And light slips in through quiet cracks,

  With blossoms blooming in its tracks.

  Love, so softly, comes and knocks—

  As if time stirs in hidden clocks.

  Soren gently closed the book, a twinkle emerging in his warm gaze. "Glacina and Lumina," he repeated softly. He could only conclude that the tale was true—after all, he had seen a being just like the one described, with his very own eyes. The image of the girl lit up his heart; those blue eyes held a magnetic pull that lingered in his thoughts.

  He exited the library, ready to return home, but stopped by a coffee and flower shop along the way. He picked out a bouquet of sunflowers, asking the flower lady to tie a blue ribbon around it. Later, the bouquet was seen lying gently upon the flower bed.

  He picked up his pen after a pause of days, settling at his desk, surrounded by a clutter of pages, pens, and a coffee mug. The twilight sky deepened overhead. His pen, which had been moving effortlessly, finally came to a stop—and he had his first piece. He picked up the page, reading and editing it before carefully copying the words into his laptop. Even in this age, he preferred penning things down before entrusting them to gadgets.

  The next morning, after freshening up, he sprinted out, halting in front of the flower bed. He found his sunflowers still resting there—yet now they were enveloped in a thin layer of ice. A little confused, he picked them up. The blue ribbon unfurled and was blown away by the wind, drifting deep into the woods. He brought the bouquet back inside, putting it away safely.

  His first gift, it seemed, had been rejected.

  In the heart of the woods, silver hair swayed with the wind, a blue ribbon twirling in the figure’s hand. She regarded it thoughtfully, then tied her hair with it—like moonlight wrapped in whispers of blue. Her head tilted in a particular direction, eyes glowing for a fleeting moment, before she looked away, indifferent once more.

  Meanwhile, Soren was busy attending to his guests. He had been feeling a little out of sorts because of the help he’d received from Cyan, so he’d invited Cyan’s family over for lunch—an attempt, however modest, to repay the favor.

  It was also the perfect opportunity to test whether any of his cooking prowess remained—he hadn’t prepared a full meal by himself in quite some time.

  The house was filled with the scent of spices and lavender. He set the table carefully, placing jasmines in the central vase. The chandelier above cast a warm, golden glow across the room. After a quick shower, he changed into semi-formal attire. His reflection in the mirror revealed his graceful appearance—a deep aubergine collared shirt in subtle satin, tailored black slim trousers, soft suede derbies, and a pendant tucked neatly beneath his collar, the silver chain glinting faintly in the soft light.

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  He warmly welcomed his guests, entertaining them with small talk and a few jokes. The children played on the lawn, while Cyan supervised them. Soren casually mentioned the children's tale he had read; Cyan's grandmother paused for a moment, then smiled wistfully. "Meeting such powerful beings never ends well for humans."

  Soren gazed at her questioningly, but she only smiled softly, as if the words she'd just whispered were a figment of his own imagination. They left with a trove of pleasant memories. Cyan even brought him an antique sandglass as a gift. It seemed he had made his first friend in Vidal.

  The clouds gathered like swirling smoke of grey, and the weather began to shift. Slowly, it began to rain—a gentle shower that gradually transformed into a storm. Lightning loomed above, and thunder crackled. The wind howled with strange, almost haunting sounds.

  Soren turned on the heater, fastening the doors and securing the windows. He wasn’t particularly fond of rainy weather.

  Then, he heard a soft mewl—so faint, he could barely tell if it was real or just the wind playing tricks on him.

  He got up and stepped outside, a torch in his hand. The rain drenched him, his white shirt clinging to his frame. His brown hair darkened, appearing almost raven black, while the wind seemed determined to push him back. Worriedly, he searched the shrubs. The roar of thunder and pouring rain didn’t make it easy—until he saw a ginger kitten hiding beneath a shrub. He gently picked it up, the poor thing's fur bristled, trembling from fear. Soren softly caressed it, drawing it close to his chest, trying to warm it.

  Raindrops trickled down his face—until they didn’t.

  He looked up.

  An umbrella made of ice hovered above, holding back the rain. Snow-dust swirled in the air around it, and yet, there was no one holding it. As much as he wanted to search for around for the presence, the weather and the warmth in his hand stopped him from following through. He got up and walked back to his house, the shield of ice still hovering silently above him. Once inside, he hurriedly dried the kitten, wrapped it gently in a soft blanket, and placed it near the heater. Then, without wasting time, he went to take a hot shower. Afterward, he warmed and diluted some milk for the kitten, placing the bowl nearby. For himself, he made a cup of hot cocoa—hoping to stave off any chance of falling sick.

  Beyond the woods, swathed in snow, stood a glistening palace radiating a soft glow. Upon a delicately carved divan lay a figure, eyes closed, her raven hair spilling across the surface in elegant contrast. Then, her eyes opened—amber-gold, swirling with fire. She rose lazily, and a word escaped her lips, as if dripped in honey or as soft as a bud blooming.

  "Sylara."

  The name echoed through the halls, and the figure soon entered. Blue eyes locked with amber-gold.

  "Your Highness, you called."

  The woman regarded the incoming girl with quiet ease, her gaze pausing at the blue ribbon tied in her hair.

  "You have meddled in," she said gently.

  The girl lowered her head and replied softly,

  "A gesture of goodness, in exchange for goodness."