To the palace, it was a great deal indeed. For these seven days, the tension that normally crackled between the two great Houses lessened—if only slightly. Their leaders, who usually stood as immovable pillars of the empire's strength and turmoil, would leave behind their posts and venture out into the realm they helped sustain. No one dared question the tradition, for to do so would invite the wrath of the powers that held the empire together.
On the third day of this curious reprieve, Lord Caelum Avernal rode southward along the empire's quiet, winding paths. His steed, a coal-black destrier, moved with a grace that mirrored its master. Clad in a simple yet elegant travel cloak, Caelum's presence still commanded attention. Though his violet eyes seemed to drink in the surrounding lands with disinterest, his mind was ever calculating, weighing the unseen forces that kept this fractured peace.
Far from his northern mountains, the air grew warmer, tinged with the faint scent of blooming wildflowers. He was unused to this southern gentleness, the landscape so unlike the snow-laden peaks and icy forests of his homeland. Yet something about it tugged at him—a fleeting sense of serenity that he had long forgotten how to name.
From the opposite horizon, Lady Seraphina Crimsonvale approached. Her carriage moved with practiced elegance, its crimson banners fluttering like tongues of flame against the wind. She sat poised, her striking red hair unbound and cascading down her back. Though her crimson-red eyes gazed out at the passing scenery with a calm detachment, she felt no true peace. This journey—this entire week—was an obligation she neither understood nor enjoyed. Her southern lands demanded her full attention; every moment spent away seemed a risk too great.
Yet, like Caelum, she too felt the whisper of something unfamiliar in the air. It wasn't peace—not exactly—but rather an odd stillness that beckoned her forward.
Their paths, though unplanned, converged at the edge of the empire's forgotten lands. Here, where lush greenery and overgrown meadows stretched endlessly, the ruins of an old orphanage stood as a silent testament to abandonment. Time had worn away its walls, leaving gaps where ivy crept through, reclaiming what humanity had forsaken.
It was here that both lords dismounted—Caelum out of curiosity, Seraphina out of a reluctant pull she could not explain. Their meeting was inevitable, though no words passed between them at first. Their shared animosity was tangible, the weight of their rivalry pressing like a blade's edge. And yet, it was neither hostility nor duty that drew their gazes toward the field beyond the orphanage.
There, amidst a sea of wildflowers swaying in the breeze, was a child. Her silver hair caught the sunlight, shimmering like spun moonlight, and her small figure danced with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. She twirled among the blooms, her laughter carried by the wind, a sound so pure it momentarily stilled the hearts of even the most hardened.
Seraphina's red eyes narrowed, her thoughts clouded by a mix of suspicion and wonder. "Who would leave a child in such a place?" she murmured, half to herself, her voice cutting through the stillness like the first crack of thunder.
Caelum said nothing at first, his violet eyes fixed on the girl. There was something about her—not just her striking appearance but the way she seemed utterly unburdened by the ruins surrounding her. It was as though she had bloomed here, like the very flowers she now danced among.
At last, he spoke, his voice low and measured. "She doesn't belong here."
The girl, sensing their presence, turned to face them. Her wide, blue eyes met theirs without fear, her expression one of curious delight. She picked a flower—a small white bloom—and held it out to them, as if offering a gift.
"Are you here to visit my garden?" she asked, her voice light and melodic. She smiled, her innocence cutting through the tension like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Seraphina and Caelum exchanged a glance, their rivalry momentarily eclipsed by the strange, inexplicable gravity of the moment. Neither could have known then that this meeting would alter the course of their lives—and the empire—forever.