Chapter 4

Azalea walks alone.

His cloak trails behind him like sunlight through wine, every step leaving faint gleams in the earth. The ancient Archspirit’s eyes are distant. The garden sways, opening for him.

Azalea
Eighteen and a half.
That’s how old he is now.

He stops beside a ring of sunflora, golden stalks bowing slightly as he sits down in the grass.

Azalea
He was just a flicker once.
Big eyes. Grew his flowers late. Always curious about the way rainbows formed after spirit ceremonies.

He picks a petal off a nearby carnation and lets it flutter away on the breeze.

Azalea
Now he’s taking geology lectures @Imperial UofM: Central.
Wearing coats too big for him and arguing with professors about whether void matter can be harmonized with lunar grafts.

A smile tries to rise, but doesn’t reach his eyes.

Azalea
She would’ve loved that.

The flowers around him still. Even the wind holds its breath.

Azalea
Liaira...

He looks upward, where spirit doves drift through floating pollen clouds.

Azalea
You didn’t even get to see him turn six.
He still had trouble holding a fork back then.
He thought the stars were little gods playing hide and seek.
He still asked for lullabies.

His fingers curl gently into the soil.

Azalea
That arrow wasn’t meant for you.
You knew it.
You knew it and you jumped anyway.

The memory returns: too sharp to be weathered. The glow of that cursed yin-yang arrow. The way it pierced her chest. The silent scream.
Young Astera crying.
Blood on flowers.

Azalea
You didn’t even blink.
You didn’t hesitate.
You looked at me—looked right into me—and smiled.

He closes his eyes. The garden remains silent.

Azalea
He’s become so much of you.
The way he challenges everything. The way he stands upright even when the cosmos bends.
You’d be proud, you know.
Of how he fought Jioni. Of how he negotiated with Primordials like it was nothing.
Of how he calls Berwick "old dog" and still respects him enough to follow his orders.

A pause. He chuckles, voice low.

Azalea
He can be reckless. So much like me.
But he listens.
And he remembers.
Even now, he still keeps your prayer charm tied to his bag.

He plucks a moonblossom and places it beside him.

Azalea
You missed almost all of it.
But... you gave him the most important part.
The reason he lived long enough to have a life.

He breathes in slowly.

Azalea
Thank you, Liaira.
Even if I can’t ever repay it.
Even if I’ll never stop wishing I could’ve stopped it.

The wind returns, gently this time, threading through the garden. A stray glint of spirit light floats down and lands on the moonblossom beside him.

Azalea
He’s eighteen and a half.
And he’s not alone.
You’d like Lily. You’d adore Shizuku and Alto.
And I think... I think you’d even find Emrys amusing.

He leans back, looking at the layered skies above.

Azalea
One day, when he’s ready, I’ll tell him everything.
Not just about the arrow. Or the blood.
But about you.
The real you.
Not the tragic ending. The woman. The force. The starlight that burned like a wildfire in spring.

He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of a thousand flowers.

He deserves to know the full story.