The trek to the Lotus always felt perilous to Adrian. There was always a sense of uneasiness as if eyes were watching him from within the crowds. Even in broad daylight, he couldn't help but feel insecure with that exact sensation drowning him.

So many people. So many eyes. So much that it was impossible not to heed those who paused their milling to stare at him like they knew what he was—who he was. Goosebumps tracing up his neck urged him to lower his hood, and he eagerly obliged.

He was being scrutinized by everyone, everything. He could always sense it. Every moment, every second. And he hated it so much that the blood pounding in his ears only ceased after he burst through the doors of the familiar inn. The squeaking of the wooden door resonated in the quiet and, fortunately, empty interior. Unoccupied, quaint tables dotted the left and right sides of the inn, and the only person in the building was the innkeeper standing behind the graying front desk.

Adrian was panting, his heart hammering against his ribcage, but he had no time to appease himself. Taking deep breaths, he approached the innkeeper and removed his hood as the decaying floorboards groaned beneath him.

"Do you have a reservation, sir?" the impassive innkeeper asked.

"No, I am awaiting the perfect hour for darkness to loom."

The innkeeper's eyes sparked with a newfound interest. "For when the darkness is conquered—"

"A flower shall bloom," Adrian whispered, licking his dried lips.

A bow. "The Dark Lotus humbly accepts your oath. Right this way, sir."

The innkeeper led Adrian to a hidden room deep in the inn. Metal clinked as the innkeeper unlocked the door and faded beyond the dim threshold. Inside, there was a circle of gray stone on the ground. The innkeeper crouched, resting his palm on the surface as deep cuts separated the gray stone into slabs that sank into the earth and stopped at precise intervals to form a spiral staircase.

Standing, the innkeeper beckoned for Adrian to descend the staircase. "May you enjoy your visit."

Adrian dismissed the innkeeper with a nod before walking down the stairs, darkness encompassing him when the stone slabs ascended to the surface. His steps were silent until he reached the bottom, where a puddle of water splashed, the sound reverberating through an unlit tunnel. Splashing footfalls bounced off the walls, and as he neared the end, blinding firelight engulfed him little by little until he finally reached the heart of the Dark Lotus's main base.

As always, the glamor of the underground city was truly exquisite, and Adrian was reminded of that every time he visited. But today, he couldn't bring himself to care. Knowing what he must do, he ignored everything: the fascinating buildings, crowded streets, outlandish attire of the corrupt nobles, and even some aimless scowls directed at him. Analyzing such trivial details resulted in nothing when he approached his invitation to Lexitem with every step closer to Lucius.

Lying to Lucius. . . The proposal itself was ludicrous. Either Two wanted Adrian dead, or she had lost all sense of judgment. And the fact he was going to attempt this endeavor was beyond his comprehension.

His boots crunched in the gravel as he stopped before one of the dull edifices. Intricate patterns of shapes were chiseled into the stone, and flags bearing the sigil of the white tiger hung over the ledge of the roof. Clenching his teeth, he pushed past a set of glass doors.

He had never been to Rem, didn't even know a single hint of Remian culture, but every time he visited Lucius, he could hear everything inside scream Rem. Frankly, he didn't know whether that intimidated him or made him feel outright uncomfortable.

The walls and floors were colored with thick gold. At the center of the spacious parlor, there was a split staircase laden with so many unusual designs that Adrian felt sick. He climbed those stairs to the top, where a wooden door stood, waiting for him. Staring at a blooming lotus carved in the center of the door, he gulped.

Lucius's room—the end of his journey. Adrian knocked twice, waited for a response, and entered when he heard Lucius's approval. Standing before Lucius's desk, he lowered his gaze in deference as Lucius stared out a window thick with grime, his hands clasped behind him.

The room was small and unfurnished. There was only one window, one desk, one chair, a bunch of papers stacked all over the place, and some other. . . oddities. Torchlight from outside gleamed through the window, tinging the room a light brown, casting shadows of the grime across the floor. The longer Adrian stood in silence, the more Lucius's shadow seemed to stretch over him, enveloping him in darkness.

"So, tell me why you are here, Zuraias," Lucius said, still facing the window.

The shadows seemed to grow darker every second as Adrian replied, "The mission is going well, though we still haven't captured the target. We have a lead in Lumina—"

Lucius clicked his tongue. "I have no interest in such details. How is Two fairing?"

Adrian began picking on his nails. "She's not deviating from the mission or making any careless mishaps. In fact, she's been a lot like her past self lately."

Silence. Adrian fidgeted, his mouth going dry as sweat doused his palms. Lucius let out a drawn-out sigh and turned, his fierce eyes piercing. "Zuraias, it is one thing to disobey and another to blatantly lie. Although I prefer neither, I despise the latter more, for it is a feat accomplished in my presence. So before I lose my faith in you, too, tell me: why are you here?"

As Lucius's gaze and oppressive aura permeated the air, darkness expanded from the corners of the room. It swallowed Adrian, swirling around him and molding itself into a silhouette of a child who clenched tightly onto a cloak and curled into a ball before fading into wisps of black mist. Horrible memories. Such horrible memories.

The air was stolen from his lungs as Adrian choked out, "Th-There's a slight pre-predicament. We were spotted torturing a noble in the slums." When the truth was revealed, the darkness faded. As Adrian gasped for breath, it took all his will to not fall onto his knees.

"And I presume you let this witness escape," Lucius said. A hint of fury was intertwined behind his reserved demeanor. Adrian didn't respond—couldn't respond—so Lucius returned to his original position facing the window, the corner of his mouth twitching as he did. Taking the silence as a sign, Adrian turned to leave, but when his hand landed on the doorknob, Lucius's sinister tone stopped him dead.

"Leontas"—the name made Adrian's blood run cold—"I had a conference with the client, and they stressed they wanted the target dead before the next full moon."

Adrian felt too lightheaded to think, but he still found it in himself to complain. "But that's not enough time."

"It is. It must be." Lucius's disapproval was almost tangible. "And you will finish it before then."

Adrian's grip on the doorknob tightened as Lucius slowly turned on his heels, his gray eyes full of animosity. He added, "And Leontas"—Adrian released a trembling breath—"after killing the target, if you do that is, send Two to report the mission's success. It is time you deserve a break from such an uneventful task."

"Yes, sir." Bowing, Adrian was about to flee this hell when he felt a hand gently grip his shoulder. Hot air caressed his ear.

"Don't fail me, Leontas," Lucius whispered. "We don't need another traitor in our midst."

Swallowing, Adrian left, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. Blinking rapidly, he choked in a staggering gasp before the strength in his legs dissolved, and he plummeted to the floor.

* * *

The wind howled in Sylvia's ears, snow and ice swirling with the rhythm of the raging blizzard. Her limbs were numb, blood rushing to her heart, but she still felt the pressure of her wristlet weighing her down.

When she received it, it was a gift—a gift that came with one promise: protect him. And she did. Every day, every second, every breath as she recalled those dying fingers tracing over the white vines and that weak voice explaining the design. Closing her eyes, she traced the wolf head resting on the back of her hand. Her thumbs grazed the bumps of its two diamond eyes, and further along, she felt the mouth biting the twisting grape vines curling around her wrist.

A wolf, biting the grapevines of the Wineyards—Umbra's sigil. It was meant to act as a talisman, but when she noticed the three rings designed as a wolf's tail attached to separate chains sprouting from the head, she felt it represented something far more. However, now it only represented the last time she saw her brother, the last gift he gave her, and the last request he left her before the guards pulled her away. Only the wristlet and one of its rings holding her and her brother together before the chain snapped, and her brother passed into Lexitem's arms.

Even now, she felt the ghost of that third ring resting on her middle finger, heard the broken chain clattering against the ground, so her wristlet was more than just a promise. And this place, the blizzard, was more than what it seemed.

When she opened her eyes, a figure shrouded by the icy storm slowly neared until a body emerged. It was pale and frozen with black veins covering its skin, and the storm whirled around it as if it were controlling the blizzard.

She recognized it—him. He was Jimin, but something was. . . different. His blue eyes were an unnatural white, and his expression was blank—hollow, his entire being radiating fury. Whoever she was looking at, it wasn't Jimin. That couldn't be Jimin, but he looked like him, walked like him as he limped towards her, ice frosting over his hands.

That wasn't Jimin. He picked up his pace.

That wasn't Jimin. Pulled his arm back.

That wasn't Jimin. Before he struck her, she backhanded him with her left hand. His skin was so frozen that a chain on her wristlet snapped loose, its broken pieces clattering against the floor as she was dragged away from the storm, from Jimin, and into darkness.

* * *

Sylvia awoke in Jimin's room, her head resting on his bed. As her blurry vision cleared, her wristlet came into view. Her gaze trailed over the vines, the wolf head, and the two chains still attached to the rings, one on her forefinger and the other on her ring finger.

She sat upright, searching for Jimin, but when all she saw were rumpled sheets, her heart sank. She stood and pushed her chair to the side, her eyes scanning the empty room, when she found a folded parchment resting on the nightstand next to her. Unfolding it, she read the words scribbled on the smooth surface, and her stomach twisted.

Injured, Jimin going anywhere was dangerous, so she couldn't allow it. Not with his assailant still roaming free. Clutching the note in her fists, she rushed out of the room and almost rammed into a young sentinel standing guard. But something was wrong. He stood in front of the door as if—as if he was blocking her.

"Where is my brother?" she asked.

A look of sympathy crossed the sentinel's face as he bowed low. "I apologize, Your Highness. The crown prince left moments ago and commanded me to watch over you."

Sylvia gritted her teeth, her breath heavy. "Where is he?"

"His Highness suggested that you remain here," the sentinel said.

A rush of nausea crashed within her. Jimin was pushing her away again. After all the hardships she endured to tear down his walls, he always built more, and they always came back taller, sturdier. But she couldn't let him live in isolation. Not this time. She made a promise, and she planned to fulfill it. "I am your Princess, and I command you," she said louder than she intended. "Tell me where he is."

There was silence, and she was about to slap the sentinel for allowing Jimin to leave in such a state, for refusing to obey her. But the sentinel quickly acquiesced with a sigh and said, "The stables."

Sylvia immediately pushed past him and sprinted through the halls, gently lifting her dress so she wouldn't trip. Her wristlet weighed her down more than ever as she passed countless corridors, windows, and guards before making it outside, where the stars twinkled in the twilight and the autumn wind bit her face. As she neared the stables, she saw Jimin stuffing his satchel into a saddlebag.

"What are you doing, Jimin!?" she shouted. "You are not fully healed, and you plan to leave!?"

Jimin paused his packing, his back facing Sylvia. "I have to travel to Stieffera. I have no choice." He tightened the straps over the saddle and flinched as he prepared to mount his mare.

Sylvia scoffed. "Stieffera? You are in no condition to travel, and you just met Mother Erna. Is there really any reason to see Elkii?"

There must have been more fury laden in her voice than she intended because Jimin lowered his foot from the stirrup and turned to her. He gently grasped her shoulders, his blue eyes staring into hers. "I will return shortly. Unfortunate events led me to this decision, but after I visit the Oracle and relieve myself of my worries, I will come home," he said. His arms wrapped around her as he pulled her into a warm embrace, but at the same time, it was unfamiliar, cold, distant.

Sylvia shifted her gaze to the black mare, to the saddlebag that hung at its side, and she noticed the tip of Jimin's leather waterskin sticking out of the top. For anyone else, it was a source of water, but for a water elemental, for Jimin, it implied danger lay ahead. Her fingers brushed over his swollen arm as she said, "You are still injured. Can this journey not wait?"

"The healers did their best."

"It is not enough," she complained, but he dismissed her words and mounted his black mare, giving her a perfect view of the dark veins snaking over his leg. Recalling her dream, Sylvia opened her mouth to protest, but Jimin pulled on the reins, the strain of leather and the horse's huffing filling the air.

His actions. His demeanor. His tone. They were too familiar, and looking at his face, she saw it: the same expression he wore the day Tobias was lost.

"Can you at least promise that you will return?" Sylvia asked. She remembered how Jimin cried that day, how he curled into a ball in the corner of his room, how since then, he began to isolate himself during moments of distress. Like he was doing now.

Jimin was silent, unmoving before he whipped the reins and rode away into the night—never looking back. Tears blurred Sylvia's vision as she watched her brother ride out of the castle, and the note crinkled in her fist as Jimin faded from view and left her alone. Exactly like years before. Only the weight of the silver vines growing tighter around her wrist and the ghost of the lost ring squeezing her finger keeping her company.