The days began to change. Not just the sky—though it brightened earlier now and warmed my shoulders when I ran laps around the field—but something inside me shifted too. Quietly. Like a stone that had been resting underwater for years finally turning over to feel the sun.
Every morning began the same way. The servants helped me dress—soft tunics, tighter boots, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. I'd stretch in my room before breakfast, then eat something light: egg, warm bread, fresh fruit. Then Caelum would ruffle my hair and tell me to go train hard, and I'd nod like a soldier sent on a mission.
Felix waited for me in the yard. He never looked tired. Even if I showed up earlier than expected, he'd already be there, sword at his hip, a half-smile playing at his lips like he was waiting to see what I'd do next.
At first, I could barely keep my footing. I wobbled after every swing. My shoulders ached. My arms were too small, my balance uncertain. But I didn't give up. I ran laps around the training field until my breath came short. I held planks in the grass until my elbows trembled. I carried sand filled bracelets until my arms and legs felt hollow and sore.
"Endurance," Felix said. "Strength isn't just in the arms. It's in the heart. In the lungs. In the legs."
So I built it. Slowly. By the time Bloomhallow came—the Month of Growth—I could swing a wooden blade twenty times in a row without collapsing. My hands developed the beginnings of calluses. My footwork had rhythm now. Measured. Predictable. Improving.
Felix noticed. He didn't praise me much—not with words. But when I landed a swing just right, he nodded. When I found balance between strikes, his eyebrows lifted. "Keep going," he'd say. "You're getting there." And that was enough.
Vernalis brought more than warm sun. It brought color back to the world. The trees outside the palace gates bloomed in pale pink and creamy white. The garden buzzed again with bees. The wind smelled like fresh petals and new grass. People smiled more in the streets.
And it brought a festival I had only read about in books. Blossom Blessing. The holy celebration of Spring's return, led by the Imperial family. A day dedicated to the Nymph of Spring, who guarded the turning of the seasons. A day of color and joy and purity.
Every child in the Capital—noble or commoner—dressed in white. White robes, white tunics, white dresses. Some had petals sewn to their sleeves. Others wore sashes, veils, or braided vines around their ankles. They moved like flowers come to life. Each child wore a crown of blossoms. To show they were pure. To mark them holy. Untouched. Unfaded.
The night before the festival, I sat in Serenya's parlor with her and Lisa. She carefully braided a flower crown for me from small, soft-white spring blooms and thin strands of golden wheat. Between them, she threaded tiny pearls and lavender sprigs.
"I picked each flower myself," she said as she worked. The shape was soft and full, without being heavy. It smelled faintly of rain and honey. Then she added hair accessories—silver pins shaped like ivy leaves, woven through my braid. One of the pins had a small, hanging charm that chimed when I turned my head.
"You'll be the most beautiful among them," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
I didn't know how to respond to that. But my heart beat a little faster.
The day of the festival arrived with warm air and a clear sky. Sunlight poured over the Capital like gold silk. Children from every district came in groups—noble children, merchant children, farmer's children.
They all wore white—simple tunics, flowing robes, some barefoot, some with sandals. Some had flower crowns; others had blossoms pinned to their hair, sleeves, or belts. A few had flower-petal tattoos brushed across their cheeks with ink. The palace didn't look down from its balconies that day. It came into the streets.
"Don't be nervous," Serenya whispered as she kissed the top of my head. "Just enjoy the day."
She looked at Caelum, who was already waiting by the gate. "Keep him safe," she told him.
"I always do," he replied.
We walked through the Palace gates together, but Caelum stopped at the edge of the Plaza, just before the Festival grounds. "This part is for the children," he said, crouching beside me. "I'll join you later. For now, you're one of them." He brushed a hand over my crown and smiled. "Go. Just be yourself."
Alric and Serenya, dressed in ceremonial white and gold, gave the opening blessings. They stood on a raised dais at the temple steps and offered prayers to the Nymph of Spring. Caelum stood beside them—elegant and quiet in his soft cream robe, hands folded over his heart. I watched from behind the crowd at first, hidden among the palace servants and a group of children my age.
I wasn't part of the official procession. But I was there. That mattered.
"Ready?" Raphael asked.
He had a flower crown, too—yellow daisies and pale forget-me-nots, woven together with green vines.
"It suits you," I told him.
He blushed a little but smiled. "Yours is better."
We walked barefoot down the cobblestone streets with the other children. My toes curled at first—unused to the feel of the earth—but the stone was warm. Soft in the places where petals had scattered. We followed the music, the laughter, the rhythm of drums and wind chimes.
There were games, but no prizes. Songs, but no stage. Everything was shared. The streets were alive with laughter. Children ran barefoot across the cobblestones, tossing petals, singing songs, giggling as flower petals clung to their robes. Some painted each other's faces with berry-colored swirls. Others danced in loose circles near musicians playing flutes and harps.
The smell of honeyed bread and citrus drifted through the air. Raphael and I joined them—slowly at first, standing at the edges. Then a group of kids pulled us in. I didn't know their names. They didn't know mine. It didn't matter. They gave me a ribbon. Told me to tie it to the "Wishing Tree" in the center of the Plaza.
Raphael helped me reach a branch.
"I don't have a wish," I said.
He looked at me. "Then write a memory," he said.
So I tied the ribbon silently.
Later, after the ritual offerings were placed into the central fountain—a custom meant to feed the season's spirit—the children began to dance. Not in choreographed patterns. Just freely. Running in circles, tossing petals, spinning until they collapsed laughing on the grass. Their voices echoed like birds in the breeze.
Raphael and I sat near one of the old statues, half-watching, half-breathing. "Do you like it?" he asked.
I nodded. "It's strange," I said.
"What is?"
"I'm not used to noise feeling good."
Later, Caelum joined me again. He didn't wear white. But he had a small flower tucked behind his ear—probably from Serenya. And when he saw me surrounded by petals and children, he paused. He didn't call me over. He didn't lift me up. He just waited. And when I ran to him—bare feet tapping against the cobblestones—he opened his arms. I collided into them like I belonged there.
That afternoon, we visited every corner of the Festival together. There were stalls with painting games, booths where children tried to guess scents by smell, tables covered in soft pastries, and flowers pressed into wax paper. I didn't like the sweet things. But I loved the ones with cheese and onion and herbs. Caelum laughed softly when I wrinkled my nose at a sugared bun.
"Still not sweet, huh?"
"No," I said. "Too fake."
He tousled my hair. "Smart boy."
By the time the sun began to dip low again, my feet were dusty, my robes wrinkled, and my flower crown had tilted to one side. But I felt light. Like something heavy inside me had lifted. Like the petals I stepped over weren't just decorations, but pieces of something new beginning. A spring. A start. A day I didn't need to forget.
That night, back in my room, I sat on the bed and carefully unpinned the petals from my braid. I set the flower crown on the desk like a treasure. When Gabel came to ask if I was ready to change for sleep, I just looked at him and said—"Can I keep this one? I want to save it."
He nodded. "We'll press it. Make sure it stays forever."
I nodded too. And smiled. Because today… felt like a memory worth keeping.