Morning descended over the Dravenhart castle like a soft shroud of mist.
The courtyards glistened with dew, and the air carried that deceptive stillness — the kind that always came before a storm.
Zelene adjusted the cuffs of her pale gown, her reflection wavering in the windowpane. She looked composed. Almost gentle. But beneath her calm exterior, plans moved like chess pieces in her mind.
"Are you sure about this?" Ray's voice broke the silence behind her. He leaned against the wall, his usual teasing smirk dimmed by unease.
"Not really," Zelene replied, fastening her pendant. "But Miren's mask won't crack with questions. It'll crack with curiosity."
Ray arched a brow. "So, what's the plan, Your Grace of Manipulation?"
Zelene turned, her lips curling faintly. "Simple. I play the fool."
The west garden was the perfect stage.
Roses tangled over marble archways, and a thin layer of fog clung to the earth, curling around the boots of passing servants. Miren stood by the fountain, her silver hair braided neatly, her expression unreadable as ever — calm, composed, loyal.
Too loyal.
"Lady Miren," Zelene greeted, voice light, warm even. "I've been meaning to thank you — for your help the other night. With the infirmary records."
Miren bowed her head slightly. "It was nothing, my lady. His Grace commands that the household remain efficient."
His Grace. Always him. Always Kael.
Zelene smiled, feigning the same innocent charm she'd use at a tea party. "Still, I'd like to make it up to you. A stroll, perhaps? You've been buried in duties for too long."
Miren hesitated — just a flicker, but enough for Zelene to notice. "You honor me, Lady Zelene. But I have tasks—"
"Oh, I'm sure they can wait," Zelene interrupted softly. "Besides…"
She stepped closer, her tone dipping to something conspiratorial.
"…I wanted to ask you about the west wing."
That caught Miren's attention. Her eyes — usually so placid — narrowed, just slightly. "The west wing?"
"Yes," Zelene continued, voice lilting with practiced naivety. "I've noticed it's always locked. And everyone says it's… haunted."
Ray, hiding a short distance away, leaned against a pillar, watching with folded arms. His eyes flicked between them — careful, assessing — as Zelene's tone turned playfully dangerous.
"Haunted places always make me curious," Zelene said, pretending to laugh. "Tell me, Lady Miren, what exactly hides behind those doors?"
Miren's reply came with a softness so controlled, it chilled the air.
"Only ghosts of those who disobeyed the Dravenhart name."
Zelene's smile didn't waver. But she caught it — the twitch, the shadow in Miren's tone.
That tiny fracture she'd been waiting for.
"You speak as though you've met one yourself," Zelene said lightly, tilting her head.
"I serve the living, my lady," Miren replied, bowing again. "And protect them from what should remain buried."
It was almost perfect. Almost rehearsed.
But then, Zelene's pendant — faintly glowing beneath her gown — pulsed once.
Aether Requiem stirred.
For a heartbeat, she saw it — a flicker behind Miren's calm face.
A shadow.
A chain of crimson light coiling from Miren's chest, up her throat, and into the air above them.
Bound.
Bound to something — no, someone — unseen.
Zelene's breath caught. She quickly looked down, pretending to fix her sleeve.
If Miren noticed the pulse of light, she said nothing.
Instead, Miren smiled — small, precise. "You're quite the curious lady, aren't you? Curiosity, they say, is both a virtue and a curse."
Zelene met her eyes again, steady. "Then perhaps I was born under both."
When Miren finally left, her steps soundless, the air felt heavier — as if the garden itself exhaled relief at her absence.
Ray emerged from the shadows, a low whistle escaping him. "You do realize she's not buying your 'innocent act,' right?"
"She doesn't need to," Zelene murmured, gaze fixed on the path Miren had taken.
"She only needs to believe I'm reckless enough to keep asking."
Ray frowned. "And what if she decides to stop you? Permanently?"
Zelene turned to him, the faintest smile on her lips.
"Then we'll know exactly what she's protecting."
The wind stirred then — lifting the edges of her gown, scattering rose petals into the fog.
Zelene closed her eyes, her hand brushing over the faint warmth of the pendant beneath her collarbone.
Aether Requiem thrummed again, like a heartbeat of light.
And in that moment, she could almost hear it —
the whisper of judgement waiting to awaken.