Morning light filtered through the high windows of the Winterbell palace, bathing the marbled halls in cold silver. Flynn sat in the small solar chamber beside the throne room, reviewing reports from border scouts but his eyes hadn't touched the page in minutes.
His thoughts lingered elsewhere.
The dream from the night before had clawed its way beneath his skin, more memory than nightmare. He had awoken with Caelan's name echoing in his ears a name no one was supposed to know anymore.
And yet… he feared it still clung to him like a scent only the dead could smell.
"Your Highness."
Flynn looked up.
It was Khalid.
He stood just inside the chamber's threshold, dressed in black and steel the sharp cut of a duke's attire, every line precise. His golden eyes remained unreadable, though something about the way he held himself today felt… different.
"Is it urgent?" Flynn asked, voice controlled.
"Not quite." Khalid stepped forward and extended a sealed envelope. "This arrived through a private courier. No emblem, no seal."
Flynn took it slowly. "You didn't open it?"
"I wouldn't dare, Your Highness," Khalid said, but something in his tone too smooth, too rehearsed made Flynn wonder.
He turned the envelope in his hands. The parchment was fine, but worn, as though it had traveled far and fast. When he opened it, he found only a single pressed white aster, folded between layers of paper. No message. No ink.
Flynn blinked, heart stumbling in his chest.
White aster.
The flower of farewell… and betrayal.
Back in Elaris, Caelan had once used them to mark the graves of soldiers lost to politics rather than war. Only one other person had ever known that.
Khalid.
Flynn's eyes flicked up to the man before him.
Khalid's expression hadn't changed, but there was tension in his jaw. As if he, too, remembered something.
"Did you read this?" Flynn asked quietly.
"I did not."
"Did you recognize it?"
Khalid paused. Just for a breath.
"No," he said at last. "Should I have?"
Flynn folded the letter again, sliding it beneath his tunic. "No. Dismissed."
Khalid bowed. But just as he turned to leave, Flynn caught something.
His left hand the gloved one he always kept covered, even in private.
Today, a corner of the leather had frayed, revealing the faint edge of something beneath: a burn scar, jagged and dark.
Flynn's breath caught.
That scar hadn't been there before the betrayal.
Why hide it?
What had he done or who had done it to him after Elaris burned?
"Khalid," Flynn called.
The man paused, turning his head slightly. "Your Highness?"
Flynn opened his mouth but hesitated.
"…Nothing. Carry on."
Khalid left without another word.
---
Flynn sat alone again, the white aster between his hands.
Someone had sent this.
Someone who remembered.
Someone who knew the man he used to be.
And whoever it was friend, enemy, or ghost had chosen to deliver it through Khalid.
Whether intentional or cruel coincidence, Flynn didn't know.
But one thing was certain:
The past was stirring.
And it would not stay buried much longer.