CHAPTER 9

[GARDENS OF QUITE SOUL]

"Make sure every chamber is prepared well," Fate said, his voice calm but commanding as he addressed a group of butlers, handmaidens, and stewards gathered before him. "There should not be a single error. No missteps. No casualties."

The head butler, a stout man named Gildren, bowed. "Yes, My Lord. The East Wing has already been arranged for the Royals of Noreda, Zion, and Earth. The West Wing shall host Riverdolfiya and Rusrich."

Fate nodded but did not respond. His mind was elsewhere.

"The Temple must remain untouched until the appointed hour," he added sharply. "Not even the guards are to cross its threshold until I say so."

The staff bowed and dispersed quickly, leaving Fate standing alone beneath the arched ceiling adorned with constellations that shimmered faintly with light of their own.

He exhaled slowly, turning toward the vast window that overlooked the valley below, where the Holy Temple stood in eerie stillness. Its golden dome reflected the last light of the setting sun, silent and imposing.

He pressed a hand against the cold glass.

It was not his choice.

Destiny had ordered the Temple's opening.

Even for Fate Stark-the Seer of Eldoria, the man who saw glimpses of what others could not-this was one command he could not defy. Destiny had spoken to him.

"Open the Temple. Gather the rulers. Let what has been written... begin."

Fate's jaw clenched as he whispered to himself, "It has begun then. The wheel turns whether we are ready or not."

The stars above Eldoria brightened, as if listening.

And far below, the Temple door trembled-ever so slightly.

ELVERA

The Eldoria Palace was breathtaking-far more majestic than Elvera of Noreda had ever imagined. Towering marble pillars soared toward vaulted ceilings etched with stardust patterns, and crystal chandeliers scattered light across the halls like fragments of a dream. The air pulsed with a quiet magic, ancient and alive.

Erevan walked beside her, calm and composed, while King Eren led them with his usual quiet authority. His cloak flowed behind him, the silver embroidery shimmering in the light-a symbol of Noreda's grace and strength.

Elvera had never been to Eldoria before. Though her brother had visited once, years ago, driven by curiosity and his love for travel, she had only heard stories. Erevan had written to her then-his letters filled with wonder, sketches of the palace, and the starmarked ceilings he couldn't stop raving about.

Now, being here, the place felt unreal. Sacred. Heavy with purpose.

They paused at the base of the grand staircase as Eldorian guards clad in silver and blue bowed in respect. Fate Stark had summoned them, but the reason behind it remained shrouded in mystery.

"I told you it would leave you speechless," Erevan said with a faint smile.

Elvera brushed her fingers along the cool stone railing. "It feels like the palace itself is watching us," she whispered.

"You'll feel even more exposed when you meet Fate," Erevan replied, his tone suddenly quiet, distant.

Elvera turned to him, curiosity lighting her features. "Why do you address him so casually? Everyone else calls him Lord Fate or Seer Stark. You just say his name."

Erevan smiled slightly, though a shadow lingered in his eyes. "I'm acquainted with him," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "Acquainted?"

"Years ago, during my first visit here, I stumbled upon him in the observatory," he said. "He was alone, watching the stars. I asked him questions about time, fate, the constellations..."

"Did he answer?"

"Some of them," Erevan said with a small laugh. "Most he ignored. Others he answered with more questions. He's... a funny guy. In a very unsettling way."

Elvera studied her brother. "Funny?"

"There's more to it," Erevan said, his voice low. "You'll understand when you meet him. But remember-don't get too close."

"Why not?" she asked.

His gaze fixed ahead. "Because I don't trust him."

There was no hatred in his voice, only caution.

"Fate doesn't just see visions. He influences. He watches everything-calculates. And he never speaks more than he must. That kind of power," he said, pausing briefly, "rarely comes without a price."

Their conversation quieted, and the rest of their walk to the guest chambers passed in silence.

"Rest well, Elvera," Erevan said gently as they stopped before her room. "Tomorrow, we witness history."

She nodded and entered her chamber. The soft flicker of lanterns painted dancing shadows across the stone walls. The bed was grand, the sheets fine silk, yet sleep felt far away.

Morning came swiftly.

Elvera rose with the dawn, as she always did. Waking early was a habit she never grew tired of-there was something sacred in the hush before the world stirred.

After freshening up, she stepped out of her chamber, eager to explore. They had arrived late, and she hadn't yet seen the palace grounds.

She wandered through quiet hallways until she found a side exit that led to the gardens. The morning air was crisp, scented with dew and blooming starflowers. Mist curled lazily over the pathways, and tall, ancient trees stood like guardians over the palace grounds.

The beauty of Eldoria's nature was unlike anything she'd seen in Noreda.

Then, something caught her eye.

A tall figure sat alone on a stone bench near the crystal pond, his face tilted skyward, eyes closed. His skin shimmered faintly in the morning light, like stardust etched into flesh. The streads of his little long black hair danced with the wind, blending with the air around him.

He looked ethereal-more breathtaking than the garden itself.

Elvera stood still, mesmerized.

But then, his posture shifted. A subtle change. A tilt of the head. He had sensed her.

Startled, panic surged through her. She couldn't be caught watching-especially not as a Princess of Noreda. That would be an embarrassment to her realm.

She turned swiftly and slipped away, heart pounding, her steps quick and light.

What she didn't know... was that the figure had known she was there all along.

And he had let her watch.

XYRAN

Xyran tossed and turned in his new bed, unable to sleep. The unfamiliarity of the surroundings gnawed at him, and he found it difficult to settle in. He wasn't one to adjust easily to new environments, and the change in atmosphere weighed heavily on him. For two-thirds of the night, he shifted restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position, but sleep never came.

Finally, in frustration, he gave up. He slipped quietly out of his chamber, careful not to disturb the stillness of the palace. The grand halls were empty, the quiet only broken by the occasional distant murmur of the servants. He walked through the vast corridors, his footsteps echoing lightly on the polished stone floors.

As he wandered, something caught his eye-a lush garden, tucked away in a secluded corner of the palace. The gentle sound of waterfalls drew him closer. The air was fresh, alive with the scent of blooming flowers and earthy mist. The beauty of it all beckoned him in.

Without thinking, he approached a stone bench near a crystal-clear pond. The cascading water shimmered in the moonlight, and the soft rustle of leaves added to the serenity of the space. Xyran sat, letting his eyes drift close, inhaling deeply, savoring the cool night air. He could feel the quiet rhythm of the garden, every breath of wind, every ripple in the water, as if nature itself was alive, embracing him.

For the first time since his arrival, he felt a moment of peace.

The stillness of the garden seemed to seep into him, calming the turbulence that had been swirling in his mind. Here, in this quiet, sacred space, he allowed himself to let go, even if just for a while.

The sun had begun to rise, casting soft golden light over the garden, but Xyran remained on the bench. He didn't want to leave-not yet. There was a rare serenity here, something calming and comforting that held him still.

Then, something stirred the air.

A scent-new, unfamiliar-drifted to him.

Vampires were not known for their heightened senses like werewolves, but they could still perceive certain things. And this... this scent was unlike anything he had ever encountered.

Soft. Warm. Gentle, like lavender touched by morning dew.

It wrapped around him, delicate and enchanting, pulling at something deep within. It wasn't just pleasant-it was unforgettable.

His eyes remained closed, savoring the moment, letting the scent linger in his senses. But when he finally opened them, the garden was empty.

The soft fragrance of lavender still hung in the air-fading slowly, as if reluctant to leave.