Since that night, Aria hadn't returned to the edge of the forest.
No more flowers placed at dawn.
No more glances into the mist.
No more heartbeats suspended in silence.
She now avoided the paths bordering the shadows, convinced that the cursed king had been consumed by his own flames—too deep in the abyss for her to reach him.
But every time she touched a lily, or when a warm breeze brushed against her skin, she thought of him.
---
In the silence of the forest, where dew never shone, King Wilfred stood still in a bare clearing.
The flowers were gone.
No sign of her offerings.
No scent of jasmine or lavender.
The first time, he had approached in silence. He had leaned down. Brushed the petals with his fingers. Closed his eyes.
A moment of humanity. A spark.
And then—nothing.
He didn't understand. Had he frightened her?
Had he shattered the only fragile link between himself and the light?
And in his solitude, one thought took hold:
> Why hope,
when even the flowers turn away from you?
---
One spring morning, while the crows were still asleep and the sun barely pierced the mist, King Wilfred stood atop one of his towers, invisible to the world.
His gaze wandered lazily over the valley—dull, lifeless.
And then he saw her.
Aria.
In the distance. In the fields.
She was laughing, surrounded by children. Running after a clumsy kite, her hair flowing like amber clouds.
Roy was grumbling nearby, trying to gather the kids scattered like wild leaves.
Aria collapsed into the grass, laughing again, throwing flowers into the air.
Wilfred watched her for a long time.
Then he laughed.
A laugh… warm. Human. Real.
A sound he hadn't heard from himself in centuries.
He brought a hand to his chest, surprised by the flutter still living there.
And as memories of his youth came cascading back, he whispered softly, almost to himself:
> When I was a man, I laughed like that.
When I was a man, I still believed in spring.
---
Verse – Symphony of the Void
> In the shadows I waited, each lost dawn,
For your offering of life, your scent unknown.
But the flowers fell silent, and silence is king—
My heart, did you flee, or are you hiding within?