The eyes of Daverion met those of the man within the crowd.
There was no surprise in either of them. Only recognition. A silent, immediate understanding, as if that single glance closed a cycle no one else had ever seen begin.
Daverion inclined his head just slightly. It was not a formal greeting, but a precise and minimal concession. The other man responded in kind, mirroring the gesture with the same measured restraint. At the corner of his mouth, a shadow of a smile appeared, never fully forming, more intention than expression.
Then, unhurried, the man turned to the left.
He walked toward the event hall, allowing himself to be carried by the natural flow of people. He did not part the crowd, nor did he claim space. He simply moved, and the space adjusted around him without anyone knowing why. With each step, his presence faded a little more, as though he were learning how to disappear among unfamiliar bodies.
Before vanishing completely, he did not look back.
He did not need to.
The message had already been delivered.
Daverion kept his gaze fixed on the exact point where the man ceased to be distinguishable. He did not smile. Nor did he move right away. There was a calm expectancy in his posture, a light, almost amused acceptance.
The encounter was not over.
It had merely changed locations.
Daverion turned around.
Before he could say a word, Lyra grabbed his arm tightly, her eyes shining with excitement, unable to contain herself.
"Wow! You're incredible, big brother," she said almost breathlessly. "Your words reached my heart. I felt emotions I can't even describe while listening to you."
Her voice carried genuine awe, free of any rehearsed exaggeration. Beside her, Lila nodded silently, confirming every word with a small tilt of her head. The designated leader did the same, his gesture restrained and respectful, acknowledging what he had just witnessed.
Lyra did not give Daverion time to respond.
"Come on, let's go before your admirers try to surround you," she added.
As she spoke, her gaze swept over the people around them. Many were still watching, hesitant, torn between reverence and the impulse to step forward.
Without waiting for an answer, Lyra tugged Daverion along and pulled him toward the corridor directly ahead.
They walked away, leaving behind several disappointed faces. Some had already taken a step forward, others had raised a hand with the intention of calling out, but they stopped when they saw the group depart.
They could not follow.
That corridor was guarded.
Exiting the passage, they arrived at the second level of the castle.
The change was immediate.
A vast garden opened before them, bright and serene, as though the palace had reserved this space so the world itself could breathe. The air was different there, cooler and cleaner, carrying the faint scent of vegetation and the constant murmur of moving water.
The garden occupied the center of the level. Around it stretched wide corridors supported by evenly spaced columns that did not enclose the space but framed it. Between each column, the view opened freely toward the heart of the garden, allowing it to be seen from any point along the path. Nothing about the design was accidental. Everything invited one to look, to pause, to slow down.
Lyra guided Daverion along the perimeter corridors.
Through the columns, the central fountain was clearly visible. Water cascaded gently over multiple tiers, producing no roar, only a continuous, soothing sound that blended with the rustling leaves. It was not a fountain meant to impress, but one meant to accompany, to sustain silence without breaking it.
Winding paths crossed the garden, traced organically, avoiding unnecessary straight lines. They guided the walk naturally, forcing one to circle, to discover what lay beyond each curve. Tall pines rose with quiet solemnity, casting cool shadows, while delicate cherry trees offered a softer contrast, their petals occasionally drifting down to rest on the ground or float briefly upon the water.
Everything there was arranged to slow those who passed through.
Sunlight filtered through leaves and columns, fragmenting into shifting patterns that changed with each breeze. Even the air itself seemed to move cautiously, as though respecting the rhythm of the place.
Small kiosks were distributed throughout the garden, positioned at measured distances, offering rest and shelter. Each one framed the surroundings differently, presenting its own view of the landscape. Yet at the exact center of the garden, one stood out above the rest.
It was broader, more open, encircled by tulips that added color and order without rigidity. From there, the entire garden could be observed effortlessly, as if that point had been chosen both to watch and to be watched.
Daverion sensed that this space was not meant solely for rest.
It was designed for meetings, for conversations that did not require witnesses.
They continued along the open corridor. At times, the sound of the fountain fell behind them, at others it ran alongside them, as though the water could not decide where to remain. Moonlight slipped between the columns in soft bands.
Lyra walked a few steps ahead, then suddenly stopped. She turned toward Daverion, her brow slightly furrowed, not annoyed, but thoughtful.
"Hey," she said. "Do you always speak like that when there's a lot of people?"
Daverion looked at her, only mildly surprised. Then his gaze drifted back to the garden, to the paths disappearing among the trees.
"No," he replied. "Only when it's necessary."
"Necessary for what?"
He took a moment longer than usual before answering, his eyes settling on the surface of the water where reflections broke and reformed endlessly.
"Sometimes," he said, "words aren't meant for everyone who hears them."
Lyra blinked.
"Then who are they for?"
A faint smile crossed his face, as if the question itself were familiar.
"For those who know how to listen differently."
Lyra frowned, clearly not understanding. She opened her mouth to press further, then closed it again. She shrugged.
"Well… if you say so."
And she accepted the answer without question, as she always did with things she was not yet meant to understand.
They resumed walking. The garden remained serene, unchanged, as though nothing had happened.
But Daverion knew otherwise.
He had not raised his voice by chance. He had not chosen those words at random.
Someone had heard.
As they moved on, the corridor widened slightly, revealing the entire garden. Above them stretched a ceiling of glass, like a transparent lake, revealing the sky beyond. Clouds drifted slowly, distorted by the gentle curvature of the panels, and the light descended filtered and weightless.
Near the center of the garden, away from the paths, a figure lay upon the grass.
A young adult reclined with his arms behind his head, completely at ease, gazing upward. His attention was not on the people, the palace, or the ceremony below. He followed only the movement of the sky through the glass, as if the world could wait while the clouds decided their shape.
Lyra noticed him immediately.
"That's my brother," she said casually, pointing. "The crown prince."
Daverion looked toward him.
"He likes to relax here," Lyra continued. "Just watching the sky. Sometimes for hours. He doesn't even want the emperor's position."
There was a curious mix of pride and resignation in her voice, as if this trait were both familiar and unavoidable.
Daverion observed the young man for a moment longer. He did not see laziness or indifference. He saw calm. He saw choice.
"He's a free spirit," Daverion said.
Lyra looked at him attentively.
"He doesn't like responsibilities," Daverion continued. "Not because he can't bear them, but because he doesn't seek them."
His gaze shifted from the sky back to the garden.
"But if they come to him," he added, "I doubt he'd hesitate to give his best… and fulfill them perfectly."
Lyra smiled, as though those words had finally given shape to something she had always felt but never known how to express.
The prince remained there, unmoving, while the sky slowly changed above him.
After circling the garden, they reached the kitchens.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air was warmer, heavier, saturated with aromas. The metallic sounds of utensils, the constant murmur of voices, and the coordinated movement of cooks filled the space with a practical, living energy.
When the kitchen staff saw the princess enter, reactions varied. Some startled and froze momentarily; others barely glanced up, already accustomed to her sudden appearances. Lyra did not wait for permission. She walked between the tables as if the place belonged to her.
She tasted everything.
A bite here, a sip there, and without asking, she extended her hand toward Daverion so he could try as well.
"This one," she said, pressing something toward him without even looking. "And this too."
Daverion accepted without complaint, watching her with quiet patience and curiosity. Each flavor seemed to spark a small, personal celebration in her.
As always, Lila followed behind them, apologizing softly to everyone, bowing slightly, explaining that the princess meant no harm. Her tone was so familiar it felt like part of the kitchen's rhythm.
The designated leader stayed a few steps behind Daverion, silent and vigilant, like a shadow that did not interfere.
One of the chefs approached Lyra respectfully.
"What have you prepared for the celebration?" she asked eagerly.
"Meat in sauce, roasted vegetables, and fresh juice," the man replied with contained pride.
As they spoke, the scent spread through the kitchen. The meat released a deep, warm aroma, herbs from the vegetables lingered in the air, and the sweetness of the juice completed the blend. It was impossible not to feel one's appetite awaken.
Lyra already had a piece of meat in her hand and bit into it without ceremony.
Daverion watched her and smiled faintly.
"Order whatever you want," he said. "Then let's go back to the garden and wait to be served in the event hall."
Lyra nodded, her mouth full, clearly agreeing.
"Lila," Daverion added, "prepare the kiosk."
Lila bowed immediately.
"At once."
The kitchen resumed its rhythm as if nothing extraordinary had occurred, though more than one gaze followed them as they left.
"I want tea and juice," Lyra said decisively.
The chef reacted instantly. With swift, practiced motions, he prepared a steaming teapot and filled a jug with fresh juice. The designated leader carefully carried the tray, holding the teapot, the jug, and five neatly arranged glasses.
They returned to the garden.
As they walked along the paths, they reached the spot where Therion still lay on the grass, eyes fixed on the sky through the glass ceiling.
"Brother!" Lyra called out loudly.
Therion blinked, as if waking from a long dream, slowly returning to himself.
"Lyra?" he murmured. "Is it already time for the event?"
He sat up slightly, rubbing his face.
"I must've lost track of time again," he said aloud.
"There's still time," Lyra replied easily. "But I called you because… look. My new brother."
Therion sat up fully and looked at Lyra. He wasn't surprised; with her, every day brought something new. Then his gaze settled on Daverion.
"Well," he said after a brief pause, "I suppose I have another brother now."
He scratched his head as he spoke, clearly joking.
A second later, his expression softened and he stood.
"Sorry," he added, addressing Daverion. "I hope my sister hasn't caused you any trouble."
"It's been entertaining," Daverion replied calmly.
Therion laughed at that. At that moment, the aroma of tea reached him. His attention shifted immediately to the tray carried by the designated leader.
Lyra noticed and smiled. She knew her brother's tastes; that was why she had ordered tea.
"Let's go to the kiosk," she said. "Let's have some tea."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added,
"I'll have juice."
Therion nodded and followed without comment.
At the main kiosk, a large table had already been prepared, with five chairs arranged around it. Lila stood beside it, waiting, everything ready, as though she had known exactly when they would arrive.
Elsewhere, in an isolated space, a piece that had disturbed the chessboard moved again.
Sooner than expected.
Daverion felt it instantly.
Without changing his expression, he lifted his hand slightly. The air before him folded, revealing a different space, visible only to him. Within it floated a chessboard. The pieces were neither wood nor stone, but something more abstract, shaped by intent and consequence.
One piece had changed position.
Daverion studied the board for a brief moment, then nodded.
"How unpredictable," he murmured. "If everything had remained the same, we would have met in the event hall… but apparently not."
He lowered his hand. The space closed without a sound, and the garden was once again just a garden.
Then he looked at Lila.
"Bring three more chairs," he said casually.
Lila blinked, confused. She counted mentally. Lyra, Therion, Daverion. Three. She did not understand the request.
Before she could ask, something shifted.
Behind her, the air grew heavier.
An older man appeared without visible transition, as though he had always been there and the world had only just noticed him. His presence carried an ancient authority, deep and undeniable. It was not violent pressure, but one that commanded instinctive respect.
Everyone reacted instantly.
The designated leader dropped to one knee, bowing his head without hesitation.
Therion straightened and performed a flawless bow.
Lyra bowed as well… but only for a second.
Recognition lit her eyes, and she ran forward.
"Grandfather!" she exclaimed.
Lila still did not understand what was happening. She watched the reactions, confused, until she heard Lyra's voice clearly:
"Greetings to the former emperor."
Lila's heart leapt. She turned sharply, saw the man, and froze. Fear ran down her spine. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees.
"Greetings to the former emperor," she said, her voice tight.
Lyra had already reached him and hugged him without any formality, as though his title carried no weight at all.
The older man smiled and raised a hand, dismissing the bows.
Theron watched the scene calmly, then turned his attention to Daverion.
"It's a pleasure to have you here," he said. "I didn't think you'd accept my granddaughter's invitation."
Daverion smiled faintly.
"It's a good way to pass the time."
Theron's smile slowly faded. His expression hardened. He turned his head and fixed his gaze on one of the trees at the far edge of the garden, where the shadows were thickest.
"Mael," he said firmly. "How long do you intend to keep hiding?"
The name echoed clearly.
Everyone looked toward the tree's shadow, confused. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the darkness moved.
From within the shadows emerged a slender man with a calm demeanor, his pleasant expression contrasting sharply with the way he had been revealed. He walked forward naturally, as though this were only a minor inconvenience.
Everyone was surprised.
Everyone except Daverion.
"Theron," the man said with a light smile. "What's the problem? I just arrived."
His tone was relaxed. Too relaxed for someone who had been hiding in the imperial garden.
Silence settled briefly over the space.
Glances crossed, some tense, others calculating. The air had changed, though no one said it aloud. Two new presences occupied the garden with unsettling ease.
Daverion did not move.
His gaze dropped briefly to the table at the kiosk.
He had asked for three chairs.
But only two had arrived.
He did not think further.
It was unnecessary.
Someone was still missing.