The scent of wet stone and lavender lingered in the air long after the rain had stopped. Lira stood alone beneath the arch of the abandoned opera house, her cloak soaked and voice quiet. Her mind replayed the fleeting encounter with the stranger—the man with fire in his eyes and sorrow in his voice.
> "The moment you looked at me, I knew my life would never be mine again."
His words haunted her. She didn't even know his name, but somehow it felt like she'd always known him.
She returned to the Court the next morning, her duties as the royal singer resuming with rehearsed smiles and perfectly timed notes. But inside, a melody churned—wild, chaotic, unfinished.
That night, she sat by the window, strumming a forgotten lullaby on her lyre. The notes fell into place like pieces of a dream. As her fingers danced, she realized—she had been followed. Not by danger... but by a presence. A shadow.
A letter was slipped under her door. No seal. No signature.
> "Midnight. The Whispering Garden. Come alone. - For the truth."
Curiosity, like a flame, burned through her caution.
The Whispering Garden was a hidden place in the northern woods, where enchanted winds echoed secrets of those who dared to speak aloud. Lira crept through the mist, her steps soft as petals falling.
He stood waiting.
The fighter. The stranger. The man with a soul darker than night and gentler than sunlight.
"You came," he whispered, pulling down his hood.
For the first time, she saw his face. Bruised knuckles. A scar on his brow. And eyes... eyes that looked like war and peace at once.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm the silence behind your songs," he said, voice low. "I'm the reason you sing with sorrow."
Lightning cracked behind them, thunder rolling like applause.
And then—he knelt. Not in surrender, but in confession.
> "My name is Kael. I'm the King's shadow. A fighter in the ring, a weapon in the dark. I was ordered to follow you. But I disobeyed… because the moment you looked at me, I couldn't let you become a secret I had to destroy."
Lira's breath caught. The story was only beginning—and already, the melody had changed.