Zavren sat at the back of the palace, his expression neutral as he read the black book. He was sitting on top of a small chair. Given he was at the back, flowers that were planted there were few—very few…but he did not mind.
All that mattered was that he was going to be alone, and the fresh air would be around. He had been sitting here for over an hour now as he had been reading the book. All he wanted now was to see a particular word…just one word and it seemed he had not found it yet.
He finally paused as he looked up. He stared at a particular flower that now seemed to be almost dead. It just stood at a particular side, almost far away from the other fresh ones, but that seemed to be the unique one among all of them. Its slightly crooked stick told a lot of stories, one saying…
"If the wind moves again, I would break."
