Rosalyn couldn’t take her eyes off his back, his long silver hair swaying gracefully with every movement he made. He was crushing and mixing something on the worktable, the sounds echoing through the Abandoned Garden. He seemed to belong in this space, familiar with each item and shrub that took its roots here. She stayed still, her heart hammered, mind anticipating.

  LV finally turned from the worktable to face her. Her chest tightened. It was the first time she was seeing him from up front.

  His long white robes lay impeccably yet naturally over his lean, sculpted torso, the collar and sleeve edges embroidered with the, now familiar to her, silver vines. His face, however, remained veiled by mist. Rosalyn could only make out his chin and lips, the rest obscured. In his hands, he held a small wooden bowl filled with a white paste. A fresh herbal fragrance reached her senses.

  As he calmly walked over to her, a gentle wind stirred his mantle-like upper robe, white as well, slightly opening it, revealing an inner layer of chrysolite silk.

  Rosalyn’s pulse spiked, yearning slamming into her chest with force when he carefully sat beside her on the moss, close, yet at a respectful distance, not touching her. She shivered, a strange anticipation overtaking her, though she didn’t dare look at him.

  Then his deep voice came: calm, clear, gentle.

  “May I see your shoulder?”

  Her eyes widened, caught off guard by the intimate question. She abruptly faced him, blushing, surprised. This sudden movement however made her bruise flare painfully, and she let out an involuntary hiss. After a moment, she glanced at him. LV was waiting, patient, holding the bowl.

  Feeling her cheeks warm, she exhaled and slowly shifted the fabric of her blouse aside, exposing her bare shoulder. The deep wound contrasted sharply against her pale skin. It was still painful to look at even though the gash was closed and beginning to heal.

  LV stared at it silently. She looked away, growing increasingly embarrassed.

  “You have endured it.” he said with seriousness, though an undercurrent of regret threaded his voice.

  He then shifted closer to her.

  “May I?” he asked again.

  When she nodded, he dipped his fingers into the paste and gently spread it over the wound. She whimpered at the cold contact. He paused. Then, after what seemed like a moment’s hesitation, he approached his face toward her shoulder and softly blew it. She shivered. He lingered there, his breath warm against her injured skin, and she felt the pain gradually dull, as though wrapped in balm. Not only her wound but her heartbeat steadied as well.

  She leaned more easily against the almond tree’s trunk, breathing deeper, her eyelids fluttering closed. The yearning that had seized her moments before slowly ebbed, leaving behind a sweet, unfamiliar peace.

  LV eventually withdrew, carefully pulling her blouse back into place with reverent hands. She opened her eyes and looked at him, trying to read his lips through the mist.

  “Who are you?” she asked quietly. “Why do you keep appearing to me?”

  His long fingers paused briefly on the fabric before they too withdrew.

  “Those visions are the only means I have to reach you outside the current Academy’s Grounds.”

  “Current?” she asked, her eyes never leaving him.

  LV nodded subtly, falling silent once more. He had finished treating her but made no move to leave, and the thought made her giddy. She couldn’t resist asking more.

  “Are you… real?”

  He leaned back against the tree’s bark, his head resting gently against the trunk as though gazing upward. His answer was quiet.

  “I have no heartbeat.”

  She froze then straightened abruptly, staring at his veiled face. She wished desperately to see through it. Before she could stop herself, her hand lifted and settled over his in a gesture of comfort, and inquiry.

  He didn’t pull away.

  His skin was cold.

  She flinched.

  Gently, he closed his fingers around her hand and guided it to his chest, placing it over where his heart should have been. He let her hand linger there, pressing lightly, allowing her to feel it. Empty. No sound. No beat. Her own heart accelerated at how unsettling it felt. LV kept her hand there a moment longer, as though drawing comfort from it himself, before finally releasing her.

  He stood up calmly. Rosalyn instantly felt the loss of his proximity.

  “Thank you for the drawing you left me,” he unexpectedly said after a moment of silence, turning back to her.

  Her breath hitched. Had he seen it? It couldn’t be… Still seated on the moss, yearning swelling once more in her chest, she whispered the same question she had written on the sketch.

  “Why do I long for you?”

  The gentle smile on his lips slowly faded, replaced by seriousness tinged with resignation.

  “I cannot stop it.” he replied. “Forgive me.”

  The mist thickened then, swirling around him and the surrounding Gardens, slowly swallowing his form. He was disappearing.

  “No! Wait! LV!” she cried, scrambling to her feet.

  The mist halted as if on command. For a fleeting instant, it thinned around his face and his features became clearer, his striking chrysolite eyes glowing, breaking through.

  “It is Lightveil… my little one…” he said softly.

  Rosalyn’s eyes snapped open. She blinked several times at the ceiling, trying to process, before abruptly sitting up. She quickly tugged her pajama sleeve down on her right shoulder. Her hands trembled as she stared.

  Her wound was completely gone. No mark, no scar, nothing.

  Blood rushed to her head. She scrambled out of bed, dressed hastily, and hurried out of her room. The sun was just beginning to rise, golden light spilling through Sir Vu’s penthouse. He wasn’t up yet. She crossed the living room quietly and pressed the elevator button.

  “I have to make sure. I have to see it with my own eyes.” She kept repeating to herself.

  Everything afterward passed in a blur. Public transport carried her toward the Academy, but Rosalyn barely registered the familiar crowds hurrying to work. She ran through the front gates and hurried down the forgotten western path leading to the Abandoned Gardens. Crossing the threshold, she headed straight to the dark granite rectangular block with its small clear pool. Her gaze snapped to the crack in the adjacent colonnade where she had left the sketch of Lightveil. She covered her lips with a trembling hand.

  The crevice was empty. The drawing was gone.

  “He’s real… He’s truly here. I’m not insane…” she whispered, pressing her hands together as she paced nervously. Fear and giddiness twisted together in her chest.

  Lightveil.

  Was he watching her now? What had he meant by current Academy? Was there a hidden history tied to it? And why did he want, need, to reach her?

  So many questions.

  She stopped, staring down at the ground, motionless for a moment. Her brow furrowed. It wasn’t as though she lacked questions about her choosing either. She needed to speak to Sir Vu. Properly.

  With a tired sigh, she pressed a hand to her forehead and exhaled before leaving the Abandoned Gardens. Students were already swarming the campus, life stirring as lessons approached. Unsure of her current Academy status, and with the trauma of the Memorial still vivid, Rosalyn took a less-used path through the pine forest leading toward the Academy’s front gates. It was calm here. The occasional cry of an oriole cut through the air, her boots crunching softly over mulch.

  But then a deep voice called out, startling her.

  “Rosalyn!”

  She turned and briefly froze. Victor was approaching in long, hurried strides. He looked different, less composed, less distant than usual. Disturbed. Unsettled. She waited in silence.

  “Hey…” he said awkwardly.

  She gave him a single nod, forcing a small smile.

  “Are you… I mean, after what happened…”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Listen, I tried to help, but I-” He cut himself off again, voice strained.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I’m not reproaching you for anything,” Rosalyn said calmly. “It’s true that I was hurt to take the blame alone. But I had agreed to your and Elisabeth’s plan. In the end I took part in it, even though I was against it. The price was heavy but it got paid for all three of us.”

  Victor said nothing, his jaw tightening.

  After a moment, she added quietly, her gaze distant, “If it weren’t for Sir Vu though, all my nightmares of a broken future, of being blacklisted, would’ve come true... I was close to despair. Broken. Physically and emotionally… You saw the trial, didn’t you?”

  “No… I left after stopping you.”

  “…I see.”

  Victor scoffed, irritation suddenly taking over him. “Well, what then? Would it have been better if I stayed and watched? What difference would it have made?”

  “Presence is felt.” Rosalyn replied evenly. “In a sea of hatred, feeling the presence of even one amicable person would’ve brought me relief.”

  “Like you would’ve even seen me.” he muttered.

  She watched him in silence, feeling exhaustion settling in.

  “Victor, I don’t want to face any more mockery or irony. I’ve had enough of it these past hours. My memories are still vivid. Let’s talk some other time.”

  She turned to leave but he grabbed her forearm.

  “Wait. Sorry.” His grip tightened. “I actually wanted to apologize. For everything. At the Memorial, I should’ve stayed… I should’ve carried the Burden of the Fallen stone instead of you…And… I never should’ve gone to the Archives in the first place… I only learned poison.”

  He laughed at his last words. A hollow, bitter sound. His fingers dug deeper into her flesh. Rosalyn studied him for a moment, then gently but firmly pried his hand from her arm. He let go, tense, his fist clenching at his side.

  “Victor.. can I ask you a personal question?”

  He looked at her expectantly.

  “That day on the bridge… why did you jump?”

  His jaw tightened and averted his gaze. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, distant:

  “…Do you ever feel like you’re losing control of your own body? You run, you resist but it slips away anyway… You end up committing crimes you never thought you’d ever do… You can’t stand your reflection anymore…. There’s no exit. Doom follows you no matter where you turn… You fear your own breath… You can’t turn the page. You can’t start anew…”

  His voice turned grimly cold, eyes locking on a point on the ground as if reliving the scene.

  “The canal’s swirling water… the freezing bottom…it felt inviting.”

  Victor’s gaze lifted to hers.

  “The bridge wasn’t my first attempt. It was my second. The first was at the Military Institute.”

  Then, with an intense stare, he added “You’re both my savior and my tormentor.”

  A longer, meaningful quiet settled, punctured only by the fluttering of the pines’ needles. Rosalyn replied gently:

  “I’m neither. I’m your friend. A friend who’s glad you’re alive, despite everything.”

  Surprise flickered faintly across his features. He turned away with an exasperated but fond chuckle:

  I can’t win against you…”

  -----------------------------

  Sir Vu was seated on his zebra-printed sofa, reviewing Dream Factory merchandise proposals, reading each with surprising attentiveness. He lifted his head when he heard the elevator doors slide open, followed by Rosalyn’s soft footsteps.

  “Ah, sweetheart! Aren’t you an early riser?” he greeted her, flashing his trademark fanged grin.

  “I’m sorry. Something urgent came up…”

  Sir Vu chuckled.

  “Why are you apologizing? This isn’t a cage. It’s a home. Feel free to roam, come and go as you please. You may even move the furniture or paint the walls if the mood strikes you.” He paused thoughtfully then added “However, I explicitly ban everything in shades of gray. I can’t stand that color.”

  He winced dramatically, making her suppress a smile as she looked down, amused.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Sir Vu asked, setting the papers aside on the low table as he stood. “We have quite a lot to discuss, and I suspect you have just as many questions. I deliberately decided to work from home today so that we could have this conversation. Our throats will grow sore quickly.”

  When she accepted, he began amassing various colorful vials from the high cupboards, some of them steaming faintly, and mixing them together as he spoke. Rosalyn watched the drink-making process, not entirely convinced of the end result.

  “So,” he said casually, eyes on the flasks, hands busy, “how does it feel to be freshly chosen, hm?”

  “I feel… normal,” she replied. “I didn’t notice any change, really.”

  “Craving instant spectacle?” he smirked. “You speak my language.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I do feel a certain anticipation, though. I’m curious about my role and powers as a Chosen. But I’m also deeply grateful because I really don’t think I deserve this title.”

  “Spoken like Humility’s Chosen,” Sir Vu chuckled. “I’d be questioning the Tree of Humility’s sanity and judgement if you suddenly told me how entitled and deserving you were. Though… I do still question Chad’s.”

  “Chad?”

  “My good old Tree of Hope, of course. I can also name your Tree if you’d like. How about Leslie?”

  “Um…”

  Fortunately, Rosalyn didn’t have to answer. Sir Vu’s attention shifted as he finished preparing the drinks. The liquid he poured was a bright azure, served in a tall glass with a triangular crystal cup. Ice cubes floated within, steam curling upward and encircling a crystal wing-like feather he added to the rim as a final flourish. He looked clearly satisfied.

  Handing her her glass which she eyed with surprised marvel, he winked:

  “Blue. Humility-themed.”

  They returned to the living room and settled comfortably onto the sofa. Sir Vu tapped his shoulder and asked:

  “How is it? Better?”

  Rosalyn’s heartbeat quickened. She hesitated, unsure whether to tell him about her complete, miraculous healing. Doing so would mean speaking about LV, no, Lightveil, and she wasn’t ready for that. She opted for caution.

  “It’s healing well,” she said with a small smile.

  He nodded then paused, pensive.

  “I keep telling myself I should’ve intervened earlier, before the situation became so severe. But at that time, I was… physically incapacitated.”

  “You weren’t at the Memorial?” she asked.

  “Oh, I was there,” Sir Vu replied. “But… the moment the lanterns shattered, a nerve-ripping pain slammed into me. I couldn’t breathe. I could barely stand, I folded in half… My consciousness kept drifting from the pain, squeezing tears from my eyes. I saw your accusation, then everything blurred again. I saw you carrying the stone, David’s cruelty… sounds and images overlapping. But the pain was too excruciating to react, let alone focus. I kept drifting. My head felt like it was splitting in two.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “I don’t know how long it lasted. The greater the suffering, the longer it seems to last.”

  Rosalyn’s eyes widened, her pulse racing. She looked down, uneasiness creeping up, then asked quietly:

  “This pain… what could it have been?”

  “I don’t know,” Sir Vu admitted. “I’m still relatively new to this myself. But I understood that my suffering was somehow linked to Chad’s. It seemed as though he was withstanding some sort of attack, causing him immense energy burn which for Chosen, translates into pain. As Chosen, we’re bonded to our Trees. We feel their pain, and in return, our pain helps them withstand attacks... Only when you accepted your role did my pain begin to subside. It was as if another hand suddenly joined in carrying the burden. That’s when I knew you had become Humility’s Chosen. Once I recovered, only then was I able to intervene in your case.”

  “Do you think it was this attack that caused the lanterns to shatter?”

  “Possibly. I can’t say whether David had a direct hand in it, but he certainly knew something would happen. He was far too prepared.”

  Rosalyn hesitated, then asked, “Why did you use your crystalized bloom and turn it into a cane? I felt this strange pressure… and people seemed confused afterward.”

  Sir Vu grinned. “Because my Hope sensor started beeping wildly.”

  She frowned at him which only made him laugh.

  “I tend to polarize crowds. People either love me or hate me.” he then declared confidentiality. “What I mean is: I don’t get swept up by crowds. I usually stir crowds so I don’t get stirred by them. This gives me a type of clarity in chaos. And I know crowd psychology. I know how easily people can be swayed to commit acts they’d never even consider on their own.”

  He swirled his drink slowly, thoughtful.

  “People aren’t inherently bad. That’s my belief. When a crowd suddenly becomes that brutal, that bloodthirsty, there’s usually some form of manipulation involved. What happened to you wasn’t just about punishment.”

  Rosalyn gazed into her glass, eyes distant. The clear blue liquid reflected her face, the steam now fully dissipated.

  “I observed them,” Sir Vu went on, “and I saw black smoke forming, curling around the crowds, engulfing people. Invisible to everyone but me because of my status as Hope’s Chosen.” Sir Vu leaned forward slightly. “At the moment of my choosing, in the dark void, I was given knowledge of the crystallized blooms. What they are and what they will become for us, Chosen. They are meant to be our weapons. These blooms obey our commands, and among the abilities mine possesses is the power to take the form of a cane, a tool meant to cleanse despair, mental manipulation and brainwashing.”

  A faint smile crossed his lips.

  “I recognized the situation at the Memorial and used the bloom for the first time. I won’t lie. It felt satisfying to see people wake up. But I know that this was only a sliver of our potential. Our true power will unlock later. I was told that once all Chosen are chosen, Wisdom’s Chosen will reveal themselves, step forward and give us further guidance.”

  Rosalyn absorbed his words in silence. Then a realization struck her.

  “But then… does it mean that the Chosen of Wisdom is already active?”