I looked over at Golderine, who had fainted—probably because of her hair color. But now, seeing her like this, I'm starting to like it. There's something otherworldly and ancient about her, something peaceful… yet stormy. Just like her mother. The moment she walked into the kitchen, I felt it—like Aurora, my sister, had fully returned. I can't even describe it properly.
And her appearance—it's changed. It demands attention now. Her powers must be awakening.
But will she faint again if I tell her the truth? That this world isn't hers? That her parents... are dead?
Kids these days are fragile. You tell them the truth, and they don't take it in. Drama hits first—loud, messy—before the truth even has a chance to sink in.
I left her room with Lucien and decided to get some air. Outside, I sat on the old bench and looked over the garden—the two trees and the beds of flowers I've raised ever since I started raising Golderine. Some flowers died. Some survived. Some grew old and withered away. It's just the cycle of life.
I still remember when I first moved into this neighborhood. People were curious—who was I? Who was this dark haired child always with me? I told them she was my sister's daughter. Said her mother died in the hospital after giving birth, her father struck down by lightning same day , and that I had fetched her from the orphanage because she was my blood.
That, of course, was a lie. And they believed it.
In this world, lying is easy. People don't question what they want to believe.
Still, whispers followed her. "Cursed child," they called her. Painful words. Cruel ones. I had to use force more than once to protect her—chopped off a few hands, even. Can't blame me too much for that. It had to be done.
One afternoon, I began planting flowers—not because I loved them. Truth is, I never really liked flowers. I planted them to teach myself something: patience, care, gentleness… and maybe, love.
Each flower is different. Some only need daily water, and they'll bloom beautifully. Others need more—fertile soil, rich nutrients. And some… they even change color based on the soil's acidity.
People assumed I loved flowers. But it was never about that. I was learning how to raise a child. I had once been a cold general, commanding legions, feared by kingdoms. I was a woman who only knew how to kill.
I didn't want Golderine to fear me. So I started with flowers.
I remember teaching her how to plant roses once. She was just a child, and the thorn cut her finger. She bled—too much. I had to use potions to stop it. Then, something strange happened.
Where her blood touched the soil, a strange flower bloomed—white, gold, and gray. Mushroom-like in shape, mysterious in presence. It was the Moonlight Flower.
It blooms in colors that serve different purposes—healing, poison, protection. But only its rightful owner can control it. If someone tries to take it by force, they die.
After all, how can you steal someone's blood and survive it?
That's when I knew: she was chosen by the Moon Goddess.
And that's why I always make her water the plants—especially that one.
I walk toward it now. It's getting ready to bloom again. This kid is fast.
Lucien joins me and looks at the flower, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Her powers are awakening quickly," he says. "She'll be fully awakened by her 18th birthday—which is in two weeks. Maybe you should tell her today. Let the truth settle in while she adjusts."
He walks to a seat in the garden and sits down. I follow and sit beside him.
"I was planning to," I say softly. "I'll take her shopping afterward."
Lucien glances at the carefully arranged flowers—red roses, white tulips, and so many more.
"I always wanted to ask," he says. "Were you planting these flowers because you love them? Or were you up to something?"
I smile. "Why do you ask?"
"It's the arrangement," he says, gesturing to the neat rows. "You were studying them, weren't you?"
"You're not wrong… but you're not entirely right either," I reply. "Let them be. Some need more than others."
I tilt my head back and close my eyes, relaxing for the first time in a while. Sleep takes me quickly.
Lucien watches me for a moment, then looks back at the garden.
He thinks the flowers are arranged based on their needs—and that's true.
But what he doesn't know is that I wasn't just studying the flowers. I was teaching myself how to raise Golderine.
She was the rarest bloom of all.
And I had to learn to raise her not with power or fear, but with patience, care, gentleness… and love.
The situation between Alice, Caspian, and Tristan wasn't improving. Tension lingered like a storm cloud refusing to pass. Alice and Caspian were still at each other's throats, and the only person capable of cutting through the hostility was Tristan.
He sighed, already dreading how long the weekend would feel if the two didn't start acting like royalty instead of bickering children.
"You two," Tristan said calmly, eyeing them both, "when are you going to forgive each other?"
"Alice has to apologize fir—" Caspian began, but was immediately cut off by Alice, who narrowed her eyes at him.
"I should apologize first?" she snapped, her voice dangerously calm. "You're the one who started this. I'm not apologizing first."
"You see, Tristan?" Caspian said, throwing his hands up. "She refuses to apologize, and I won't either. So stop wasting your time on her and send her back to her kingdom."
"Send me where?" Alice's voice sharpened as her temper flared. "Don't forget—you're only here because I allowed it. You're nothing here, Caspian—"
"Enough!" Tristan's voice cracked like thunder, silencing both of them instantly. "Caspian, apologize."
"What? Why me? I didn't start it," Caspian argued, his anger rising again.
"You were the first to blame her parents," Tristan shot back, voice still sharp. "All of our parents had a hand in what happened to Golderine's family. But you singled hers out. So you apologize—now."
His voice grew deeper, almost inhuman. Alice and Caspian looked at him in shock—as if he'd grown a second head right in front of them.
"Will you do it now," Tristan asked, cold and unyielding, "or after I've left?"
Caspian lowered his eyes and exhaled. "Fine. Alice, I'm sorry. I was harsh with my words and I shouldn't have blamed only your parents."
Alice looked at him, then nodded slowly. "And I'm sorry, too. For lashing out and hitting you. I didn't mean to drop the truth on you so harshly."
They both turned to Tristan, who gave a satisfied nod.
"Good," he said with a small smirk. "Now I can finally enjoy my weekend... before we kidnap Golderine on Monday."
He walked away with a relaxed expression, leaving the two behind—stunned.
"...What?!" they both shouted in unison, frozen in place until his words sank fully into their minds.
Kidnapping Golderine?
They bolted after him, following him straight into his room, where he was already stretched out on his bed, eyes closed like he had just come back from war.
"What did you say?" Alice demanded, bursting into his room, Caspian close behind.
"On Monday. After school. We're taking Golderine with us," Tristan replied casually, eyes still closed.
"No. Absolutely not. How did you even come up with that?" Caspian asked, voice rising. "Did you even make a plan?"
"Nope," Tristan said flatly. "Just take the girl and go. It's not that complicated."
"You're insane," Caspian said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We can't do this without a plan. We need details, steps, a strategy. We're not stealing candy from a child."
"I agree with Caspian," Alice added, her voice low and serious. "Golderine's aura may be calm and warm, but there's something else around her. Death. Something ancient. What if Aurora's sister is involved? I'm not dying—not in this kingdom, not for this."
Tristan didn't move. "You had time to plan. But instead, you two spent Friday fighting. Today is Saturday. And I want peace. On Monday, we do it. Simple."
"I'm not doing it," Alice said firmly. "Not without a plan."
"Me neither," Caspian agreed. "No plan, no mission. It's doomed to fail."
Tristan sighed heavily. "You two… plans always fail at first. That's how you learn to succeed. Trust me, I know what I'm doing. Now please… leave my room. I'm taking a nap."
And just like that, he turned over, already slipping into sleep.
Alice and Caspian stared at him in defeat, standing at the edge of his bed like two students dismissed by a very tired, very dangerous teacher who would bite them if they do not leave.
Tristan may have looked relaxed—but they both knew he was dead serious.
And now, neither of them could shake the feeling that Monday… would change everything.