In the royal garden, stretched like a dream,
sky reaching trees stood in perfect queues,
and a lane of red roses bowed under the weight of dew.
Adla's face gleamed with joy, as always.
"Brother, these flowers aren't even that much prettier than the wild ones we found," she said, spinning slightly.
"But the smell… it's so sweet, I think it might fill my lungs forever."
A young gardener, his hands stained with earth and thorns,
selected the finest roses, arranging them gently in a silver-lined basket.
He looked into Adla's eyes and murmured,
"Nothing here could be prettier... than my sweet sister."
"Let's move toward the palace. Mr.Irwin might be waiting,"
he said, pulling himself upright and brushing dirt from his knees.
With a soft grunt, he turned to walk ahead.
"Brother… aren't you going to ask me to come with you?"
Adla's voice was light, but the hope in it clung like morning mist.
He glanced back at her and gave a small smile
the kind that never quite reached his eyes.
"Your short steps wouldn't keep up with the speed I need."
At the side entrance of the palace, a gentle butler stood waiting, posture straight, eyes calm.
> "Sir, these are the flowers you requested," the gardener said, bowing slightly, his fingers still stained with earth.
The butler accepted the silver lined basket, his gloved hand brushing the petals with practiced care.
> "They look good," he murmured, almost to himself. "I hope the Master will approve."
The gardener hesitated, then spoke softly.
> "The Master seems... busy these days."
The butler's expression shifted into something like a smile faint and worn.
> "You guessed right," he said. "Though, truthfully, the Master is always busy."
the gardener's voice laced with concern.
> "He must be under so much stress... Ever since the Lady passed two years ago."
He paused, his voice softer now. "If she were still here, the Master wouldn't have to bear it all alone."
The butler nodded, a shadow passing through his eyes.
> "You guessed right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The Master has been suffering... alone. There's no one left by his side now."
His gaze drifted to the rose petals in the basket delicate, trembling with dew and for a moment, he saw her again, the Lady who once stood quietly beside the Master through every season.
The gardener watched the butler's expression shift.
"Perhaps we should try another flower," he said. "These are fine... but we need something new."
The butler gave a thoughtful nod.
"Excuse me. I'm afraid it's getting late," he murmured, checking the golden chain watch tucked into his pocket.
With a slight bow, he turned and moved swiftly through the polished marble hall.
His thoughts lingered. Everything in this estate was pristine—almost unnaturally so.
He slid his finger along the corded edge of a wooden table in the hallway.
No dust. No sound. No warmth.
Ahead, he watched as several maids continued scrubbing, polishing, and dusting without pause.
As he stepped into the kitchen, he saw the head maid ,Madame Sue standing tall, stiff, and proud.
She was giving firm instructions to the others.
"Arrange the breakfast on the delicate porcelain plates," she commanded.
A middle-aged maid beside her was swiftly slicing fruit.
At the sight of Mr. Irwin, Madame Sue gave a slight bow, wiping her hands with a linen cloth.
"Mr. Irwin," she greeted politely.
He walked toward the table and placed the roses down.
"Madame Sue," he said, addressing her directly. "Is breakfast ready?"
With clear eyes and worry lines across her forehead, she replied,
"We apologize, Mr. Irwin. Miss Lin was delayed... for certain reasons.
Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes."
He approached the silver sink, rinsed the roses with delicate precision, and arranged them with great care in a crystal vase.
Soon, the breakfast tray was ready.
Miss Lin, the middle-aged maid, picked it up with steady hands. She straightened her uniform, brushed down her apron, and walked toward the Master's chambers.
At the far end of the corridor stood a towering white door, trimmed in golden embroidery.
She paused, then knocked gently.
> "Master, breakfast is ready. May I come in?"
No reply.
She hesitated, then slowly opened the door.
---
At first glance, the room appeared empty. Silent. Cold. The air didn't move yet it pressed down on her like a weight.
Then she saw him.
He stood by the window tall, pale-skinned, sculpted like marble.
His long black hair fell loosely, slightly tousled, yet elegant. He wore a high-neck black inner coat over a crisp white shirt, and dark trousers tailored to perfection.
Miss Lin stepped forward cautiously.
And then… he smelled it.
Blood.
Not fresh. Not hers.
Something older.
Something rooted in a grief too deep for words.
A faint red thread shimmered from her chest, stretching toward him invisible to all but his eyes.
> "Master…" she whispered.
He didn't turn.
Outside, the wind shifted.
Finally, he moved pouring dark wine into a glass from an untouched bottle on the table.
> "The wind has changed today," he said softly.
---
She bowed, her voice low and trembling.
> "Master, I apologize for the delay… but it would be an honor if you might allow me a few days of leave."
Before she could finish, he interrupted.
> "Accepted. You may leave."
No questions. No reasons asked. No duration needed.
He already knew.
As the last of the Whisperers an ancient race who could see every fate, every ending he didn't need to ask why.
He saw it.
She had lost someone close.
And soon, she would lose her own life too.
But he would not interfere.
He never did.
He had lived far too long hundreds of years behind a face that never aged past twenty seven. He had watched lovers fade, comrades fall, time slip through his fingers like water.
Now, nothing moved his heart.
---
Still, a faint gleam of relief lit Miss Lin's eyes.
She bowed again deeper this time.
> "Thank you, Master."
And then she turned… and left the room.
He did not look back.
He already knew.
She would not return.