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Eden

THE SUN HUNG low in the sky, casting long shadows across the land. Its dying light washed the castle in amber, violet, and crimson hues. The white stone gleamed beneath it, creating a stark contrast against the darkening sky. Its towers pierced the evening haze like silent sentinels. The pristine walls stretched high. It was a fortress built for protection and power—a symbol of the monarchy that ruled within.

The road to the gate was quiet, save for the distant murmur of the city behind me. A scent of damp stone and fresh-cut hay lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of burning oil from the torches lining the outer walls. Beneath it all was the aroma of steel, blood, and the weight of expectation.

Two knights stood at the entrance, clad in polished armor that captured the last glimmers of sunlight. The metal was delicate, not gaudy, just intricate enough to remind one that even the lowest castle guards stood well above those outside these walls. They held practiced, unmoving postures, their stillness born from familiarity. This was their usual post, and the boredom of routine had settled into them.

A strange sensation coiled in my stomach when I paused before them. I had come this far, but as I stood before the castle and gazed at the imposing gate, the unknown bore down on me.

I didn’t belong here. The courts of Aurelith were for the refined, well-bred, and well-groomed—not for a girl with scars concealed beneath layers of frayed and muddy cloth. Nor for someone who had learned to heal out of necessity, not luxury.

An impatient grunt jolted me from my thoughts.

One knight shifted. The other turned his head. The metal of his helmet glinted in the dim light as he regarded me.

I schooled my expression into a harmless smile that masked sharp edges. “Must be boring, standing there all day like that,” I greeted, tilting my head. “Do they at least let you blink?”

A long sigh echoed from the knight on the left, his vexation palpable even through the metal. He didn’t move, didn’t react beyond that drawn-out breath. But the knight on the right’s gaze flickered. Through the slit of his visor, emerald-green eyes narrowed on me. “State your business, commoner.”

Commoner . As if I needed the reminder.

My fingers tightened against my cloak. The fabric restrained me while I swallowed the sharp retort that threatened to emerge. The weight of my satchel dug into my shoulder and reminded me why I was here, the proof that I had something to offer beyond my bloodline.

I lifted my chin and met the knight’s gaze with defiance. “I am here about the herbalist position.”

The knight to the left let out a long, weary sigh, as if he had decided that this was a waste of his time. “Another one.”

The knight before me shifted his weight, and his eyes, sharp despite the barrier of his helm, once again locked onto mine. “Do you have proof?” His voice held a slight edge, not quite impatience, but close. “Too many have been seeking the position in the past few days.”

A gentle breeze stirred the air, carrying the aroma of frosty stone and the lingering smoke from the torches above. The last rays of sunlight reflected off the knight’s polished pauldrons and gilded the metal in a fading golden glow before the shadows crept in.

“Our people have work to do,” he continued. “Don’t waste their time.”

I held his gaze, refusing to waver. “Of course.” From my satchel, I retrieved the folded parchment—the Court Herbalist Needed notice—along with my journal. This was my proof: not just charcoal on parchment, but experience.

I straightened and extended my hands, keeping them steady. Let them think what they wanted of me. The words on those pages held more importance than any assumptions they had about who I was.

His helmet darkened in the fading light as the sun dipped below the horizon. I couldn’t determine the point of his stare, yet I felt his eyes on me as the heavy silence settled between us. After a few slow breaths, he reached out. His gauntleted hand closed over the journal and lifted it from my grasp with a gentle, almost weightless touch. The parchment whispered as he skimmed the notes, the pressed herbs, and the sketches.

He lifted his head. “These are yours?”

“Yes.”

His fingers lingered on the edge of a page. The leather of his glove brushed against an old ink stain I had tried and failed to scrub clean. He snapped the journal shut with a decisive movement and handed it back. The other knight, who had shown no interest until now, turned his gaze to watch him. Perhaps curious about what had made him pause.

I took the journal from his outstretched hand and slipped the flier inside, folding my hands over it and pressing them against my waist. The cool leather felt soothing and prevented my mind from wandering further into doubt.

“You are to go straight to the infirmary,” he said. His tone was as firm as before, though it was now less detached and more deliberate.

He rattled off directions, a series of turns and hallways I was expected to follow. The words blurred. My focus shifted between the overwhelming weight of the moment and the looming gates that separated me from whatever awaited inside. When he stopped, I nodded.

Glancing at the other knight, he turned and raised a hand in silent command. The heavy gates groaned as the guards pulled them open, the iron hinges echoing in the evening air. Beyond, the castle loomed taller, its archways swallowing the last sliver of light.

The gates groaned shut behind me, sealing me within the castle’s hold. The path stretched ahead, winding toward the grand archway, its stones darkened by shadow. The remaining traces of snow, thin but stubborn, crunched softly under my boots, the sound swallowed by the vast silence pressing in from all sides.

Thick clouds concealed the moon, offering only fleeting glimpses of silver light breaking through the shifting veils of darkness. It cast pale, fractured beams across the yard that caught in the delicate frost clinging to the iron railings and the sculpted stone of the castle walls. The crisp, cold air nipped at my exposed skin, curling in soft, ghostly wisps with each breath I took.

The castle walls loomed high. Its white stone glistened under the feeble light in a stark contrast against the night sky. The architecture featured intricate turrets that towered over arched windows, flickering with the faint glow of torchlight. A grand crest adorned the facade above the main entrance, a symbol of power carved into the bones of the structure.

Lanterns lined the pathway. Their golden light flickered against the snowfall drifting by. Banners hung from the stone, their edges stiff with frost, and the sigils embroidered upon them dimmed in the soft glow. With each step, I ventured deeper into something vast and unshakable. The prestige of the castle and the history embedded in its walls swayed me.

My attention shifted to a faint trickle of water flowing over smooth rocks in the first corridor. Floral and rich scents, inappropriate for castle halls that should smell only of cold stone and burning torches, filled the air. Their insistence curled around me, guiding my steps.

The corridor led to a series of archways, their stone filigreed with ivy. The tendrils stretched along the columns as if reaching for the sky. A garden bathed in moonlight rested beyond them. The night’s silver glow poured in from above and illuminated the space in a way that made it seem untouched by time. It should have been barren, stripped of life by the frost.

Frostflies drifted lazily through the air, their wings pulsing in shifting shades of blue, gold, and violet- embers stolen from a dying star. They fluttered between blooms of flowers I had never encountered before. The petals curled in strange, intricate formations, their colors both unnatural and mesmerizing. Roses, dark as wine and tipped with silver frost, climbed the walls and wrapped around the pillars, their thorns gleaming in the faint light.

In the heart of the garden stood a willow tree that whispered in the breeze, its branches draping low. Beneath it, nestled in a bed of moss and pale winter blossoms, sat a birdbath of polished stone. Its basin rippled with liquid moonlight. I stepped forward, drawn by the unspoken secrets.

Aurelith’s courts may have condemned magic, but within these walls, it breathed.

My fingers grazed the cool stone of the archway while I basked in the sight before me. Every instinct I had—to look, touch, learn—pulled me forward, deeper into the garden’s embrace. But reason whispered its warnings: I wasn’t yet official here, not yet safe. In a place where magic endured despite its ban, touching the wrong object could lead to unforeseen consequences I couldn’t manage.

Still, the ache to understand burned in me.

Glancing around, I scanned the shadowy corridors and searched for any sign of movement. The castle had been quiet thus far, but that didn’t mean unseen eyes weren’t watching. Confident in my solitude, I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply.

Layered and intricate scents filled the air. Damp soil, dewy petals, and the crisp bite of frost nipped at the edges. The rich, dark rose perfume mingled with the peculiar, sweet scent of flowers I couldn’t name. The water in the birdbath held a faint mineral tang, and its rippling surface sang softly in the wind. And magic dwelled there, humming beneath it all, not in the manner of spells or raw power but in a more profound way, woven into the roots of the place. I dissected each aroma and sound, cataloging them.

One could forget the outside world here.

With reluctance, I opened my eyes and compelled myself to return to the present.

My time to comprehend this garden would come, but not tonight.

“Dilthen Doe.”

The deep, commanding voice echoed through the corridors. Each syllable bled into my skin, felt rather than heard. My breath caught when the figure emerged from the shadows. The torchlight flickered against black armor gilded with intricate etchings. The dim glow of gold veins ran through the obsidian plates, signifying more than just armor. It stood as a statement, a warning, a legacy carved in steel.

His helmet bore horns that weren’t ornamental nor for spectacle. Purposeful and thoughtful carvings framed him, a creature forged in battle, not merely a soldier in its service.

I had met powerful men who sought to own, control, and break others. But he was different. There was no pretense of civility and no need for manipulation.

This man didn’t go to war; he was the war. He didn’t need to seize power; it yielded to him.

His intense gaze fixed on me, and my grip tightened around my journal at my front. He carried an air about him, like the moment before a storm, when the air pulsated with unseen energy, poised to break.

I had been cautious. I had touched nothing. I had broken no rules. Yet, the air grew charged with inescapable tension.

One thing was sure: I wasn’t supposed to be here.

“I presume the guards allowed you entry,” he said, smoother now but no less fierce. “State your purpose.”

I swallowed and turned to face him fully. “I am seeking the herbalist position,” I said, lifting my chin to feign confidence. “I was instructed to visit the infirmary.”

A sharp huff echoed from behind his dark helmet, little more than a breath but loaded with meaning—judgment, displeasure, or perhaps simple impatience. For a moment, he said nothing, remaining unreadable until he spun around with the effortless authority he possessed in his solitary presence. “Follow me.”

I blinked.

His strides were steady yet swift. His armor produced no extraneous noise, only the subtle sound of metal shifting as he moved.

“Oh.” The word slipped out while I adjusted my grip on my satchel before rushing to keep up. He turned a corner, never looking back to see if I was following, as if he knew I would. I hurried to catch up to him. The stone walls closed in around us, and the scents of the strange moonlit garden faded as I was drawn deeper into the castle’s embrace.