Arian... sick?

His friend had a habit of giving his gift last, quietly, without witnesses. A little ritual only the two of them shared.

He sat down, careful as though the gift were fragile, and loosened the ribbon with steady fingers. Inside, two golden earrings glimmered softly against black velvet, the stones faint and pale, as if they held a piece of the moon itself. Not gaudy, not made to impress. Simple. Thoughtful.

Lucien’s chest tightened in quiet recognition. No one else gave him gifts this way—slipping them into his room when the day ended, leaving them like secrets meant only for him. It had always been Arian. Always.

He lifted one earring, rolling the cold gold between his fingers, and as the light caught the stone, memory surged unbidden—the garden, the shadows, the impossible figure.

---

The night had been hushed, the festival’s laughter muffled by distance. He and Arian had walked between hedges of ivy, grateful for the quiet. Lucien had tilted his head toward the stars when suddenly the air grew heavy, too still, as though the garden itself were holding its breath.

From the darkest patch of shadow, something moved.

A figure stepped out—his own face, his own hair, his own eyes glowing faintly gold. Lucien’s stomach dropped.

For a moment, none of them spoke. Even the night insects seemed to fall silent.

The double’s gaze rested on Lucien, gentle but unreadable. His lips moved, but no sound reached Lucien’s ears. The figure spoke again, slow, deliberate.

“…Looks like it isn’t time yet.”

A faint smile touched the double’s face. “…Stay close to him. For now, that’s enough.”

But Lucien heard nothing—only the thrum of his heart in his ears. Arian stood at his side, stiff as steel, one hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.

“What are you?” Lucien whispered, voice fragile.

The double’s lips moved again, though still unheard: “I am what you’ll need, when the time comes.”

To Lucien, it was silence. To Arian, only an inexplicable weight in the air.

The double stepped backward, dissolving into shadow as though he had never been there at all.

Lucien blinked, startled. “He’s gone.”

Arian exhaled sharply, lowering his hand. “Good. I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

Lucien almost laughed, though it came out thin. “But it was...me ?”

“Exactly.” Arian’s voice was taut. “You shouldn’t meet yourself in gardens after midnight, Lucien. That’s never a good sign.”

Despite himself, Lucien smiled. “You make it sound like a curse.”

Arian’s gaze softened a fraction. “Maybe it is.”

Before Lucien could answer, footsteps approached. Their mothers appeared through the archway—Countess Elara tall and graceful, Lady Arista calm but firm.

“There you are,” Lady Elara murmured, her relief clear.

“Enough wandering,” Lady Arista said, warmth in her eyes but command in her tone. “You both leave for the Academy in the morning. Rest is not optional.”

Lucien and Arian exchanged a glance, unspoken tension still between them. But they obeyed. The night closed quietly after that, though Lucien lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and wondering about the shadow who wore his face.

---

Dawn broke with a soft spill of gold over the horizon. Lucien rose groggily, fastening the earrings into place almost without thinking, their weight strangely grounding. He made his way downstairs, expecting Arian to be waiting in the courtyard.

But instead, the butler hurried toward him, face drawn with worry.

“My lord Lucien,” he said, bowing low. “Lord Arian has fallen ill overnight. A fever has taken him.”

Lucien froze. “Arian… sick? Where is he?”

“At his family’s estate. He will not be able to travel.”

Lucien didn’t hesitate. He turned immediately toward the gates. “Then I’ll go to him.”

---

The Runerth manor was quieter than usual. Servants moved with hushed urgency, carrying bowls of steaming water and bundles of herbs. The smell of rosemary and bitter root clung to the air as Lucien entered Arian’s chamber.

Arian lay pale against the pillows, damp silver hair sticking to his forehead. His skin burned with fever, breath shallow. Even like this, his expression carried that same stubborn defiance, as if illness were an enemy he refused to acknowledge.

Lucien crossed the room quickly, sitting by the bedside. “You look terrible.”

Arian cracked one eye open. “…Good morning to you too.” His voice was hoarse, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips.

Lucien dipped a cloth into the basin, wringing it out before pressing it to Arian’s forehead. “You shouldn’t scare people like this.”

“You came here instead of preparing,” Arian muttered. “You’ll miss the carriage.”

Lucien folded his arms. “Then I’ll miss it. The Academy can wait. You’re more important.”

Arian’s gaze flickered, a strange softness behind his fever. He turned his head slightly, as if to hide it. “…Idiot.”

Lucien grinned faintly. “You keep saying that, but I’m starting to think it’s your way of saying ‘thank you.’”

Arian huffed weakly, but his eyes slipped shut.

Lucien sat back, trying to mask his worry. His own body wasn’t strong—everyone knew that. He was prone to fevers, often undone by long hours in the sun or winter winds.

 More than once, he’d been confined to his bed for days while others carried on. But here, by Arian’s side, he felt strangely resolute. He would take care of him, even if it meant risking his own health.

Hours bled into the day. Lucien stayed—fetching water, cooling cloths, even coaxing Arian to sip broth when he stirred. By nightfall, he was slumped against the chair, eyelids heavy, but refused to leave.

---

One day stretched into two. Arian’s fever lingered stubbornly, never breaking. Lucien’s mother visited, urging him to rest, but he refused. He only left the room when servants practically dragged him to eat.

On the morning of the third day, a knight in his family’s colors arrived, armored and resolute.

“My lord,” the knight said with a bow, “the Academy will not wait. Your friend will recover in time, but you must go on ahead. Lord Arian will join you when he is able.”

Lucien’s chest tightened. “I can’t just—”

“You can,” the knight interrupted gently. “It is your duty. He would want you to.”

Lucien turned to the bed. Arian slept, chest rising and falling steadily, his hand lax on the blanket. For a moment, Lucien wanted to fight, to argue, to refuse. But Arian’s words echoed in his mind—You shouldn’t wait. The Academy won’t care for excuses.

Perhaps he had known this would happen, he thought. 

Arian was the first friend he had since coming to this world. Though everyone was kind in Veynar estate and Lucien is only child of Aldric veynar. He was well loved however he met a pretty boy at his childhood who was indifferent to him and didn't talked much, later become Lucien's first and best friend. He was Arian Runerth

---

The morning air was cool when Lucien stood at the gates, luggage packed, carriage waiting. The knight loaded the last of his trunks, then gestured toward the open door.

Lucien hesitated. Through the manor windows, he thought he glimpsed silver hair on the pillow, though he knew Arian was still unconscious. Slowly, he reached up and touched the earring in his ear.

His voice was low, almost swallowed by the breeze. “I’ll see you soon. You’re not rid of me yet.”

Then he climbed into the carriage.

The horses started forward, hooves striking stone in a steady rhythm. The Valen estate receded behind him, swallowed by trees and distance.

Lucien leaned against the window, eyes fixed on the road stretching endlessly ahead. In his chest, both the warmth of Arian’s gift and the echo of the shadow’s words remained, pulsing together like a secret thread.

It isn’t time yet…

The sun rose higher, bright and merciless. Lucien squinted against its glare, his body already aching from the heat. But still, he held steady, the road pulling him forward into a future heavy with both promise and danger.

And far behind, unseen, a shadow lingered in the garden’s depths, whispering to no one:

“…Soon.”

•••