Vincent/Vaelthor~
I sat on the weathered stone bench beneath the ancient oak in the palace gardens, its colossal branches stretching outward like the arms of a silent sentinel. Sunlight poured through the canopy in scattered ribbons, dappling the ground with gold and shadow. The morning air carried the crisp bite of autumn, wrapped in the sweet scent of blooming jasmine and the earthiness of dew-soaked grass. It was a scene so calm it felt almost cruel—like the world itself was mocking the war tightening in my chest.
Sylthara and I had slipped away right before breakfast, escaping the stiff smiles and watchful eyes of the royal household. Here, beneath this oak that had seen centuries pass, I could breathe without pretending.
