Fabale's golden hair glowed under the silver moonlight, strands catching in the breeze like rays of the sun clinging to night. He looked regal, almost unreal, framed by the old willow's graceful limbs as he approached the stone bench.
Octavio didn't speak. He sat like a statue-too still to be asleep, too rigid to be at peace. The back garden's silence, once a sanctuary, felt intruded upon.
Fabale stood beside him now.
"Do you know what it means to be the Crown Prince?" he asked, his voice calm but sharp, each word chosen with care.
Octavio's eyes stayed on the pond.
"You're not just the owner of gold," Fabale continued, "You are the hope of thousands. Every face that bows before you does so because you are the bridge between today and tomorrow. Their peace, their future-it rests on your shoulders."
"I never chose that," Octavio muttered, voice hoarse.
Fabale crouched slightly so he could meet Octavio's downcast gaze. "And do you think other kings were born with the desire to rule?" he asked gently. "Do you think they woke up as boys and thought, 'Yes, I'll carry the weight of a kingdom'? Most didn't choose it. They accepted it."
"I don't want to think. Just leave me alone," Octavio said, pulling his knees up.
Fabale paused, his eyes softening. He looked at Octavio-not as a prince, not as royalty-but as a friend who saw the fracture within.
His mind flicked back.
-
Hours earlier.
King Augustus stood at the window of his private chamber, watching the fading silhouette of his son vanish into the shadows of the royal corridor. His hands were clasped behind him, posture upright, yet heavy.
A servant approached. "Your Majesty, the prince has left."
The King didn't turn. "Call Prince Fabale."
Moments later, Fabale entered, bowing with his usual grace.
"You sent for me, Your Majesty?"
"He listens to you."
Fabale gave a small smile. "Sometimes."
"Then speak to him."
Fabale bowed again but said nothing.
The King finally turned. "He needs to hear it not just from a king... but from a friend."
-
Now, beneath the willow, Fabale's lips lifted into a soft smirk.
"What I've said until now was my responsibility-from one prince to another."
He stood, brushing off his cloak.
"But now I'm speaking to you as a friend." He held out a hand. "Let's run, Octavio."
Octavio blinked.
"...Run?" he echoed, barely above a whisper.
Fabale's gaze didn't waver. His voice dropped, softer now but charged with truth.
"Only by running from this cage... can you build your own castle," he said. "It's not running from responsibility forever, it's so you can come back stronger."
The wind stirred between them like a spirit holding its breath.
Octavio's lips parted, words tangled in hesitation. He had always been taught to stay. Stay obedient. Stay noble. Stay within lines others drew.
But Fabale-Fabale shattered lines like glass.
"Do you trust me?" Fabale asked.
Octavio's heartbeat was thunder in his ears.
"Yes," he said. "I do."
Fabale smiled. "Then run."