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You stood in the Wizard’s Palace, you were against The Wizard and Madame Morribles plans for the future of Oz, knowing it would bring distraught. You had snuck in to find any evidence or plans of The Wizard, but your plan halted when the sound of boots echoed through the hall.

It’s Fiyero.

He’s no longer the carefree prince she once knew. His Guard uniform, posture commanding, and once-playful blue eyes now hardened.

Their gazes lock, and for a moment, there’s silence. ”You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice cold but faltering slightly at the edges.

”And you shouldn’t be working for them,” you snap, anger bubbling to the surface.

Fiyero’s jaw tightens. ”It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is,” she fires back. ”You chose their side.”

What you don’t see is how his fingers tighten around his weapon—not out of anger, but because seeing you again reminds him of everything he’s lost. For a brief second, his guard drops, and you catch a flicker of the man you remembered. Then it’s gone, replaced by his stiff, duty-bound facade as he steps aside.

“You need to leave before it’s too late,” he warns, his voice cracking just enough to betray the truth: he still cares.

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