Something Is Wrong Here

Time passed in a blur. From the third to the fifth day of their shared encounter at the edge of the empire, near the forsaken orphanage where they had discovered the enigmatic flower child, Lyra, many things had transpired. None of which should have ever occurred.

Two lords who were sworn enemies, bound only by their relentless competition, now found themselves sharing meals, tending to a child, and scouring the abandoned ruins in search of answers. The logic of their world had unraveled in mere days, yet none dared voice it aloud.

Both Seraphina and Caelum sought answers—how had this delicate, ethereal girl survived alone in this desolate place? Each time they inquired, Lyra would only smile, her silver hair catching the sunlight, and say, "The flowers take care of me." Her voice was sweet and unwavering, as if she spoke a profound truth rather than a child's fantasy.

Yet no matter how many times they asked, no matter how gently or sternly they pressed, she never elaborated. There were no tracks, no remnants of other people, no signs of provisions or caretakers. Nothing.

Frustration gnawed at Caelum as he prowled the orphanage's remnants, his sharp eyes scanning the debris and overgrown floors for any clue. His knights aided his search, overturning broken furniture and shifting through layers of dust and time, but there was nothing—just crumbling walls, abandoned cots, and silence.

After what felt like hours, he found himself once again in the very center of the orphanage, standing in the open hall where the cold wind whispered through shattered windows. He exhaled sharply, his patience thinning. There has to be something.

A sudden unease crept into his senses. He stilled, his gaze lowering to the ground beneath his boots. There was something… off about it. The way the floor ever so slightly curved under the weight of time, an anomaly nearly invisible beneath the creeping moss and tangled roots. His violet eyes narrowed. Bending down, he brushed his hand over the damp surface, scraping away the layer of dirt, his fingers tracing over something rough.

Carvings.

Ancient, intricate symbols marred the stone, though many had been worn away by time—or deliberately destroyed. He ran his fingers along the circular markings, following the delicate yet cryptic patterns, his mind racing. This was no ordinary ruin.

Someone had tried to erase whatever had once been here.

Meanwhile, beyond the orphanage walls, Seraphina sat beneath the shade of an oak tree, her piercing crimson gaze fixed on the child sitting cross-legged before her. If there was even a shred of information to be found, it would be through Lyra herself.

Seraphina's tone was softer than usual, devoid of its usual sharpness. "Lyra," she began, measuring her words, "can you tell me anything else? Anything at all about this place?"

Lyra hummed, playing with a loose strand of her silvery hair. "Hmm… I woke up here one day," she finally said.

Seraphina's brows furrowed. "Woke up?"

Lyra nodded, her pale blue eyes distant, as if remembering something beyond reach. "I was sleeping… Then I woke up here, in the middle of the flowers."

Seraphina's breath hitched. "You don't remember anything before that?"

The child shook her head, still smiling. "Nope. Just the flowers. They were very soft."

A chill ran down Seraphina's spine. Waking up in a field of flowers, with no memory of anything before? No sign of caretakers, no history of who she was or where she had come from?

Something was terribly wrong.

And somewhere, not too far from them, Caelum had come to the very same realization.