The maid's steps were gentle on the stone path as she approached the bench where Celeste sat reading. She folded her hands with a subtle grace and bowed her head slightly.
"Lady Celeste," she said softly, "the guests have arrived. Your parents are in discussion with Sir Calmon and Lady Isolde."
Celeste looked up from her book, blinking once as if coming out of a dream. Then she closed the book with care and nodded.
"I see," she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a flicker of excitement in her eyes.
The maid turned slightly, gesturing to Padrin, who stood awkwardly at the edge of the garden path, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "This is young master Padrin. Please be kind."
Celeste stepped forward, giving him a slight, polite bow. "It's nice to meet you again, Padrin. Come, sit."
He nodded, scrambling a little to respond. "Y-Yeah. Nice to meet you too."
They both sat on the bench, the book now resting beside her.
A silence hung between them for a moment, broken only by the soft trickle of water from the garden fountain and the occasional chirp of distant birds.
Padrin, unsure of what to say, blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "S-So… how long have you lived in Larton? We just moved there recently."
But before the words had even fully settled between them, Celeste tilted her head and asked with a curious brightness, "Hey, do you like flowers?"
The question caught him completely off guard. "Uh… yeah. I mean—who doesn't like them?"
She smiled and leaned forward a little, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "What do you think about this garden?"
Padrin glanced around, taking in the colorful flowerbeds, the soft moss at the foot of the trees, the precision in how each section was arranged. He hadn't really noticed before, but now… he could see how much care had gone into it.
"It's beautiful," he said honestly. "You can tell someone really takes care of it."
Her eyes lit up. "Really?" she asked as she sprang to her feet, her energy shifting from quiet to exuberant in an instant.
He looked up at her, surprised by her sudden excitement, and nodded again. "Yeah… really."
"That's awesome!" she beamed. "Can I walk you through it a little bit?"
Padrin stood up immediately. "Of course."
They strolled down the stone path that curved around the edges of the garden, Celeste pointing out flowers with eager hands.
"You see those?" she said, stopping beside a bed of deep purple lilies. "These are twilight blossoms. They only bloom when the sun starts to set. I take care of these every week."
Padrin's eyes widened. "Wait… you take care of all this?"
She smiled with a bit of pride and nodded. "This whole section. The back part of the garden? That's mine. My mom says if I want to learn responsibility, I should start by growing things. And… I love it. I've been taking care of it since I can remember."
"So you've lived here since you were little?" he asked, suddenly remembering the question she hadn't answered earlier.
Celeste nodded again, brushing her fingers gently along a row of white-petaled flowers. "Yup. Ever since I can remember. And this garden's always been my favorite place."
Padrin blinked in surprise. So she hadn't ignored the question after all.
As she led him through beds of roseleafs, dandelight shrubs, and moonstalk blossoms, he found himself listening less to her words and more to the way she spoke. The way her eyes glowed when she described the way moonstalks responded to song. The way her hands gestured as she explained how she re-soiled the flowerbeds in spring. Her laugh, the way her hair caught the sun, the brightness in her smile—everything about her was vibrant.
It was the first time in his life he'd seen something—someone—so captivating, not because she was trying to impress, but because she was just… being herself.
Padrin's narrative echoed over the memory, soft, wistful.
"We soon became best friends. We did everything together…"
In the library, a warm room filled with the smell of parchment and lavender polish, Celeste and Padrin sat side by side at a long desk. A heavy tome lay open in front of them, its script written in the old language of the west. The room was quiet except for the scratching of Celeste's quill and Padrin's quiet grumbles.
"Why do the old mages write everything backwards?" he mumbled.
Celeste leaned over with a giggle. "It's not backwards. It's mirrored. See this symbol? That means the sentence needs to be read right to left."
She nudged the book toward him and whispered, "Try it."
Padrin sighed and followed her lead. After a few moments, his brow furrowed in concentration, then relaxed.
"Oh. Oh, that actually works."
"Told you," she said, sitting back with a grin.
Padrin's voice drifted on. "We studied together. We played together…"
In the courtyard behind their estate, both dressed in simple tunics and training trousers, Celeste and Padrin stood with wooden swords in hand. Their laughter echoed between the stone walls as they clashed, step and counterstep.
Celeste was faster. She darted around him, spinning in and out with cheeky grins.
"You're too slow!" she called, tapping his shoulder with her blade.
"Because you keep cheating with footwork!" Padrin shouted back.
They laughed as they fought, falling into rhythm, bruises forming on both of them.
Padrin's voice dipped, quieter now.
"And she always helped me… encouraged me…"
The setting sun cast a warm orange hue across the training field. Padrin sat on a stone bench, his breathing heavy, his leg scraped and bloodied from a fall earlier that day. He tried to hide his grimace, but it was obvious he was in pain.
Celeste knelt in front of him, dabbing his wound with a cloth soaked in herbal tonic. Her hands were steady, her touch careful.
Celeste blew on the wound to cool the sting of the tonic, then wrapped it in clean bandages with practiced ease.
"There," she said. "Not too tight."
Padrin watched her hands, then her face. The focused look in her eyes. The way she stuck out her tongue slightly when tying the final knot.
"You know," she said, finishing her work and patting the bandage gently, "soon enough I'll learn healing magic. And when I do, you'll be able to recover even faaaaaster."
She stretched the word with a bright smile.
Padrin smiled too. "…Thanks."
She blinked at him. "For what?"
He hesitated, then shrugged a little.
"For this. For… everything."
She tilted her head, eyes softening. "Of course."
Padrin's voice turned cold. Distant. Bitter.
"But one day… after everything we'd been through, after all the years we spent together… it changed."
"It was a noble errand. Just another 'opportunity' they said. We were to accompany a friend of our families—a noble merchant named Garrik. It was supposed to be a simple escort. We were transporting something… important. More important, apparently, than a human life."
Rain fell in thick sheets against the canopy of a grey, storm-laden sky.
The wheels of the cart squealed against the mud-slicked mountain road, the wooden frame creaking under the weight of the goods and the violence of the storm. The path they traveled was narrow—only wide enough for the cart itself and the occasional single rider. On one side, a steep, jagged cliff face rose toward the clouds. On the other, a sheer drop, dozens of meters down, where only jagged rocks waited.
The rain hadn't let up in hours.
The horses pulling the cart struggled with each step, hooves sliding, snorting as the path narrowed even further.
Padrin sat at the front beside Garrik, their cloaks soaked through, their boots caked with mud. His brow was furrowed, lips pressed tight, hands clenched on the edge of the bench as the wind howled in their ears.
Behind them, Celeste sat in the back of the cart beneath a soaked leather tarp, her auburn hair flattened against her face, her arms wrapped around herself as she watched over the crates and bags tied down with thick rope. Her eyes flicked around constantly—watching, aware. She didn't like this path. It was too narrow. Too wet.
Padrin looked over at Garrik, his curiosity finally winning out over the storm. "Lord Garrik," he asked, raising his voice over the wind, "what exactly are we transporting?"
The older man, grizzled and pale-skinned with a sharp-trimmed beard and gold-threaded sleeves, glanced sideways. His expression was guarded, even in the rain.
"Gear," he said first, short and dismissive. But then he leaned in slightly and added under his breath, "And a grimoire. A rare one. Diamond rank."
Padrin's brows rose. "A spell?"
Garrik nodded. "Not just any spell. It's said to be one of the First Prince's favorites. A replication spell—extremely rare. Apparently, he's been looking for one for years. If we deliver it, the favor we gain could change everything."
His voice lowered with excitement. "It's the kind of gift that could elevate your families to nobility, Padrin. For you, for Celeste, for all of us. The king himself favors the First Prince more than ever. It's a smart move."
Padrin nodded, trying to grasp the weight of what Garrik was saying.
He opened his mouth again. "What kind of spell is it—"
But the words never left his lips.
There was a sickening crack. The cart jolted violently.
One of the wheels struck a loose stone and slid—sinking into the muddy edge of the path. The entire cart tilted, the back end swinging out over the cliff. The horses neighed in panic, rearing up, hooves clawing for purchase.
"Hold on!" Garrik shouted.
But Padrin was already moving.
He jumped off the bench and slammed into the side of the cart, planting his feet in the mud as he pushed against the frame. Behind him, the soldiers scrambled, grabbing ropes, trying to steady the cart before it was too late.
But the back was hanging. And Celeste was still there.
Her eyes widened as the cart groaned beneath her. The crates behind her slid slightly toward the edge, their ropes stretching and snapping. She grabbed one of the cart rails, but it was slick with rain.
Padrin's heart stopped. "Celeste!!"
She looked up.
She was too far back. The angle of the tilt made it impossible for her to climb forward. Her legs scrambled, her foot slipping against the wet wood as she tried to get a hold.
Padrin started to move—but froze.
If he let go, even for a moment, the weight shift could send the whole thing over. The soldiers weren't in position yet. He gritted his teeth, trying to calculate—but there wasn't time.
Celeste met his eyes.
Then she looked toward Garrik, who was still on the front part of the cart, the part that hadn't tilted as far. He had turned around, his hands shaking.
"Lord Garrik!" Celeste shouted. "Help me—please!"
She reached out her hand.
He looked at her—panic in his eyes. For a brief second, it seemed like he might reach back.
But then his eyes darted lower. To the back of the cart.
His hands moved, pushing aside a fallen crate.
"What are you—?" Padrin started, but his words caught in his throat.
Garrik's voice trembled. "Where is it…? Where is it?! I can't lose it… It's too valuable. If I lose it… I'll be ruined."
"A little more, please…" Celeste's voice. She was still holding out her hand.