Drexo stepped out of the temple like a man who had been handed a sentence, not guidance.
The light outside felt too bright. Too sharp. He squinted for a moment, then kept walking. "I came here seeking peace," he muttered under his breath. "And he gave me something worse."
The words lingered, but they did nothing. The path back to the castle stretched ahead of him, longer than he remembered. Each step felt heavier, like the ground itself resisted him.
His mind refused to be still. The image returned.
Tamara.
Again, and again. Her blood. Her fading breath. The way her fingers slipped from his face.
"We will be born again." Her voice echoed, soft and distant. Drexo clenched his jaw. "I thought this was about the throne," he whispered, almost bitterly. "About love and power."
He let out a hollow breath. "But this." His steps slowed. "This is about her life."
The realization settled deep. Too deep. "I am not choosing between love and my crown," he continued quietly. "I am choosing between loving her, and killing her."
The words made him stop. Right there on the path. His chest tightened, like something inside him had twisted too far.
For a moment, he just stood there. Then he moved again.
That night, the castle slept. But Drexo didn't. He lay on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, unmoving.
The room felt suffocating. Every time he closed his eyes, the dream returned.
Tamara.
Maria.
It didn't matter anymore. They had become the same. "I love her," he whispered into the darkness. The words came out soft.
Broken. "And without her, I will be miserable." He swallowed. His throat felt dry. "But if I stay with her."
He paused. The next words didn't want to come. "she dies."
Silence filled the room again. Heavy, unforgiving.
Drexo turned his head slightly, staring into the shadows. His hands tightened against the sheets. "This is madness." A quiet laugh escaped him, but it carried no humor.
"I lose either way." He shut his eyes tightly. For a moment, it looked like he might fight it. Like he might refuse the choice entirely.
But slowly, something in him began to give. His breathing slowed. Not because he was calm. Because he was deciding. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, silent, unnoticed.
"I will let her go."
The words came out barely above a whisper. But they were firm. "I have to."
His chest rose sharply. "I have to let her live." More tears followed. He didn't wipe them. He didn't move.
He just lay there, staring at nothing, as the decision settled over him like a weight he would never put down.
By morning, nothing had changed. Except him. Drexo sat up slowly, his face calm, too calm.
The storm inside him had not passed. It had only settled. "I will end it," he said quietly to himself. No hesitation this time. No doubt. "I have to."
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. Each movement felt deliberate.
Forced.
"Because I love her." The words sounded strange now. Like love had become something cruel.
Across the city, Maria sat alone. Her room felt smaller than usual. Or maybe it was just her thoughts pressing in from all sides.
"He has been using me," she whispered. The words came out flat. But her hands told a different story.
They trembled slightly as they rested on her lap. "I was just another woman to him." Her jaw tightened. Her eyes burned. "All those nights,"
She stopped herself. Shook her head. "No." Her fists clenched. "This ends now." She stood up abruptly, pacing the room. "I will not be used."
Each step was sharp. Decisive. "I will leave Cliffland."
She paused.
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
"I will never see him again." Her chest tightened at that. But she didn't take it back. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
Then it hit her. Sudden, and violent. Her stomach twisted painfully, forcing the air out of her lungs. Maria staggered forward, grabbing onto the edge of a table.
"What?" She didn't finish. She ran. Barely making it outside before she bent over, her body rejecting everything inside her.
The sound of it echoed faintly in the quiet morning. When it was over, she stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily.
Her hands rested on her knees. Her body felt wrong.
Weak. Too weak. She wiped her mouth slowly, frowning. "What is this?" But there was no answer. Only that strange, lingering weakness.
She didn't stay. She couldn't. "Being alone will make me think about him," she muttered. So she forced herself forward. To the training ground.
The warriors were already gathered. Steel flashed. Voices carried. Life moved on. Maria stepped into it like nothing had happened.
Like she was still in control. "Begin," she ordered. Her voice was steady, and strong.
But her vision blurred for a second. She blinked. Shook her head. It didn't help. The ground felt uneven beneath her feet.
Her legs are lighter than they should be. "Focus," she muttered under her breath. But her body wasn't listening.
The noise around her faded. Just slightly. Then more. "Commander?" someone called.
Maria turned toward the voice. Or tried to. The world tilted. Her legs gave way. And she fell.
"Commander!" Helen's voice cut through everything.
Sharp, and panicked. She was already moving before Maria hit the ground.
Others followed. Feet rushed across the sand. "Commander, are you alright?" Maria's eyes were half-open.
Her lips parted slightly. But no words came out. Only a weak breath. "Help her up," Claude said quickly.
Hands reached for her. Careful, and urgent. They lifted her, her body limp between them. Her head fell slightly to the side.
Unresponsive. They carried her quickly, their movements tight with worry.
Evelyn was already inside when they arrived. "What happened?" she asked, rushing forward. Her eyes scanned Maria quickly.
She placed a hand on her neck.
Paused.
Her brows furrowed. "Her temperature is high," she said. Concern sharpened her voice. "We need a physician."
"I am on it," Rita said immediately. She didn't wait. She ran.
The room felt tense. Too quiet. Maria lay on the bed, unmoving. Her breathing shallow. The others stood around, exchanging worried glances.
Minutes stretched. Too long. Then footsteps. Rita returned, breathless, a physician following close behind.
"What happened?" the physician asked, moving straight to the bed. "She collapsed during training," Evelyn answered quickly.
The physician nodded, already working. Hands moved over Maria's body.
Checking, pressing, and observing.
Her face remained neutral. Hard to read. She checked her pulse. Her ribs, and her veins.
Then she paused.
Something flickered across her expression. But it was gone just as quickly. She reached into her pouch, pulling out a small herb, grinding it between her fingers before placing it gently into Maria's mouth.
"She will be fine," the physician said finally.
Calm, and measured. "I advise you to let her rest." Relief moved through the room, quiet but present.
The tension eased. Just a little.
Evelyn didn't relax. Not fully. She followed the physician out of the room. Her steps were quick.
Purposeful.
"What is the problem with her?" she asked, lowering her voice.
The physician slowed. Then stopped. She turned slightly toward Evelyn. Her expression shifted.
Careful now, and measured.
She leaned closer. "Your mistress is."