Drexo and Maria spent their wedding night wrapped in a kind of joy neither war nor prophecy could steal from them.
For once, no armies stood between them. No councils. No vows made to other houses. No ghosts of prophecy breathing down their necks.
Only two people who had fought too hard for one another to waste a single moment of peace.
They held each other as if rediscovering touch. Sometimes they whispered, sometimes they laughed quietly at nothing at all, and sometimes they simply lay in silence listening to each other breathe. The night seemed unwilling to end, and they clung to it as though dawn itself were an enemy.
Outside, Cliffland still celebrated. Faint music drifted through the windows. Drunken songs echoed from distant courtyards. Torches burned low. But inside those chambers, the world felt far away.
When sleep finally came, it came late. And even then, their hands remained locked together. Yet dawn has a cruel way of restoring reality.
The first pale light had barely entered the room when Drexo awoke. He did not move at first. Maria still slept beside him, her face calm, one arm resting over the sheets. The sight stirred something fierce and protective in him.
And with it came fear.
Heavy, and sudden.
He had crossed every red line. Not just against the Kenwools. Against fate itself. Marriage to Maria had not ended the prophecy.
It had challenged it.
And some part of him, buried beneath celebration, had been waiting for this cold morning reckoning.
When Maria rose and slipped away to wash, Drexo sat upright. The unease would not leave. He dressed quickly, fastening his robe with restless hands, and left before questions could stop him.
He did not go toward the sea. Nor the training grounds. He walked toward the temple.
Fast, almost as if chased.
The path there was empty in the morning mist. His boots struck old stones slick with dew. Wind whispered through dead trees flanking the ruined sanctuary.
The temple stood as it always had.
Ancient, and dusty. Half-abandoned.
It looked unchanged by centuries. As if some unseen law forbade any hand from cleaning or repairing it. As though even decay was sacred there.
Drexo stepped inside. The scent of old incense and earth met him. And from the shadows came the old man's rasping breath.
Then a sniff. Long, animal-like.
The old man smiled before speaking. "I smell the blood of Jupit." Drexo stepped forward. "How are you doing, wise one?"
The old man let out a cracked laugh and a groan together, as though the question itself amused and offended him at the same time. "Why are you here?" he asked.
Drexo came nearer. "I married Maria yesterday."
The old man nodded before the words fully settled. "I know, Drexo." He lifted his eyeless face. "There is nothing that happens in this world without my knowledge."
Drexo lowered his head. For the first time he sounded almost like a guilty son. "I am sorry I did not heed your warning."
He swallowed.
"She was carrying my child."
The old man groaned and slowly pushed himself more upright. His bones seemed to protest every motion. Then he faced him sharply. "You are a king." His voice suddenly held force. "And kings should never apologize for their actions."
Silence stretched between them. Dust floated in shafts of light. Drexo stared at the old man as if trying to look beyond him and into fate itself.
"Now that I have crossed all red lines." His voice lowered. "What becomes of us?" He swallowed. "Will she die?" The words almost failed him. "How early will it be?"
The old man smiled. A smile that revealed nothing. "I see everything." He tapped a crooked finger against his temple.
"The past."
A breath.
"The present."
Another breathe
"And the future."
Then his expression hardened. "But I am not permitted to say everything."
Drexo's face darkened. That answer did not satisfy him. "I want to know when." His voice sharpened. "Will we have offspring together?"
The old man leaned back and closed his eyes as though listening to something far beyond the temple walls.
Then he spoke. Slowly. "I see the Jupiter blood."
A paused, and coughed. "And the Norse blood…"
Another paused.
"…shaping the next generation of Dragarians."
Drexo did not breathe. The old man continued. "I see a Dragarian on the throne."
He pointed. "And a Woodland beside him." Then his voice deepened. "And I see the name of Drexo Dragaria carved upon the Golden Throne of Astarous."
A slow smile crossed Drexo's face. Relief, yet brief, and fragile. He lowered himself into a squat beside the old man.
Still searching, and still unsatisfied. "I still wish to know when Maria will die."
Again silence fell. It was longer this time. The old man stretched, bones cracking audibly. Then said only. "Fate will have its cause in due time."
No more. No less.
Drexo stared at him, knowing he would get nothing further. He nodded slowly. "Thank you." Then softer: "But please intercede for us."
He almost sounded like a boy. "I need their taking her delayed until we are old."
He stood, and turned to leave.
Then the old man's voice stopped him. "Drexo!"
He turned. The old man was smiling strangely again. As though seeing something impossible. "I see your descendants returning to Jupiter, our ancestral world."
Drexo's brows drew together. "Returning to Jupiter?"
He almost laughed in disbelief. "Does it still exist? Has it ever existed?" He stepped closer again.
"Even if the myth is true, it says it burned."
The old man chuckled. "What is burned…" He lifted a finger. "…can be rebuilt."
Drexo stood still. The words unsettled him in ways prophecy had not.
Jupiter!
A world spoken of in old songs. A half-myth orbiting memory. His ancestors had fled it two thousand years ago. A story that no longer sounds real. Why would his children return there? Why would fate lead backward to move forward?
Questions crowded him. No answers came. He gave a faint nod. Then turned. And as he walked from the temple, he carried a new thought he had never before allowed.
Jupiter. The ancestral world. Could myths call their blood home? The idea followed him like a shadow.
Meanwhile in Ashford, another storm was rising. Friya Kenwool had locked herself in her chambers. No servants were permitted in.
No lamps had been lit. Only gray light entered through narrow windows. She sat at first upon the floor. Then collapsed into tears she had fought before others.
Now no witnesses remained. No pride, no posture, only grief. "I loved you, Drexo," she whispered.
Then louder. "I loved you." Her voice cracked. She struck her fist against the bed. "But you broke my trust." Her breathing shook. "You broke your oath to me."
Another blow.
"And you disgraced me." Tears ran unchecked. But grief slowly changed shape, it hardened. Her crying slowed. Her eyes reddened, then narrowed.
She rose slowly. Like something wounded becoming dangerous. Her hands clenched.
"Now," Her voice trembled with fury. "Now you will understand the wrath of a broken hearted woman."
She stepped toward the mirror, and stared at her reflection. She almost did not recognize what stared back.
Not abandoned. Not weak, but vengeful. Her lips curled. "I will not only destroy you."
Each word sharpened. "I will make sure you watch Maria die."
The room seemed to shudder with the hatred in it. She ground her teeth. Her whole body became rigid. "I will have my revenge on you."
And somewhere far away, in Cliffland, a newlywed king walked back from prophecy unaware that revenge had just spoken his name.