he fell to the floor, his life ended. The woman stepped over him.

"Farah!" her father cried and shook her. Farah was drawn into his eyes. Her eyes. She had the same color eyes as him. Farah couldn't' seem to focus on his words. "Run. You must run."