The winter air stung Kael's skin as he stepped into the garden. Frost clung to the bare branches, their skeletal forms reaching skyward, and snow blanketed the earth in endless white. The soft crunch beneath his boots was the only sound in the stillness, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind as it slipped through the hedges and leafless shrubs.
He pulled his borrowed cloak tighter around him, though it did little to shield him from the cold. His breath misted in the air, curling like smoke as he exhaled, and he let his gaze wander across the garden. It was both beautiful and lifeless—roses withered and brittle, their petals long fallen; vines coiled around trellises like frozen veins. Yet there was something about the quiet, about the untouched purity of the snow, that made the place feel almost sacred.
Lydia's words echoed in his mind before she'd left him here.
"Clear the paths," she'd instructed, her tone brisk. "And trim back the shrubs. Don't damage the roots—they'll need to grow back in spring."
Then she'd turned and left him alone, her footsteps fading into the distance until only silence remained.
Kael crouched beside one of the bushes, his gloved fingers brushing against the frost-laced branches. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if testing whether he even knew what to do. But the truth was, he didn't. He had no memory of working in a garden—no memory of anything before waking in the castle. And the more he tried to dig into the void where those memories should have been, the deeper the emptiness seemed to stretch.
His chest tightened. Who was he? What had he been before this? Why couldn't he remember?
The questions tormented him, circling endlessly in his mind like vultures over prey. But no matter how many times he asked, no answers came.
Frustration welled up inside him, sharp and hot, and for a moment he gripped the brittle branch too tightly. It snapped in his hand, the sound startling in the quiet.
He exhaled sharply and forced himself to let go. Anger wouldn't solve anything. He was here now—here in this garden, surrounded by snow and silence—and that had to be enough.
Straightening, Kael grabbed the shears Lydia had left him and began to work. His hands moved stiffly at first, the cold biting through his gloves, but as the minutes passed, the rhythm of the task took hold. Trim. Clear. Gather. Trim again.
Slowly, his breathing steadied, and his thoughts quieted.
The work was simple, but there was something grounding about it—something that pulled him out of the storm in his head. As he cleared the snow-covered paths and pruned the overgrown shrubs, he found himself focusing on the details. The patterns of frost on the leaves. The way the light refracted through icicles hanging from the trellises. The sharp scent of cold earth whenever he brushed away the snow.
For the first time since waking in this unfamiliar place, Kael felt… calm. Not at peace, but no longer drowning in the questions that refused to give him rest.
He paused for a moment, straightening to stretch his stiff muscles. The wind caught at his cloak, tugging at it like invisible hands, and he gazed out over the frozen landscape.
Somewhere beneath the snow and frost, life still lingered. Hidden. Waiting.
Kael let his gaze drift to the towering castle in the distance. Somewhere inside, Princess Seraphina sat, untouched by the cold, guarded and protected by walls and warmth. He wondered if she'd spared a thought for him since sending him to work out here—or if he'd already faded into the background of her life.
It shouldn't have mattered. She was a princess, and he was no one—a servant with no past, no name worth remembering. Yet he couldn't shake the strange pull he felt whenever he thought of her, the quiet weight of her gaze as she'd dismissed him to the garden.
Shaking off the thought, Kael returned to his work.
The wind had picked up by the time Lydia returned, tugging at the edges of her cloak as she stepped carefully through the cleared paths. Kael didn't notice her approach at first—he was too focused, his gloved hands brushing away snow from the brittle stems of a frozen bush as though he feared breaking it.
"You're still at it?" Lydia's voice broke the stillness, carrying a hint of surprise. She stopped a few steps away, her sharp eyes scanning the area he'd cleared. The paths were neat, the shrubs carefully trimmed, and even the piles of snow he'd shoveled were stacked evenly to the side.
Kael straightened and turned toward her, brushing frost from his gloves.
Lydia crossed her arms, her gaze lingering on the work he'd done. "Not bad," she said after a moment, though her tone was grudging, as if she didn't want to admit it. "Better than I expected, honestly."
Kael dipped his head in acknowledgment, though there was no pride in his expression—only quiet determination.
"It's time for lunch," Lydia said. "You can take a break."
Kael hesitated, his eyes drifting back to the bush he'd been tending. The task wasn't finished—not yet. He still had more shrubs to trim, more paths to clear.
"I'll eat later," he said finally, his voice steady but soft.
Lydia frowned. "You sure? You've been out here for hours already."
"I'm fine," Kael replied. The cold had numbed his fingers, but he hardly noticed anymore. The work kept his mind occupied, kept the questions and frustration at bay. He didn't want to stop—not yet.
Lydia studied him for a moment longer, her sharp eyes searching his face as if trying to decide whether to argue. But whatever she saw there made her sigh instead.
"Suit yourself," she said, adjusting the scarf around her neck. "But don't overdo it. If you collapse out here, I'm not dragging you back inside."
With that, she strode off, her footsteps crunching softly against the snow until they faded into the distance.
Kael let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The momentary warmth of human interaction faded quickly, leaving him alone once more in the vast, quiet expanse of the garden.
He turned back to his work without hesitation, his hands finding their rhythm again. The cold seeped into his bones, but he welcomed it. The sting kept him grounded, kept him focused.
It was strange, this calm he felt while surrounded by frost and silence. It didn't make sense—nothing about his situation did—but he clung to it anyway.
As he worked, a faint breeze stirred the snow-laden branches, and for a brief moment, Kael thought he heard something—a whisper carried by the wind.
He froze, his fingers tightening around the shears. But when he turned, there was nothing there. Only the garden and its endless stretch of white.
Shaking off the unease, Kael bent back to his task. Whatever ghosts lingered in this place—whether in the garden or his own mind—would have to wait.
For now, there was work to do.