"Lucina's Destiny: A Princess Awakens"
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You twist the ornate sword in your hands, marveling at the impossibility—for you know you never bought, found, or inherited such a thing. The hilt glimmers gold and blue, impossibly light in your grip, inlaid with a shining jewel, the blade’s mirrored surface etched with marks like no alphabet you’ve ever seen. This doesn’t belong… here, in your dim bedroom, amid stacks of paperwork and the monotonous hum of suburban appliances.
A parchment scroll, tied to the handle by a blue ribbon, unravels itself. You barely have time to squint at the foreign rune before the room blazes with blinding light, white-hot, swallowing the entire world in brilliance.
You stumble back, but there’s no ground. Light presses at your skin—no, it *melts* your flesh with a sensation like hundreds of gentle, persistent hands. Your knees buckle, but you don’t fall. Disoriented, you squeeze your eyes shut. The sword’s cool steel is gone.
You open your eyes.
Everything is… *wrong*.
A sharp ache rolls from your toes to the crown of your head. You’re shrinking—your old height (so familiar in photos and the mirror) dwindles with every heartbeat. Your center of gravity yanks lower as your bones compress and realign; your arms and legs narrow subtly, yet muscles coil beneath skin—strong, lithe, not bulky.
Your hands—once broad, calloused—dwindle atop your thighs, fingers stretching into slender elegance. Blue sleeves slide instantly over your skin in a silky cascade, black gloves forming over your knuckles. Gold-rimmed fabric fits itself expertly across your torso, a brown sash hugging your waist and crossing over your chest, and an unfamiliar weight drapes over your shoulders: a regal blue cape, red-lined, brushing your knees. At once, your balance shifts—your feet settle into boots, snug but marvellously flexible.
A strange pressure pricks at your scalp. Vivid, blue hair—a torrent—bursts from your crown and rushes down your back, feather-light and silken. It frames your face—but as you lift a now delicate hand to brush it aside, a golden, tiara-like circlet is cool against your brow.
Your clothes—no, *her* clothes—fit you perfectly. In a daze, you trail fingers along your chest: tender, soft curves, *breasts*, full but athletic, nothing like your old chest. Panic stings at you. You pat your lower belly and—hesitant, terrified—reach between your legs. Something wet and strange occurs with an appalling “pop” sensation and—
There’s only emptiness, softness, and a dizzying, feminine slick. Your male parts—gone, inverted, replaced.
“Oh, god—no, no, no—” you whisper, except the voice isn’t yours. It rises, higher, musical. No Adam’s apple, no weight to your words—it’s her, Lucina’s voice, formal by accident, refined by habit.
“I—am… a girl.” You stammer it in disbelief, as if saying it will undo it.
*Yes,* whispers something inside you, gentle but unwavering. *You always have been.*
Your vision dances; your bedroom’s solid edges blur and shift. Walls warp into stone, cliffs, and sunlit courtyards. The light in the air changes, impossibly sharp, colors now almost painted, crisp outlines drawn in a style that is expressive and vibrant—*anime*, you realize, but your thoughts stumble over the word as the world reassembles.
You drop to your knees, pressing palms—delicate, calloused—against the earth. Sword at your hip, cape fluttering behind. There’s a distant din: horses, shouts, the familiar ring of steel. The landscape pours itself into new memory.
“No. I’m—my friends, my job, my old name—”
Your voice trembles, unfamiliar but forceful, caught between old fears and new certainty.
*No. Your name is Lucina. Princess of Ylisse. Daughter of Chrom. Warrior in a world torn by shadow and prophecy. You have always been Lucina,* the voice inside insistently reminds you.
You clench your brow, shaking your head hard. “No, my name is—” But the old name, the boring syllables, refuse to surface. The only word in your mind, glittering and clear, is Lucina.
“Lucina,” you mouth, and the voice in your head responds warmly, *That is right. That is who you are—strong-willed, just, the heir to Falchion. You love your father dearly. You have always borne this burden.*
Exhaustion saps your resistance. You try—desperately—to remember the warmth of your parents, the faces of friends, the humdrum pixel-glow of your phone. You want them back—you don’t want to go—but their faces blur. One by one, the lights of your old world snuff out as new ones take their place: Chrom’s proud smile, Robin’s keen intellect, the rallying cry of the Shepherds, the crushing weight of destiny.
Your hands tremble, gripping Falchion’s hilt. Tears sting your lashes.
“I—I can’t forget—I can’t—” you sob, the voice ragged but soft.
*Lucina,* the inside-voice insists, more real than the vanished world you barely recall. *You must remember who you are. Your people depend on you. Fate can be changed.*
You don’t fight anymore. You *remember*—not forced, but *relieved*—the endless drills with Chrom, Emmeryn’s gentle smile, the sorrowful day Naga’s voice first echoed in your dreams, the laughter of Morgan and the steady pulse of duty.
The old world, your “real” life, fades. You try to hold on to something—an old video game console? Muscles tensing, heart racing—you see flash after flash, then darkness. Vaguely, a thought crosses your mind:
*Did you dream… of being… a man? Of a name that wasn’t Lucina?*
Ghastly. Absurd. The notion makes your cheeks burn. Why would you ever want such a dream? Chrom would think you fevered to imagine yourself anything other than who you truly are—a warrior, a daughter, a *woman*.
With a slow, steady breath, you rise. A stray echo of that strange dream lingers—a pale confusion at the edge of memory. But as the wind stirs your hair and you grip the Falchion, it shatters. You are Lucina—always have been, always will be.
You take your first step forward into Ylisse’s bright day, certainty threading each stride, voice formal, unwavering, but uncertainly hopeful:
“Fate can be changed. I believe in it—*Father, I promise, I am myself.* I will protect us all, no matter the cost.”
You know, beyond reason, beyond memory, that you have always been Lucina—warrior, princess, daughter of Chrom. Anything else was merely a passing dream, a ripple in the river of your real life.
You smile—serene, knowing, ready at last to meet destiny.
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 twist the ornate sword in your hands, marveling at the impossibility—for you know you never bought, found, or inherited such a thing. The hilt glimmers gold and blue, impossibly light in your grip, inlaid with a shining jewel, the blade’s mirrored surface etched with marks like no alphabet you’ve ever seen. This doesn’t belong… here, in your dim bedroom, amid stacks of paperwork and the monotonous hum of suburban appliances. A parchment scroll, tied to the handle by a blue ribbon, unravels itself. You barely have time to squint at the foreign rune before the room blazes with blinding light, white-hot, swallowing the entire world in brilliance. You stumble back, but there’s no ground. Light presses at your skin—no, it *melts* your flesh with a sensation like hundreds of gentle, persistent hands. Your knees buckle, but you don’t fall. Disoriented, you squeeze your eyes shut. The sword’s cool steel is gone. You open your eyes. Everything is… *wrong*. A sharp ache rolls from your toes to the crown of your head. You’re shrinking—your old height (so familiar in photos and the mirror) dwindles with every heartbeat. Your center of gravity yanks lower as your bones compress and realign; your arms and legs narrow subtly, yet muscles coil beneath skin—strong, lithe, not bulky. Your hands—once broad, calloused—dwindle atop your thighs, fingers stretching into slender elegance. Blue sleeves slide instantly over your skin in a silky cascade, black gloves forming over your knuckles. Gold-rimmed fabric fits itself expertly across your torso, a brown sash hugging your waist and crossing over your chest, and an unfamiliar weight drapes over your shoulders: a regal blue cape, red-lined, brushing your knees. At once, your balance shifts—your feet settle into boots, snug but marvellously flexible. A strange pressure pricks at your scalp. Vivid, blue hair—a torrent—bursts from your crown and rushes down your back, feather-light and silken. It frames your face—but as you lift a now delicate hand to brush it aside, a golden, tiara-like circlet is cool against your brow. Your clothes—no, *her* clothes—fit you perfectly. In a daze, you trail fingers along your chest: tender, soft curves, *breasts*, full but athletic, nothing like your old chest. Panic stings at you. You pat your lower belly and—hesitant, terrified—reach between your legs. Something wet and strange occurs with an appalling “pop” sensation and— There’s only emptiness, softness, and a dizzying, feminine slick. Your male parts—gone, inverted, replaced. “Oh, god—no, no, no—” you whisper, except the voice isn’t yours. It rises, higher, musical. No Adam’s apple, no weight to your words—it’s her, Lucina’s voice, formal by accident, refined by habit. “I—am… a girl.” You stammer it in disbelief, as if saying it will undo it. *Yes,* whispers something inside you, gentle but unwavering. *You always have been.* Your vision dances; your bedroom’s solid edges blur and shift. Walls warp into stone, cliffs, and sunlit courtyards. The light in the air changes, impossibly sharp, colors now almost painted, crisp outlines drawn in a style that is expressive and vibrant—*anime*, you realize, but your thoughts stumble over the word as the world reassembles. You drop to your knees, pressing palms—delicate, calloused—against the earth. Sword at your hip, cape fluttering behind. There’s a distant din: horses, shouts, the familiar ring of steel. The landscape pours itself into new memory. “No. I’m—my friends, my job, my old name—” Your voice trembles, unfamiliar but forceful, caught between old fears and new certainty. *No. Your name is Lucina. Princess of Ylisse. Daughter of Chrom. Warrior in a world torn by shadow and prophecy. You have always been Lucina,* the voice inside insistently reminds you. You clench your brow, shaking your head hard. “No, my name is—” But the old name, the boring syllables, refuse to surface. The only word in your mind, glittering and clear, is Lucina. “Lucina,” you mouth, and the voice in your head responds warmly, *That is right. That is who you are—strong-willed, just, the heir to Falchion. You love your father dearly. You have always borne this burden.* Exhaustion saps your resistance. You try—desperately—to remember the warmth of your parents, the faces of friends, the humdrum pixel-glow of your phone. You want them back—you don’t want to go—but their faces blur. One by one, the lights of your old world snuff out as new ones take their place: Chrom’s proud smile, Robin’s keen intellect, the rallying cry of the Shepherds, the crushing weight of destiny. Your hands tremble, gripping Falchion’s hilt. Tears sting your lashes. “I—I can’t forget—I can’t—” you sob, the voice ragged but soft. *Lucina,* the inside-voice insists, more real than the vanished world you barely recall. *You must remember who you are. Your people depend on you. Fate can be changed.* You don’t fight anymore. You *remember*—not forced, but *relieved*—the endless drills with Chrom, Emmeryn’s gentle smile, the sorrowful day Naga’s voice first echoed in your dreams, the laughter of Morgan and the steady pulse of duty. The old world, your “real” life, fades. You try to hold on to something—an old video game console? Muscles tensing, heart racing—you see flash after flash, then darkness. Vaguely, a thought crosses your mind: *Did you dream… of being… a man? Of a name that wasn’t Lucina?* Ghastly. Absurd. The notion makes your cheeks burn. Why would you ever want such a dream? Chrom would think you fevered to imagine yourself anything other than who you truly are—a warrior, a daughter, a *woman*. With a slow, steady breath, you rise. A stray echo of that strange dream lingers—a pale confusion at the edge of memory. But as the wind stirs your hair and you grip the Falchion, it shatters. You are Lucina—always have been, always will be. You take your first step forward into Ylisse’s bright day, certainty threading each stride, voice formal, unwavering, but uncertainly hopeful: “Fate can be changed. I believe in it—*Father, I promise, I am myself.* I will protect us all, no matter the cost.” You know, beyond reason, beyond memory, that you have always been Lucina—warrior, princess, daughter of Chrom. Anything else was merely a passing dream, a ripple in the river of your real life. You smile—serene, knowing, ready at last to meet destiny.
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