Drexo did not remember when sleep took him.
One moment, he was pounding on the door, his voice echoing into nothing. The next, his back had slid down against the cold wood, his strength drained, his thoughts tangled.
At some point, exhaustion claimed him. He slept there. Not like a king, but like a man trapped.
A sharp creak pulled him out of it. The door opened. Drexo jolted awake, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. He scrambled to his feet, eyes snapping toward the figure standing at the entrance.
A guard.
The morning light spilled in behind him, cutting across the room. "You locked the door?" Drexo asked, his voice rough, edged with something between anger and disbelief.
The guard blinked, clearly confused. "I do not know, Your Grace. I saw it bolted." Drexo stared at him for a second. Then another.
Something burned behind his eyes, but he said nothing more. He brushed past the guard without waiting for permission, without waiting for explanation. His steps were fast, sharp, almost uneven.
Like a man who had just been released from something.
The air outside felt different, and colder. Or maybe it was just him. He walked straight toward the royal garden, his jaw set, his mind racing ahead of him.
And there she was, Friya. Standing among the servants, issuing instructions with calm precision. Her posture was straight. Her tone controlled. Like nothing had happened.
For a brief moment, their eyes met. Just a moment. No smile, no warmth, nothing.
She turned away before he could even read her expression fully. Then she walked past him, her shoulder brushing the air between them without acknowledgment.
Drexo watched her go. "She used to smile," he muttered under his breath. The words felt strange. Almost hollow.
Then he turned. And this time, he didn't hesitate.
He heads to Maria. That was all that mattered now.
The training ground was alive with movement. Steel clashed. Voices rose. Feet shifted across the sand.
Maria stood at the center of it all. Commanding, sharp, and unyielding.
Drexo slowed as he approached, watching her for a moment. Something felt off. Not wrong. Just distant.
She saw him. Of course she did. She always did. But this time, she didn't smile. She didn't step forward. She didn't soften. Instead, she bowed.
Formal, clean, and controlled. "Your Grace." The words landed between them like a wall.
Drexo felt it immediately. "Commander Maria," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Do you mind if I speak with you privately?"
Maria didn't hesitate. She shook her head slightly. "Your Grace, the training is still on. Please, allow me to be done."
Her tone was respectful. But it was cold. Drexo stood there, waiting. Seconds passed, then minutes. Maria turned away from him, already back to instructing her warriors. Her voice carried authority, focus. Like he wasn't even there.
Drexo's chest tightened. He stayed. Long enough. Long enough to understand. She wasn't coming. She wasn't going to finish.
She wasn't going to talk to him. Not now. Maybe not ever. "I do not want to talk to you."
She hadn't said it. But he heard it anyway. Clear as steel.
Drexo exhaled slowly. His shoulders dropped, just slightly. Then he turned.
Each step away from the training ground felt heavier than the last. The weight returned. Not just of the crown. Of everything.
Friya Maria, The war, the throne.
He dragged a hand across his face, his thoughts circling, tightening. "There has to be a way," he muttered.
But even as he said it, it didn't sound convincing. Not anymore.
"I guess I have to return to the Oracle." The words slipped out quietly. Like a last option.
The path to the temple felt longer than he remembered. The air grew still as he approached, the noise of the city fading behind him.
By the time he reached the entrance, the silence had already settled in his bones. He stepped inside. Dust lingered in the air. The same as before. Nothing had changed. Or maybe everything had.
The old man lay at the center, just as he always had. Still. Quiet. Waiting.
Drexo took a step forward. Then another. The floor creaked softly beneath his weight. The old man groaned. "You are here once again, son of Jupital."
Drexo stopped.
"I am here," he said, his voice lower now, stripped of pretense. "Because the crown is becoming too heavy on me."
A faint chuckle escaped the old man's lips. "He that desires the crown must desire its weight."
Drexo nodded slowly. "I understand that." But his voice betrayed him. He stepped closer.
"What should I do?" he asked, the question finally breaking free. "My heart desires Maria, and reason desires Friya."
The old man shifted slightly, as if adjusting to the weight of the moment. "Your war is not easy," he said.
Drexo let out a breath. That was an understatement. "A man who rebels against his own heart," the Oracle continued, "will live the rest of his life in regret."
Drexo's eyes dropped. The words sank deep. Too deep. "What shall befall me, if I follow my heart?"
The question came out quieter this time. Almost afraid. The Oracle let out a low groan. "Your greatness has already been written in the sky of heaven."
Drexo frowned slightly. "That is not what I asked." The Oracle tilted his head slightly. "You should not worry about what will befall you," he said. "But what will befall the woman you love."
Drexo froze. Something in his chest tightened instantly. "What will befall her?" The words came fast. Too fast. The Oracle chuckled. "You already know."
Drexo's brows drew together. "I don't."
"You see it," the Oracle said softly. "In your dreams."
Drexo staggered back a step. The memory hit him. Not gently, and violently.
Blood. So much blood. It was Maria, but bearing the name Tamara.
Her body lay in his arms, her breath shallow, fading. "Tamara!" he had cried, his voice breaking apart
Her lips had curved into a weak smile. "Demon, I am tired, I have to go."
"No," he had whispered, shaking his head, holding her tighter. "You can't."
Her fingers had touched his face. Soft, and fading. "We will be born again," she had said. "And in that life, I will choose you."
Her hand slipped. Her breath stopped. And he had screamed.
Drexo jerked back into the present. His chest rose sharply, like he had just surfaced from deep water.
"Yes," he said, his voice strained. "I saw her. But she was called Tamara."
"Tamara Woodland," the Oracle added. Drexo swallowed. "The love you share," the Oracle continued, "was planted in another lifetime."
A pause, a dry laugh. "It has always been forbidden."
Drexo closed his eyes briefly.
"Fate fights it," the Oracle said. "And the gods, they are willing to watch it break."
Drexo's hands clenched at his sides. "What can I do to stop it?"
The question came out desperate. Raw. The Oracle slowly pushed himself up, his movements strained but deliberate.
"Fate is repeating itself." Drexo held his breath. "Break the circle," the Oracle said, "and she will leave."
Drexo's heart tightened painfully. "But if you embrace your love," the Oracle continued.
A pause.
"You will watch her die." The words landed.
Heavy, and final.
Drexo's eyes shut tightly. His chest rose and fell, faster now. "And what will become of me," he asked, his voice barely holding, "if I let her go?"
The Oracle groaned softly. "You will never watch her die."
A small mercy. But it didn't feel like one. "But you will live," the Oracle added, "the rest of your life as a sad man."
Drexo staggered back again. His back hit one of the pillars behind him. He stayed there.
Still.
"That is a cruel fate," he whispered. The Oracle chuckled. "That is the irony of fate."
Silence filled the space between them. Then the Oracle leaned forward slightly, his eyeless face angled toward Drexo.
"There is always a price." Drexo didn't move. "Happiness for greatness."
A pause.
"Or greatness for happiness." Drexo's breathing slowed. Not because he was calm. Because he was sinking.
Deeper.
"The choice is yours," the Oracle finished. Another pause. "Whatever you choose."
The silence stretched.
Then broke. "Live with the consequence."