Maria did not leave her room for a long time.
The door stayed shut. The windows half open. Light slipped in, moved across the floor, then faded again, but she barely noticed it. Time passed in quiet fragments, and she remained seated at the edge of her bed, her hands resting on her knees, unmoving.
Her heart felt heavy.
Not the kind of heaviness that comes and goes. This one stayed. It settled deep, like something had taken root inside her chest and refused to loosen its grip.
She tried to imagine it. Life without Drexo. She closed her eyes and forced the thought forward. She tried to build it piece by piece. A future where she walked away. Where she fought her battles alone again. Where his voice no longer filled the silence of her nights.
It felt empty. Not quiet. Not peaceful. Just empty.
Her breath grew shallow. She opened her eyes quickly, like she had just stepped too close to something she wasn't ready to face.
"No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head slightly. That path didn't make sense. It didn't feel real.
It felt like erasing something that had already become part of her. She stood up suddenly.
The room felt too small now. Too tight. The walls pressed in like they were listening, like they were waiting for her to decide something she wasn't ready to decide.
"I need answers," she muttered under her breath. Not from people. People had opinions. People had fear. People had their own interests buried beneath their advice.
She needed something else. Something higher. "I will go to the gods," she said quietly. "Maybe they will offer me hope."
The words sounded uncertain, even to her own ears. Still, she didn't stop. She stepped out of the room, her movements slow at first, then steadier as she moved through the corridors. The castle carried on as usual around her. Guards moved. Servants passed. No one stopped her.
No one knew what was breaking inside her. The path to the temple felt longer than usual. Or maybe she was just dragging her feet.
The temple of Ago stood where it always had, quiet and forgotten at the heart of the city. Its stone walls carried age, its doors worn from years that no one bothered to count anymore.
Maria stepped inside. The air shifted immediately. Cooler, and still.
Dust lingered in the corners, untouched. Shadows stretched across the hall, swallowing the light that tried to follow her in. The silence here was different. It wasn't empty. It was watchful.
At the center of the hall, the figure lay as always.
Still.
Unmoving.
Maria stopped a few steps away, her breath catching slightly. "The eyeless immortal seer," she whispered.
The name alone carried weight. The old man groaned softly. The sound echoed through the empty space, low and rough, like something dragged from deep within.
"What does the white dove seek in the temple of fire?"
Maria stiffened. For a brief second, she had forgotten how unsettling his voice could be.
She straightened herself. "I come seeking the wisdom of the ancient."
The old man let out a dry chuckle. "You have come seeking validation," he said. "Not wisdom."
Maria's lips pressed together. "You seek the gods' blessing for your forbidden love."
She exhaled slowly. There was no point denying it. "Yes," she said. "Will my love cost him the throne?"
The old man chuckled again, softer this time, like the answer amused him. "I see the name Drexo Dragarian carved upon the Golden Throne of Astarous."
The words hit her instantly. Relief flooded through her chest, fast and warm. Her shoulders dropped slightly, the tension easing without her even realizing it.
But it didn't last. "That should not be your concern," the old man continued.
Maria's brows drew together. "What should be your concern, is what awaits you."
The relief vanished.
"What awaits me?" she asked, her voice tightening.
The old man shifted slightly, as if trying to rise, but his body resisted him. He groaned softly, the effort costing him.
"What you share with Drexo," he said slowly, "goes beyond this lifetime."
Maria stepped closer.
"What do you mean?" The old man's face twisted faintly, as if the words themselves carried weight. "The love you share was forged seven hundred years ago."
Maria froze.
Her mind struggled to catch up. "That is not possible," she whispered.
The old man didn't argue. "You are the reincarnation of Tamara Woodland," he said. "And he is the reincarnation of Demon Dragarian."
Maria's step halted mid-motion. The name struck her like something physical.
Tamara.
She knew that name. She had read the stories. Heard the whispers. The tale told in quiet voices, always ending the same way.
Tragedy. Her breath grew uneven. "Is that why," she started, her voice uncertain, "he felt familiar the moment I saw him?"
The old man chuckled faintly. "You recognized him," he said. "Even when you did not understand it."
Maria's chest tightened. "And you share her fate," he added. The words landed hard.
Too hard.
Maria staggered back slightly. "Tamara," she repeated under her breath.
Images flooded her mind. Fragments of a story she had once dismissed as legend. A dove oracle. A forbidden love. A Dragarian prince.
And death.
Violent, and unavoidable.
Her head snapped up. "Why?" she demanded, her voice breaking through the silence. "Why would fate bring us back just to kill me again?"
The old man went quiet. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he groaned softly. "Perhaps," he said, "this is not punishment."
Maria's eyes narrowed slightly. "Perhaps it is a chance."
"A chance?" she echoed.
"To choose differently," he said. "To abandon the path that led to your death before. Or to walk it again."
Maria let out a short, uneasy laugh. "And what is this other path?" she asked. "What is this destiny everyone keeps speaking of?"
The old man tried to rise again. This time, slowly, he managed it. His movements were weak, but deliberate. "You are the white dove," he said. "The sword of Freya."
Maria went still.
"Your destiny is not bound to a man," he continued. "It is bound to the world. You are meant to unite the lost tribes of the North. To bring peace to Astarous."
The words felt distant, and unreal.
"And yet," he added, his voice lowering, "you stand on the same edge as before. Choosing love over purpose. Betraying your god, just as you did in your previous life."
Maria didn't move. Her thoughts clashed violently inside her mind.
"I cannot abandon Drexo now," she said, her voice quieter but firm. "Not in the middle of this war."
The old man shook his head slowly. "The choice is yours."
Maria's jaw tightened. "Choose love," he said, "and you will die."
Her breath caught. "Choose the divine path, and the world will remember your name forever."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Maria stepped back. Her footing felt unsteady. "Is this not cruel?" she whispered. "The gods offer greatness, but demand I lose the only thing that makes me happy?"
The old man chuckled softly. "Greatness rarely comes with happiness," he said. "It comes with purpose."
Maria turned away. Her chest felt too tight. "I came here for solace," she said. "And instead, you offer me ruin."
She shook her head. "I should never have come." She began to walk away. Her steps were quick now, almost desperate.
But the old man's voice followed her. "No matter what you choose, do not betray Freya."
She didn't stop. "Or blood will spill." Her hand reached the door. "Friends will become enemies."
She stepped out. "And enemies will become something else."
The door closed behind her. Maria didn't look back. She walked straight to her room, her pace unsteady, her thoughts louder than the world around her.
The words refused to leave her. They echoed. Over and over. You share the fate of Tamara Woodland.
Choose love, and you will die. Choose destiny, and the world will never forget you.
She reached her room and closed the door behind her. Then she sank onto the bed. Her hands pressed against her face.
"This is not an easy choice," she whispered. Her voice trembled. "What will I choose?"