Chapter 2 The outsider

OCTAVIA'S POV.

I blinked rapidly, trying to process the stranger's words through the haze of my emotions. The handkerchief he offered was a stark white against his tanned skin, a jarring contrast to the tumultuous darkness swirling within me.

"I... thank you," I managed, accepting the cloth and dabbing at my eyes. The fabric came away stained with the silvery sheen of witch's tears. I hastily folded it, hoping he hadn't noticed. "Zachary, you said? I don't believe we've met before."

His smile was warm, almost disarmingly so. "We haven't. I'm one of the werewolf delegates. I couldn't help but overhear... well, not the words, but the emotion. It seemed like you could use a friendly face."

I stiffened slightly. How much had he heard? The corridor had seemed empty, but werewolves were known for their keen senses. "That's... very kind of you," I said carefully, straightening my posture and trying to regain some semblance of the composure expected from the head of the coven. "I hope you're finding our hospitality satisfactory?"

Zachary's eyes, a striking amber that seemed to glow with an inner light, studied me intently. "Oh, more than satisfactory. It's been quite the experience so far. Though I must admit, I didn't expect to find the architect of this historic gathering in tears in a hidden corridor."

His words, though spoken gently, hit me like a physical blow. I was supposed to be leading this event, ensuring its success, not hiding away and falling apart. The weight of my vision, of Alan's anger and disappointment, threatened to overwhelm me once more.

"It's... it's nothing," I lied, hating how easily the deception came to my lips now. "Just the stress of the day catching up with me, I suppose. Nothing for our guests to be concerned about."

Zachary's eyebrow arched skeptically. "Is that so? Because from where I'm standing, it seems like there might be quite a bit for us to be concerned about."

My heart rate spiked. "What do you mean?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Let's just say werewolves have excellent hearing, and the walls here aren't as thick as you might think."

Ice flooded my veins. He had heard. He knew about my vision, about the blood moon. Panic clawed at my throat, threatening to escape in a scream.

"I don't know what you think you heard," I started, but Zachary held up a hand, cutting me off.

"What I heard," he said calmly, "was someone trying to do the right thing, even when it's difficult. Someone who's carrying a heavy burden and isn't sure how to share it."

I stared at him, speechless. This wasn't the reaction I had expected. Where was the anger, the accusation? The demand for explanations?

Zachary continued, his voice low and urgent. "Listen, I don't pretend to understand all the intricacies of witch politics or prophecies. But I do know that sometimes, the future isn't set in stone. Sometimes, knowing what *might* happen gives us the power to change it."

His words echoed in my mind, stirring something I had almost forgotten in my panic – hope. "You... you really think so?" I asked, hating how small and uncertain my voice sounded.

He nodded firmly. "I do. But I also think you can't do it alone. You need allies, Octavia. People you can trust, who can help you navigate this."

I thought of Alan, of the hurt and betrayal in his eyes. "I'm not sure I have those anymore," I admitted, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Zachary's hand found mine, squeezing gently. The warmth of his touch was surprising, grounding. "You have more than you think. Your friend – Alan, was it? He's angry, yes, but that anger comes from a place of care. And as for the rest of us..." He gestured vaguely, indicating the gathering beyond the corridor. "We're all here because we believe in what you're trying to do. If there's a threat to that, we deserve to know, but we also deserve the chance to stand with you against it."

His words resonated within me, challenging the fear and isolation that had taken root. Could it really be that simple? To reach out, to trust, to allow others to share this burden?

"I... I need to think," I said finally. "This isn't a decision I can make lightly."

Zachary nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Of course. But don't take too long. If what I overheard is true, time might not be on our side."

As if to emphasize his point, a distant bell tolled, signaling the next phase of the gathering. Reality crashed back in – I had duties to attend to, a role to play.

"I should go," I said, straightening my robes. "Thank you, Zachary. For the handkerchief, and... for everything else."

He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect that felt at odds with the informal conversation we'd just shared. "It's my honor, Your Highness. I hope we'll have the chance to speak again."

As I turned to leave, to rejoin the celebration and pretend that my world hadn't just been shaken to its core, Zachary's voice stopped me one last time.

"Octavia? Whatever you decide, remember this – unity isn't just about bringing different groups together for a day. It's about standing together in the face of adversity. Don't underestimate the strength you might find if you're willing to reach for it."

With those words echoing in my mind, I stepped back into the light of the grand hall, the sounds of laughter and music washing over me. The gathering continued, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface. As I plastered on a smile and moved to greet the next group of delegates, one thought repeated itself in my mind:

I had until nightfall to decide the fate of everything I had worked for, everything I believed in. The choice between secrecy and trust, between facing the future alone or standing united against it, loomed before me. And as the red moon of my vision hung in my mind's eye, I knew that whatever I decided would change the course of history – for better or for worse.