The morning mist curled like shy phantoms over the garden path, and from her perch on the old stone bench beneath the flowering hawthorn, Elowen tilted her head toward the low hum of the breeze. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the silver embroidery of a ribbon Caelum had tied in her hair the day before — pale violet silk that fluttered softly when the wind passed.
Caelum arrived with two cups of honeyed milk, warmed just enough to chase away the lingering chill in the air. He handed her one with a grin and flopped down beside her without ceremony, his shoulder brushing hers as he let out a dramatic sigh.
"Did I miss anything?" he asked.
She sipped slowly. "Only the birds fighting over crumbs from the cook's window."
"Should've brought popcorn."
She laughed, a clear, bell-like sound that made Caelum glance sideways at her — just to see if she was real. It still felt surreal sometimes. To be here, to have her beside him like this. Her hair loose and wild with the morning breeze, eyes gentler than any villainess should have been allowed.
Their quiet moment was broken by the distant sound of hooves clattering against the cobblestones.
Both of them turned toward the front gates. A rider in dark, travel-worn clothing had appeared, dismounting with the stiffness of someone who had ridden through the night. The guards exchanged confused glances before allowing him entrance.
"Who is that?" Caelum asked, rising to his feet.
Elowen's brows furrowed. "I don't know… but he bears no crest."
That was unusual. No noble traveled alone without a sigil — not unless they wanted to be forgotten.
The rider stopped in the courtyard, pulling down his hood. He was young — maybe a few years older than Caelum — with storm-gray eyes and a faint, unreadable smirk. He didn't seem dangerous, but there was a weight to the air around him, like the stillness before thunder.
He handed something to the steward, who promptly left to alert Lord Thorne. Caelum noticed the man's hand linger briefly on the hilt of his sword before returning it to his side.
"Should we… go back inside?" Caelum asked.
Elowen shook her head slowly. "No. Let's wait."
As they stood in silence, Caelum glanced at her — her posture was relaxed, but her fingers gripped her cup tightly. Her magic pulsed faintly in the air, like invisible strings tightening and loosening around them. And when she exhaled, the hawthorn's petals rustled even though the breeze had stopped.
Something about the stranger unsettled her.
Moments later, Lord Thorne stepped into the courtyard to greet the newcomer. Their voices were too far to make out clearly, but Caelum's notebook twitched in his pocket.
Not now, he thought. But curiosity itched at him.
He pulled it out anyway. A faint shimmer crossed the page:
"The catalyst arrives — veiled in ash, carrying secrets not written."
His pulse quickened.
Elowen noticed the shift in his expression. "What does it say?"
"Nothing good," he murmured. "I think he's part of the change."
They watched as Lord Thorne escorted the stranger inside, their voices disappearing behind the grand doors.
For a few minutes, silence fell again. Then Elowen turned to him, eyes narrowed in thought. "Do you trust your notebook?"
Caelum paused. "I don't know. But it hasn't lied to me yet."
She nodded slowly. "Then… stay close. Whatever's coming, I don't want to face it without you."
The words were simple — but they landed with the weight of a promise. Caelum smiled and stepped closer, wrapping his pinky finger around hers.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
Not now. Not ever.