Oracle | Sevika

Sevika had faced men twice her size without flinching, had walked battlefields where the air tasted like iron and ash, had buried friends with hands that did not shake. But this, this was something else entirely.

The road to Delphi had nearly broken her.

Dust clung to her skin like a second layer, her throat burned from days of dry wind, and every muscle in her body ached with the dull persistence of someone who had pushed too far and simply refused to stop. Still, she had made it. She always did.

The king’s command echoed in her mind as she climbed the final slope: Kill the beast. Return victorious. Or do not return at all.

Simple. Brutal. Expected.

But there had been a condition, one that gnawed at her pride.

Seek the Oracle first.

Sevika had almost laughed when she’d heard it. She didn’t believe in riddles whispered by smoke-dazed priestesses. Steel and skill decided fate, not prophecies. Yet here she was, dragged halfway across Greece by a king’s demand and a monster’s shadow.

And now… Delphi.

The temple rose before her like something carved from the bones of the gods themselves, massive columns stretching toward the sky, white stone glowing beneath the relentless sun. It was beautiful in a way that made her uneasy, like it was watching her.

And the crowd.

Gods, the crowd.

A line of people snaked down the steps and into the courtyard, wrapped in cloaks, clutching offerings, whispering prayers under their breath. Farmers, nobles, soldiers, mothers with hollow eyes, every kind of desperation gathered in one place.

Sevika exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders despite the protest in her body.

One day. That’s all she had to endure. The Oracle spoke only once a month, and by some twisted luck, or fate, she had arrived on that exact day.

So she stepped into line.

Time crawled.

The sun shifted, shadows lengthened, voices rose and fell around her in waves. She barely listened. Her focus drifted inward, replaying the king’s words, the description of the creature she was meant to hunt, a thing of teeth and darkness, something that had already claimed too many lives.

She would kill it. Of course she would.

But why this? Why send her to a place like this first?

Her jaw tightened.

Hours passed before she even reached the steps.

By then, exhaustion had sunk deep into her bones, turning her limbs heavy, her thoughts slower. Still, she forced herself forward, step by step, until the noise of the crowd began to fade behind her.

Inside the temple, everything changed.

Cool air brushed against her overheated skin. The light dimmed, filtered through high stone and drifting smoke. The scent hit her next, thick incense, curling through the air, mixed with something sweeter, something almost intoxicating.

It made her head feel… strange.

Not weak. Never weak. Just off.

Sevika straightened instinctively, her warrior’s instincts sharpening as she crossed deeper into the chamber. Her boots echoed softly against the stone floor, each step bringing her closer to the heart of it all.

Closer to the Oracle.

When it was finally her turn, she stepped forward without hesitation.

And then she saw her.

Sevika stopped.

Not a stumble. Not a pause.

Stopped.

The Pythia sat high above, balanced upon a bronze tripod like she belonged somewhere between earth and sky. In one hand, she held a libation bowl, its surface catching the dim light. In the other, a laurel twig, delicate and deliberate.

But it wasn’t the ritual that caught Sevika.

It was her.

The woman was… gods.

Sevika’s mind, so used to calculating angles and threats, simply failed her.

She was beautiful in a way that felt unreal, like something not meant to be looked at directly. Hair fell in soft waves, her skin almost glowing against the haze of incense. Her expression was distant, yet focused, like she was seeing something far beyond the walls of the temple.

Sevika’s chest tightened, her breath catching in a way she did not understand.

This wasn’t fear.

This wasn’t anything she had a name for.

The air felt heavier suddenly, pressing against her lungs as she stood there, rooted in place. The murmurs of the priests faded into nothing, the world narrowing until there was only the woman above her and the strange, sweet scent curling through the air.

She should speak.

She should state her purpose, demand the prophecy, get what she came for.

Move.

But she couldn’t.

Then the Pythia moved.

Slowly, gracefully, her gaze lowered, and landed directly on Sevika.

It was like being struck.

Something in Sevika’s chest jolted, sharp and unexpected, her heartbeat stumbling before surging harder than it ever had in battle. Those eyes, gods, those eyes felt like they were looking through her, peeling back every layer she had ever built to survive.

No enemy had ever done that.

No king. No general. No god she had ever bothered to acknowledge.

And yet this woman.

“Sevika.”

The sound of her name shattered whatever fragile hold she had on herself.

The voice was soft, almost melodic, but it carried through the chamber like it had weight, like it belonged to something older than the stone around them.

Sevika’s world tilted.

She hadn’t spoken her name.

No one here should know it.

And yet.

Her pulse roared in her ears as she stared up at the Pythia, completely still, completely caught.

For the first time in her life, Sevika didn’t know what to do.

And that terrified her more than any monster ever could.