Chapter Six: Whispers in the Garden

Lena woke to stillness.

Soft, golden light filtered in through tall windows draped in velvet. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was. The sheets beneath her felt like silk, cool and smooth. The faint scent of smoke and snow still clung to the room his scent.

She sat up slowly, fingers brushing her collarbone.

No mark.

No shimmering note.

No Night King.

Had she dreamed it all?

But her skin still tingled where his hands had held her. And something deep inside her chest—something heavy and strange—told her the dance had been real. Very real.

She rose from the bed, bare feet pressing against cold marble. The room was huge—more like a royal chamber than a bedroom. Gilded mirrors. Tall bookshelves. A fireplace that still crackled softly.

And a door left ajar.

Lena hesitated, then moved toward it.

The hallway outside was impossibly long, lit by floating candles that bobbed gently in mid-air. The walls were lined with tapestries—some elegant, others… unnerving. One showed a girl standing alone beneath a blood moon. Another depicted a dark figure holding a kingdom in his palm while people bowed at his feet.

Lena shivered.

She walked slowly, wary but curious. There were no footsteps, no voices. Just the occasional flicker of wind, even though there were no open windows.

The mansion was beautiful—but it didn't feel *alive*. It felt suspended. Waiting.

And then, at the end of the corridor, she saw it—a set of glass doors leading to something beyond.

She stepped through them.

Her breath caught.

A garden.

But not just any garden.

It stretched endlessly, like a dream woven into reality. Moonflowers glowed white in the daylight. Vines with silver leaves curled up stone pillars. A stream ran through the middle, but the water shimmered black, reflecting the sky in reverse. Trees bore fruits that looked like crystal and bled light from their skins.

It was stunning. Ethereal. A place untouched by time.

Lena stepped onto the path, drawn in, her senses overwhelmed. Every flower seemed to hum softly, as if whispering secrets to one another. The air tasted of magic.

She wandered deeper. Birds she'd never seen before flitted between branches—feathered in blue fire, eyes glowing like stars. She bent near a flower that opened as she approached, releasing a soft pulse of warmth.

"Where am I?" she whispered to no one.

"Where you were always meant to be," a voice said. In her head.

Lena froze.

Her heart stuttered.

Not again.

"Show yourself," she said aloud, scanning the trees.

*"I already have,"* came the voice again. It was unmistakable. Velvet-smooth, soaked in frost and promise.

The Night King.

"You're inside my head again."

*"Would you rather I be inside something else?"*

Lena let out a harsh breath. "Seriously?"

He chuckled. Not from behind her—not from anywhere—but still near.

*"You wandered into the Garden of Ethers. This is where time forgets itself."*

"And you live here?"

*"I exist here. Living is… too mortal a word."*

She stepped toward the glowing stream. "What do you want from me?"

A pause.

Then, softly: *"Nothing. And everything."*

"Cryptic much?"

Another pause. The air thickened, cool around her throat. She felt him—though she couldn't see him.

*"Keep walking."*

She did.

Past the glowing trees. Past the flowers that whispered. Until she reached a circular clearing.

There, in the center, stood a tree with bark as dark as obsidian. Its branches held no leaves—only stars.

Real stars.

They burned softly, orbiting slowly around the tree's core. Lena's jaw dropped.

"What is this place?"

"The heart of this realm," he said.

…She kept walking. Deeper. Past trees that bent toward her. Past flowers that whispered her name in voices that weren't hers.

The air grew colder.

Then she saw it.

At the far edge of the garden, behind a curtain of black vines, stood something twisted—part statue, part… creature. It was humanoid, but wrong. Limbs too long. Face covered in a mask made of bone. It stood utterly still, yet its presence screamed.

Something about it called to her.

Her fingers moved without permission. She reached forward—

"Lena," the Night King's voice snapped through her head, sharp and cold.

She froze mid-step.

His magic struck like lightning.

In an instant, the garden vanished.

She was back in her room—breathless, heart pounding, hand still half-stretched as if the thing were still before her.

A single black vine had come with her.

It lay on the floor beside her bed, curling like it still lived.

And his voice echoed one last time:

"Next time, I may not pull you back."