Your Awakening as Lucina
1 Points
1
You spot it glinting in the tangle of charging cords under your desk—a battered, ornate sword, its blue scabbard gleaming in the half-light of your apartment. You’re not sure how it got there, but something about the intricate goldwork catches your breath. Gently, you free it from the cables, feeling a strange, delicate weight in your hands—the balance, the icy smoothness of the grip. The letters—Ylissean script?—chiseled into the blade’s steel pulse and hum, buzzing beneath your fingers.
A folded scroll catches on the hilt, tucked there as if waiting for you. The second your fingertips brush the parchment, a blast of radiant blue light erupts, swallowing the room, the desk, your hands. You try to cry out, but the sound slips away, muffled, drowning under the roaring illumination.
It presses in from all sides, squeezing, remolding. Your fingers tingle as the sword fuses to your grip, the sinews of your hand softening, narrowing, becoming slimmer and more agile. Your nails lengthen, the palms smoothing into delicate strength. The light climbs your arms, cascading over your body—the prick of fabric shifting, folding, multiplying layers atop your skin. Jeans crumple and writhe into navy tights, fabric disappearing and forming anew with every pulse.
Your shirt peels away, replaced by a thick, elegant tunic. You shiver as the cool caress of a blue cape drapes over your shoulders, settling with regal weight. Black sleeves hug your arms, gold piping catching the light. A headband presses onto your brow. Suddenly, your height collapses—your legs shrinking, spine compressing, chest narrowing. You drop, now only five and a half feet tall, balance recalibrating beneath your new center of gravity.
You gasp, instinctively reaching for your throat. Your Adam’s apple melts beneath your fingertips, voice catching and breaking as it rises—higher, lighter, clear as a ringing bell. “What’s… happening to my voice?” you stammer, but the cadence, the word choice, even your accent changes as you speak, becoming precise, deliberate, eerily formal.
A shock of vibrant blue falls into your vision—hair, impossibly thick and shining, spilling past your shoulders and tickling your cheeks. Your skin lightens, smoothing into flawless porcelain. Your body cinches inward, narrowing, muscles taut but slim, everything feminine and graceful—more powerful, too, somehow, as if the very fibers have been re-spun for agility and speed rather than brute strength.
A hot shiver tears through your chest and lower body. You look down; your shirt now pinches gently around your chest, tight against newly swelling breasts. You bite your lip, trembling as you jab at your chest—full, round, undeniably real.
A building pressure surges in your pelvis. Your hands stay frozen, clutching tight the blue fabric at your hips, as an uncomfortable pulling fills your lower body—a sudden, wet “pop.” New, unfamiliar nerves snap awake inside you. You bite down on a gasp, wide-eyed. “No, no, this isn’t…” you stammer, voice high, frightened, strange. Instinctively, your legs press together, a startled flush burning over your now-soft face.
You hear your own voice in your head—though subtly altered, far more composed than before, and instantly familiar: *Yes. Yes, this is right. You are Lucina. This is as things are meant to be.*
“Lucina…? That’s not—” You wince, reaching down, expecting the familiar shape between your legs—but it’s gone. Only softness greets your searching hand, the shape wholly, impossibly changed. Your mind reels.
*You are a woman.* The voice is gentle, but firm, as if correcting a child. *You always have been. Those memories… they were only dreams.*
Your surroundings, your apartment—the shelves, the posters, even the dust particles—shimmer and dissolve into colors newly bright and sharp, the edges crisp and exaggerated. Shadows dance with animated linework. Walls stretch and dissolve into a tapestry of stone battlements and banners, the taste of another world strong on the back of your tongue.
You stagger, looking for grounding, for proof of yourself. “Mom? Dad? Someone?!” Your own voice echoes back at you—melodious, trembling, auric with unfamiliar resolve. Names of friends and family slip away before your tongue can grasp them. “What… was my name?” you whisper, desperate.
A surge of new images flood your mind: the clash of swords, a field aflame, the sorrow of a child too young to carry a blade, the pride of holding a father’s sacred sword. “No, NO!” you plead, shaking your head. If you could cry, you might—if you even remembered why. Memories crash over you, searing out the shape of a prior life like sunlight burning mist off a field.
You cling desperately to the last scraps of another self—favorite foods, the comfort of your old bed, the quiet clicking of keys—but each image blurs under the onrush: legendary battles, Ylisse’s banners, Chrom’s voice calling out “My daughter, my pride.” Your hand tightens on the sword—Falchion, you remember, *your* Falchion—but you can’t recall ever not having wielded it.
The voice inside speaks again, firmer, pulling you inward: *Lucina, daughter of Chrom. Defender of Ylisse. Warrior against fate. Do not fear. Be as you truly are.*
You open your mouth to say your old name—only for the words to turn to nothing, the syllables vanishing in a dazzle of blue light.
“Who… am I?” you whisper.
*Lucina*, the voice answers. It is your voice now, both inside and out. You accept the certainty, exhausted, the terror fading as the sword fits your hand as if it always had. The urgency that drove you a moment ago, the confusion, the need to return—all gone. You know your duty. You remember your tragic future, your vow to your father, your promise to yourself that fate can, must, be changed, no matter the cost.
Your new lips quirk in a gentle, melancholy smile. “I am… Lucina,” you say, the words more true than any you have ever spoken.
As the world solidifies, Shepherds passing by in their distinct regalia, the castle glittering in dawnlight, your old life flitters through your mind—a dream of being someone else, some mundane man. You frown in confusion. Why would you dream of such a thing—being a man, living a quiet life in a world without war, without Chrom or Falchion? The thought is alien, almost revolting.
You laugh softly—a dry, humble sound. “What an odd dream…” you murmur, planting Falchion at your side. “And thank the gods it was only that—a dream, nothing more. I am Lucina, daughter of Chrom. I must remember my purpose.”
And as the memory of your old life drifts finally away, so too does any trace of the world it belonged to. You look skyward—warrior, daughter, heroine—and ready yourself for whatever fate demands, knowing beyond all doubt that this, and only this, is your true self.
*“I will bear this fate, no matter how heavy. For my friends… and for you, Father.”*
You clutch the hilt of Falchion, the blue cape brushing your calves, and step forward—warrior, woman, Lucina, as you have always been.
This story was generated by user DylanVsFizzarolli7 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a POV second-person transformation story of a male human turning into Lucina (from the Fire Emblem video game series), complete with gender change (the reader turning from male to female), instant clothes change (his clothes instantly turning into Lucina's outfit), height change (shrinking from his height to Lucina's 5.5 foot height), age change (changing from his age to Lucina's early 20s age), voice change (losing an Adam's apple to make his voice higher and feminine until his voice becomes Lucina's voice), art style shift (his world becoming more anime-esque while he becomes an anime-like character), reality change (his real world becoming the world of Fire Emblem), and mind/mental change (with his (now her) personality and memories replaced with Lucina's personality and memories, despite her best effort on fighting them off and despite her best efforts on keeping her own memories or personality (she is scared of losing herself and her life/mind/memories), making her forget all about being a mundane person (which was not real), she genuinely remembers that she has always been a warrior as well as a woman and her name has always been Lucina (which is her true self)). The transformation is permanent (meaning it its forever) and is completely irreversible. Here is Lucina's appearance; she is a young adult light-skinned (human) woman with long vibrant blue hair and eyebrows, as well as a beautiful face. Lucina is also athletic with very light/slim yet strong muscles, allowing Lucina to be an excellent sword-welder. She also wears a blue noble warrior uniform consisting of black tights, a pair of blue boots that is just above the knee in length, a black long-sleeves top underneath the dark blue warrior uniform with thin gold rims, a brown leather belt that keeps her uniform in place, a brown leather sash that wraps around her right shoulder to her left hip, a pair of fingerless gloves, and a couple of white loose bracers on both wrists that contains a big X. Lucina also has a gold tiara-like headband/headpiece on her head and a blue cape over her shoulders that is red underneath and reaches down to her knees. She also has a Parallel Falchion sword. Here is Lucina's personality; she is a strong willed, pragmatic, and serious woman, who is determined to defy fate to alter the dark future she came from. She admires historical figures and her ancestors, showing extreme reverence to her father, and trying to emulate how she thought her ancestor Marth acted, to lend her the strength she needed. Due to the countless deaths and horrific events of the future, she dislikes any form of death, even "noble" ones. Her stoic personality and lacking sense of humor are results of her feeling responsible for the surviving children of Shepherds, so being their leader, she believes there's no place for herself to lighten up. She cares for comrades deeply and has a sense of justice. Lucina also is humble of her swordsmanship. Despite being noted to be a very skilled fighter by the likes of Chrom and Basilio, she feels that she pales in comparison to them and even doubts if she was worthy to use the name of Marth despite their many similarities. Her main motivations come from her love for her parents, especially Chrom. Lucina is willing to do whatever it takes to see that Chrom stays alive, even if it means going against her wish for no needless deaths. Nevertheless, she is obedient to her father and puts her trust in his judgements, showing a strong bond of trust with him. Bearing a keen resemblance to Marth, it even leads to her being mistaken as him by Tiki when she is introduced, with the latter remarking that her involuntary actions when helping others further likens her to Marth himself. Furthering that point, she even speaks in a very formal and polite manner more reminiscent of him, contrasting her father. Despite that, she seems to have inherited some of her father's traits as well, as she enthusiastically loves to train with her father and has stated that she inherited Chrom's recklessness when training, often destroying training dummies. Like her father, she has a strong belief that fate can be changed. Much to her disbelief, many of her interventions during the Ylisse-Plegia war resulted in only minor changes that ultimately still lead to similar results as in her time. By the time-skip, Lucina's actions became much more drastic and open such as pleading to Basilio to not to fight Walhart and later nearly making a choice against the will of her father. Ultimately, she relented on her plan when her father intervened and was nearly driven to despair when her father was seemingly killed. However, witnessing fate literally change before her eyes renewed her belief that destiny could be overcome and placed her full trust in Chrom and his allies to overturn the grim future. As a result of her childhood tragedies, Lucina desperately tries to reclaim as much lost time she had with her parents with their younger versions of the current timeline. She resolves herself to quietly depart from her present parents once peace has been restored to the world as to not take away from her present self. To her relief, both assure her that they would always welcome her with open arms. In some of her endings, especially her solo ending, she follows through and departs without a trace. She treasures her Falchion because of it being the last possession left behind by her father, as she gets angered at her sibling using it to cut apples. She also has a paranoid streak. Said behavior goes so far as to be paranoid of Female Robin if she is not her mother, because of her close relationship with Chrom, only to irrationally demand for Robin to fall in love with her father when the former claims to not consider him gallant, much to their mutual confusion. Despite her serious and stoic persona, Lucina has light and unintentionally goofy moments around the ones she is close with, especially her parents and sibling. One of her most bizarre traits is her odd taste for aesthetics, as it is shown most prominently in her supports with her mother, where she goes from purchasing a dress featuring pictures of Emmeryn to attempting to pick several other options while shopping with her (which goes from uncommon to literally being only strings). This is further proven by the fact that she wears bizarre Groucho Marx glasses in the official Awakening comics and drama CDs, and buys and owns numerous bear hats in both the drama CDs, and in her appearance in Fates. In the Hot-Spring Scramble, Lucina was hellbent on purchasing a wooden carving of Chrom (or Robin if she is her mother), believing that other people were likely to buy out the product even though Robin commented that they were not particularly noteworthy. In "Fire Emblem Engage", Emblem Lucina's taste for fashion is further displayed when she excitedly remarks to Anna in a Bond Conversation that she loves a selection of shirts with Anna's face on them, and that she would buy ten even though Anna was not happy with how the shirts had turned out. When she tries to emulate Owain's flair for theatrics, she nicknames Falchion "Pointy Demonspanker" in their Support Conversation, causing him to reel in confusion and amusement simultaneously. Lucina has a rather dry sense of humor, and in her Awakening profile is described as the least likely to get a joke out of everyone in the Shepherds. However, her sense of humor and what she personally finds funny can be disarming to others. In Engage, when Jade asks for feedback on one of her novels, Lucina says she cracked up at a scene that Jade had intended to be emotional, and in a subsequent conversation, Lucina again surprises Jade by remarking that she found the ending hysterical when it was not meant to be. The story is that the reader has found a sword (belonging to Lucina) in or around the reader's room (either in an apartment or suburban home), and as he held the scroll, the blinding light engulfed him, causing the whole transformation to occur. After the physical transformation, the reader checks her private parts and her chest by touching, shocked to find that they had been replaced by their feminine counterparts (with her chest now having breasts and her privates already inverted itself with a wet "pop" noise into her female parts (vagina, ovaries, and uterus)), making her realize in shock and confusion that she was now a girl, and she even tells herself that she's a girl in both shock and confusion (the voice in her head then confirms "yes" and says that she had always been a girl). Following the physical changes (with the voice telling new truths to the reader), the reader tries her best on fighting off the new memories and personality (such as calling for her friends/family and/or shaking her head in a vain attempt to loose those new memories/personality), but to no avail (since the voice inside her head is helping the reader remember her true self as Lucina, the reader tries to remember/say her old life and her old name but then the voice in her head interrupts by saying "Lucina" to help her remember her true self (which her real/true self is Lucina), and the reader then fully believes and trusts the voice in her head) as she begins to forget all about her truly mundane (and boyish) life and remember her new life as Lucina (as the voice in her head fully intended). Near the end of the story (and long after the transformation ended), Lucina would briefly thought of her previous life as a mundane person, but she soon forgets about it as she knows that she had never been a man and that she has always been Lucina (meaning that her mundane life as a mundane man was all just a dream, not reality, since she has always been a girl (not a boy) and she had always been a warrior woman; she knew that she was never a man, and a thought of being a man disgusts her (since she doesn't want to think about having a penis or testicles), she was confused on why she dreamt that, so she is glad that it was only a dream and not real), and Lucina is content to know that her life as Lucina is the only true/real life. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: You spot it glinting in the tangle of charging cords under your desk—a battered, ornate sword, its blue scabbard gleaming in the half-light of your apartment. You’re not sure how it got there, but something about the intricate goldwork catches your breath. Gently, you free it from the cables, feeling a strange, delicate weight in your hands—the balance, the icy smoothness of the grip. The letters—Ylissean script?—chiseled into the blade’s steel pulse and hum, buzzing beneath your fingers. A folded scroll catches on the hilt, tucked there as if waiting for you. The second your fingertips brush the parchment, a blast of radiant blue light erupts, swallowing the room, the desk, your hands. You try to cry out, but the sound slips away, muffled, drowning under the roaring illumination. It presses in from all sides, squeezing, remolding. Your fingers tingle as the sword fuses to your grip, the sinews of your hand softening, narrowing, becoming slimmer and more agile. Your nails lengthen, the palms smoothing into delicate strength. The light climbs your arms, cascading over your body—the prick of fabric shifting, folding, multiplying layers atop your skin. Jeans crumple and writhe into navy tights, fabric disappearing and forming anew with every pulse. Your shirt peels away, replaced by a thick, elegant tunic. You shiver as the cool caress of a blue cape drapes over your shoulders, settling with regal weight. Black sleeves hug your arms, gold piping catching the light. A headband presses onto your brow. Suddenly, your height collapses—your legs shrinking, spine compressing, chest narrowing. You drop, now only five and a half feet tall, balance recalibrating beneath your new center of gravity. You gasp, instinctively reaching for your throat. Your Adam’s apple melts beneath your fingertips, voice catching and breaking as it rises—higher, lighter, clear as a ringing bell. “What’s… happening to my voice?” you stammer, but the cadence, the word choice, even your accent changes as you speak, becoming precise, deliberate, eerily formal. A shock of vibrant blue falls into your vision—hair, impossibly thick and shining, spilling past your shoulders and tickling your cheeks. Your skin lightens, smoothing into flawless porcelain. Your body cinches inward, narrowing, muscles taut but slim, everything feminine and graceful—more powerful, too, somehow, as if the very fibers have been re-spun for agility and speed rather than brute strength. A hot shiver tears through your chest and lower body. You look down; your shirt now pinches gently around your chest, tight against newly swelling breasts. You bite your lip, trembling as you jab at your chest—full, round, undeniably real. A building pressure surges in your pelvis. Your hands stay frozen, clutching tight the blue fabric at your hips, as an uncomfortable pulling fills your lower body—a sudden, wet “pop.” New, unfamiliar nerves snap awake inside you. You bite down on a gasp, wide-eyed. “No, no, this isn’t…” you stammer, voice high, frightened, strange. Instinctively, your legs press together, a startled flush burning over your now-soft face. You hear your own voice in your head—though subtly altered, far more composed than before, and instantly familiar: *Yes. Yes, this is right. You are Lucina. This is as things are meant to be.* “Lucina…? That’s not—” You wince, reaching down, expecting the familiar shape between your legs—but it’s gone. Only softness greets your searching hand, the shape wholly, impossibly changed. Your mind reels. *You are a woman.* The voice is gentle, but firm, as if correcting a child. *You always have been. Those memories… they were only dreams.* Your surroundings, your apartment—the shelves, the posters, even the dust particles—shimmer and dissolve into colors newly bright and sharp, the edges crisp and exaggerated. Shadows dance with animated linework. Walls stretch and dissolve into a tapestry of stone battlements and banners, the taste of another world strong on the back of your tongue. You stagger, looking for grounding, for proof of yourself. “Mom? Dad? Someone?!” Your own voice echoes back at you—melodious, trembling, auric with unfamiliar resolve. Names of friends and family slip away before your tongue can grasp them. “What… was my name?” you whisper, desperate. A surge of new images flood your mind: the clash of swords, a field aflame, the sorrow of a child too young to carry a blade, the pride of holding a father’s sacred sword. “No, NO!” you plead, shaking your head. If you could cry, you might—if you even remembered why. Memories crash over you, searing out the shape of a prior life like sunlight burning mist off a field. You cling desperately to the last scraps of another self—favorite foods, the comfort of your old bed, the quiet clicking of keys—but each image blurs under the onrush: legendary battles, Ylisse’s banners, Chrom’s voice calling out “My daughter, my pride.” Your hand tightens on the sword—Falchion, you remember, *your* Falchion—but you can’t recall ever not having wielded it. The voice inside speaks again, firmer, pulling you inward: *Lucina, daughter of Chrom. Defender of Ylisse. Warrior against fate. Do not fear. Be as you truly are.* You open your mouth to say your old name—only for the words to turn to nothing, the syllables vanishing in a dazzle of blue light. “Who… am I?” you whisper. *Lucina*, the voice answers. It is your voice now, both inside and out. You accept the certainty, exhausted, the terror fading as the sword fits your hand as if it always had. The urgency that drove you a moment ago, the confusion, the need to return—all gone. You know your duty. You remember your tragic future, your vow to your father, your promise to yourself that fate can, must, be changed, no matter the cost. Your new lips quirk in a gentle, melancholy smile. “I am… Lucina,” you say, the words more true than any you have ever spoken. As the world solidifies, Shepherds passing by in their distinct regalia, the castle glittering in dawnlight, your old life flitters through your mind—a dream of being someone else, some mundane man. You frown in confusion. Why would you dream of such a thing—being a man, living a quiet life in a world without war, without Chrom or Falchion? The thought is alien, almost revolting. You laugh softly—a dry, humble sound. “What an odd dream…” you murmur, planting Falchion at your side. “And thank the gods it was only that—a dream, nothing more. I am Lucina, daughter of Chrom. I must remember my purpose.” And as the memory of your old life drifts finally away, so too does any trace of the world it belonged to. You look skyward—warrior, daughter, heroine—and ready yourself for whatever fate demands, knowing beyond all doubt that this, and only this, is your true self. *“I will bear this fate, no matter how heavy. For my friends… and for you, Father.”* You clutch the hilt of Falchion, the blue cape brushing your calves, and step forward—warrior, woman, Lucina, as you have always been.
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