Worst Nightmare

Chapter 31

Author's Pov

Yoko and Faye had just stepped past the wooden threshold of the woman's home, their belongings packed hastily, the air still damp with the night's rain. The plan was simple: leave quietly, return before anyone noticed.

But the road wasn't empty.

A crowd was moving slowly along the muddy street, a small procession of villagers walking with reverence. At the center walked a group of monks in saffron robes, their steps steady, chants humming low against the morning air. The crowd parted instinctively around them, heads bowed.

Faye slowed, her hand brushing against Yoko's as her instincts screamed caution.

Then one monk stopped.

His gaze lifted, steady and unflinching, landing directly on them. The shift was immediate. The murmurs of the villagers hushed, and before Faye could turn Yoko away, the woman who had sheltered them gasped and hurried forward. She dropped to her knees before the monk, pressing her forehead to his feet.

"Blessings, holy one!" she cried, her voice trembling with reverence.

The monk inclined his head, his eyes never leaving Yoko. And then recognition flickered.

Another priest, younger but equally sharp-eyed, leaned close and whispered urgently to him. His voice carried just enough to be heard: "Princess... Princess Yoko."

Faye's stomach dropped.

Yoko stiffened beside her, every inch of her trained composure straining to hold. The monk stepped closer, his hands folded, his expression one of solemn certainty.

Behind him, Marissa's blind aunt, guided by another devotee, tilted her head as if sensing more than she could see. Though her eyes were clouded, her face lit with an uncanny recognition. She reached a trembling hand toward the air where Yoko stood.

The procession had been meant for a sacred site beyond the village, yet now it stopped entirely, all eyes on them.

Whispers stirred through the crowd. A princess. Here.

Faye's hand hovered protectively near Yoko's back, her mind racing. Yoko met Faye's eyes, her own steady but wide with the weight of what this meant.

The moment of concealment was over.

The commotion on the road grew still when the cart stopped.

Inside, sitting cross-legged in an unbroken meditative pose, was the highest of the monks-a figure villagers whispered of but rarely saw. His eyes remained closed, his face carved with the lines of countless dawns, a silence so heavy it pressed against the heart.

Then, as his sandaled foot touched the earth, the world itself seemed to still.

The murmurs of the crowd died. Even the restless crows circling above the rooftops quieted. It was as though time bent to his presence.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

And when his ancient eyes fell upon Yoko and Faye, a shiver rippled through those watching. For the monk did not see the modern road, nor the villagers gathered, nor even the damp robes clinging to his shoulders.

He saw something else.

A vision.

A Queen in King's cloths and Queen from the past, their silhouettes haloed in flame and sorrow, standing where Yoko and Faye stood now. He blinked once, but the image did not fade.

The greatest priest, revered and feared alike, stepped down from the cart and moved with deliberate grace toward them. The villagers lowered themselves instantly, foreheads pressed to the earth. None dared breathe too loud.