Liria sat amidst the endless flower fields of Elysium, carefully weaving a flower crown in her lap.
The valley spread out beneath the afternoon sun in a breathtaking wash of color. Endless blossoms rippled over the rolling hills like a painted sea, white and gold and lavender and pale pink swaying together beneath the wind. Their fragrance lingered thick and sweet in the air, touched by warm grass, sunlit earth, and the faint honeyed perfume of nectar. Somewhere nearby, bees hummed lazily among the petals, and butterflies drifted through the flowers like scraps of living silk.
Below the slope, Elysium rested in the heart of the valley, radiant and serene.
From this distance, the city looked almost dreamlike. White stone walls gleamed softly in the light, while rooftops of silver and gold rose in elegant tiers beyond them. Banners fluttered from high towers. Sunlight flashed over crystal windows and distant fountains. Even from here, the city seemed to shimmer with life.
Liria lowered her gaze to the flowers in her hands and exhaled slowly.
This was something she had always wanted to try at least once.
Just once, in all her life, she had wanted to sit in a field of flowers and make something useless and lovely with her own hands.
In that ruined future, she had loved flowers.
Loved every stubborn blossom that somehow survived in a dying world. Loved the shy, reverent way young soldiers would sometimes bring her half-wilted wildflowers they had found growing through cracks in broken stone. A bent stem. A tiny white bloom. A flower with bruised petals and too little color left in it. They had offered them to her like sacred treasures, and she had treasured them in return.
But flowers had been rare then.
Fields like this had belonged to stories. To songs sung around campfires by tired men pretending, for one stolen hour, that beauty still waited somewhere beyond the smoke and ash.
And yet, here she was.
The flower stems softened beneath her fingers as she wove them together, and her chest tightened unexpectedly.
Liria bowed her head and offered a silent apology to the companions she had left behind in that broken age.
She wished they were here to see this.
This peace had only become possible because of their sacrifice. Because they had fought, and bled, and endured, even when hope itself had nearly gone extinct.
You’ll see it someday, she promised them in her heart. When the future is truly safe... I’ll make sure you see it too.
She would protect this peace forever.
A burst of tinkling laughter drifted through the flowers and pulled her from her thoughts.
Liria looked up.
Several paces away, Seris was dancing through the sea of blossoms with all the unrestrained delight of a child who had just discovered paradise.
The little Saintess spun in circles with her arms outstretched, trying and failing to catch the butterflies fluttering just beyond her reach. Her golden hair had begun to come loose, bright as spun sunlight beneath the sky, and stray petals clung to the soft waves of it. Her cheeks were pink from exertion. Her wide blue eyes sparkled so vividly that Liria’s breath caught.
There was no fear in that expression. No quiet, haunted sorrow tucked behind the smile.
Only wonder.
Only joy.
Seris reached for another butterfly, missed by a handspan, then finally noticed Liria watching her.
Her face lit up at once.
“Big sister!”
She came running, filled with exuberance. As though she already knew, with all the certainty in the world, exactly where she belonged.
Liria opened her arms just in time for Seris to tumble into them. She caught her with a soft laugh and drew her close.
“This place is so beautiful and amazing, big sis!” Seris gushed, breathless with excitement. She twisted in Liria’s embrace just enough to gesture wildly at the entire valley. “There are so many flowers! And butterflies! And the city is all shiny, and the wind smells nice, and everything feels so soft!”
Liria smiled helplessly. “That is a very thorough review.”
Seris nodded solemnly. “It’s important to be accurate.”
Then her voice softened.
She looked out over the valley again, and this time the wonder in her expression turned quieter, more fragile.
“I never knew the world could be so beautiful,” she admitted. “Or so bright.”
Liria stilled.
Seris lowered her gaze to the flowers brushing against her knees.
“Every day since I met you has felt like a dream.”
The words were simple, but they struck Liria harder than any grand declaration could have.
Her hand rose almost on its own, smoothing back the strands of golden hair that had fallen into Seris’s face.
“I’ll show you even more beautiful sights in the future, Seris,” she said softly. “There are mountains where the snow glows pink at sunrise. Lakes so clear they look like pieces of the sky. Forests older than kingdoms. Cities filled with music and lights.”
Seris’s eyes widened a little more with each new image.
Liria smiled and tucked one last loose strand behind her ear.
“So let’s go see all of it together.”
And may the joy you find beside me outweigh every sorrow this world ever forced upon you.
The prayer remained unspoken, but it settled deep and heavy in her heart all the same.
Seris looked up at her with slightly dazed blue eyes and cheeks faintly flushed pink. Then, without a word, she burrowed deeper into Liria’s arms.
“Promise you’ll never leave me, big sis?” she asked in a very small voice.
Liria’s breath caught. She held her a little tighter.
“Of course, little one,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her golden hair. “For as long as I live.”
Seris melted bonelessly against her. For a while, they simply stayed that way, wrapped in sunlight and flowers and peace.
Eventually, Liria shifted and lifted the flower crown she had been weaving in her lap.
“I have a gift for you, little sister.”
Seris blinked and sat up at once, all previous solemnity vanishing in an instant.
“A gift?”
Liria carefully placed the flower crown atop her golden hair, adjusting it so the pale blossoms rested neatly among the soft waves.
Seris went very still.
Her fingers rose to touch the petals with almost reverent care. Then she turned her head just enough for the sunlight to catch her hair properly and tilted her chin with surprising confidence.
“How do I look?” she asked, very cutely.
Liria laughed.
“Our Seris is the cutest in the entire world,” she said, and meant every word.
Seris set one hand on her hip and lifted her chin proudly.
“Hmph. Of course I am.”
Liria stared at the child for all of two seconds before she lost the battle completely.
Would you look at this little girl.
She reached out, scooped Seris into her arms, and immediately began tickling her mercilessly.
Seris squeaked in scandalized outrage before dissolving into peals of helpless laughter.
“Big sis! No! Ahaha, stop!”
“Oh?” Liria said with entirely false severity. “And what exactly are you so smug about?”
“Seris doesn’t know! Seris is innocent!”
Liria tickled her harder.
“Lies.”
“Seris surrenders!” the child gasped between laughter. “Seris is sorry! Forgive me, big sister! Seris was bad!”
Only after extracting a full and humiliating confession did Liria finally spare her.
By then, Seris had gone limp in her lap, pink-cheeked and giggling weakly, all traces of smugness thoroughly obliterated. She leaned against Liria like a contented kitten, still catching her breath.
After a moment, she noticed the flowers still resting in Liria’s lap and perked up again.
“Teach Seris how to make one too!” she asked eagerly. “I want us to match!”
Liria smiled and gathered a few long-stemmed blossoms from beside her.
“Of course.”
She guided Seris’s hands into place, folding one stem over another while the child watched with intense concentration.
“You weave them like this,” Liria explained. “Carefully. If you bend the stem too sharply, it’ll snap.”
Seris nodded very seriously.
“I understand. Seris must be very, very gentle.”
Liria had to bite back a smile.
“Yes, exactly.”
For a while, they worked in companionable silence. The flowers brushed against their skirts. The breeze moved softly through the valley, carrying the scent of nectar and distant greenery. Somewhere farther down the slope, faint bells from the city drifted upward on the wind.
Once Seris had grown a little steadier with her weaving, Liria asked lightly, “Have you gotten used to the Grand System yet, Seris?”
“Yes!” Seris nodded energetically. “It’s so convenient! I couldn’t use it properly before I met you because of that Cowardly Skeleton.”
Her tiny brows furrowed in indignation.
“That Cowardly Skeleton is awful.”
Liria, who had every reason to agree, nodded solemnly.
“You are entirely correct.”
Seris looked deeply vindicated.
“Do you have any questions for me?” Liria asked.
“Yes!” Seris brightened at once. “I got a few Quests while you were sleeping, but Seris doesn’t really understand the Blessing of Light’s Quest System. Can you explain it to me, big sister?”
“Of course.”
Liria adjusted the flowers in Seris’s hands before continuing.
“The Quest System responds to good deeds,” she said. “When you sincerely want to help someone, the System can recognize that and generate a Quest for you to complete.”
Seris blinked.
“It can tell when you’re trying to be nice?”
“To a degree.”
Seris gasped softly and looked around as though the air itself might be eavesdropping.
“That’s a little scary.”
Liria’s lips twitched. “Only if you’re planning crimes.”
Seris immediately sat up straighter.
“Seris has never committed a crime in her life.”
“The flower massacre from earlier suggests otherwise.”
Seris looked down at the broken stems in her lap and coughed.
“Seris was attacked first.”
Liria laughed quietly and continued, “The rewards depend on several things. How difficult the task is. How many people you helped. How badly your help was needed. Sometimes, how meaningful the act was also matters.”
Seris nodded with complete seriousness.
“So if Seris helps one very miserable person, that could still count a lot?”
“Yes,” Liria said. “Especially if no one else could have helped them.”
Seris seemed pleased by that.
“But the System isn’t mindless,” Liria added. “If your actions make people unhappy, or if you complete a Quest in a harmful or selfish way, there can be penalties.”
Seris froze.
“Penalties?”
Liria nodded.
“Points can be deducted. If you’re careless enough, you can even lose XP instead of gaining it.”
Seris stared at her in open horror.
“That’s awful.”
“It’s fair.”
Seris considered that with great reluctance, then sighed.
“...It’s a little fair.”
Liria stroked a hand through her hair.
“The Blessing of Light was never meant to reward strength alone. It was meant to encourage people to extend a hand to those in need. To use whatever power they have to ease suffering, not create more of it.”
Seris went quiet for a moment. Then, all at once, she brightened.
“Oh,” she said.
Liria blinked. “Oh?”
“It really worked!”
Liria smiled. “What Quest did you pick?”
Seris sat up straighter and puffed out her little chest.
“I will heal as many people as I can during the festival!” she declared proudly. “If I meet anyone sick, I’ll help them!”
Then her voice softened.
“Seris is so happy now,” she said. “I want other people to be happy too.”
Liria’s expression softened at once.
“Being sick is sad,” Seris continued more quietly. “And painful. And lonely.”
Her fingers tightened around the flowers in her lap.
“I don’t want anyone to feel sad or hurt on such a happy occasion.”
Liria simply listened.
After a moment, Seris looked back up at her, a little shy again.
“Seris can’t do as much as big sis, of course,” she admitted softly, “but I’ll do what I can.”
“I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job, dear.” Liria bent and kissed the top of her head.
The child was just so lovable.
Seris practically glowed beneath the praise, though she tried very hard to remain dignified as she looked back down at her work. Her little hands carefully adjusted the final flowers, tucking in one stubborn stem, then another, with all the seriousness of someone completing a sacred rite.
By this point, she had finally finished her flower crown.
It leaned slightly to one side.
A few blossoms sat at uneven angles, and one woven stem looked as though it had been persuaded into place through sheer determination rather than technique. It was, in every possible way, unmistakably Seris’s work.
Liria thought it was perfect.
Seris lifted it with both hands and stared at it for a moment, as though she could hardly believe she had actually made something so lovely.
Then she turned around on Liria’s lap and, with all the reverence of a young acolyte crowning her goddess, carefully placed the flower crown atop Liria’s head.
Her fingers brushed against Liria’s hair with featherlight caution as she adjusted it.
“There,” Seris whispered.
Liria went still.
She looked down just in time to see the child lean back and admire her handiwork with wide, shining eyes.
“You’re so beautiful, big sister,” Seris sighed dreamily.
The words were spoken with such pure sincerity that Liria could only stare at her for a moment.
Then something in her chest softened all over again.
“Little flatterer,” she murmured, though there was no reproach in it whatsoever.
Seris only smiled, utterly unrepentant.
Then, before Liria could say anything else, the little Saintess abruptly grabbed her hand with both of hers and bounced upright in a burst of renewed excitement.
“Come on, big sis!” she urged, already tugging. “The flower fields were really, really beautiful, but I wanna see the festival now!”
She pulled at Liria’s hand with all the force her small body could muster.
“Let’s go!”
Liria, who had just been gently crowned in flowers and emotionally ambushed in broad daylight, was given no time at all to recover before being dragged halfway to her feet. She let out a helpless laugh and rose after her.
Right. The festival. The festival celebrating the Goddess of Life who looked exactly like Liria. Who had the exact same name as Liria. Who was, of course, absolutely not Liria.
This could get awkward.
Liria’s smile strained faintly at the edges. A part of her wanted to turn around and disappear into the flower fields forever. Then she looked down.
Seris was gazing up at her with sparkling blue eyes and an expression so full of excitement that all resistance melted instantly.
How could she possibly say no to that face?
Liria exhaled, reached up, and pulled her hood lower over her face. She checked the layers of presence concealment wrapped around herself, ensuring every ward and suppression measure remained firmly in place.
Sacred aura sealed. Presence dampened. Recognition resistance active.
Good.
Hopefully.
She straightened and steeled herself.
It’s just a festival, Liria. It can’t hurt you.
Seris gave her hand another enthusiastic tug.
“Big sis! Hurry!”
“Yes, yes, I’m coming.”
Still holding hands, the two sisters began making their way down the flowered slope toward the radiant city below.
The wind moved gently through the valley, carrying with it the distant sound of bells, music, and laughter from Elysium’s streets. Petals drifted around them in the golden afternoon light, and beneath their feet the flower fields rippled like a sea of color stretching all the way to the shining walls of the city.
Side by side, crowned in blossoms, they descended toward the festival hand in hand.
The same nightmare plagued Caspian as always.
His son burned while his colleagues looked on with indifferent eyes.
The dream never spared him details. Fire licked greedily across skin and cloth alike, bright orange devouring flesh until the shape of the boy was barely recognizable beneath the flames. The smell came first every time, sickening and unforgettable. Charred meat. Melted fat. Smoke thick enough to choke on.
Caspian stood frozen in the dream, cold and motionless while his son reached toward him with trembling, blistered hands.
No.
No, that wasn’t how it happened.
They had tried to save him.
They had done everything they could.
“Father,” his son asked, voice bubbling wetly through a ruined throat, “why did you allow this to happen to me?”
The flesh of his face blackened before Caspian’s eyes, shrinking and splitting. One ruined eye burst from its socket and slid down his cheek like a pale, obscene tear.
Caspian woke with a gasp.
If it could be called waking.
When had he last truly slept? He couldn’t remember. Time had become a gray, shapeless thing. Nights bled into mornings. Days dissolved into feverish stretches of numb exhaustion and half-formed thoughts.
He sat up slowly, breath ragged, his nightclothes damp with cold sweat.
The room was dark.
Heavy black curtains had been drawn tightly across every window, smothering even the faintest hint of sunlight. The air felt stale, thick with old incense and something metallic beneath it.
Blood.
Or perhaps that was only in his imagination. Thinking had become difficult lately.
Everything felt heavy. His limbs. His mind. Even his memories seemed to drag behind him like chains through mud. Still, some vague instinct urged him to rise.
He left his room and wandered the keep’s dark corridors in a daze.
The halls had once been elegant. He remembered that much. Rich carpets. Carved banisters. Portraits and polished marble and warm light spilling from sconces. But now the manor felt hollowed out, like a beautiful corpse preserved long past the point of mercy.
This was Elysium’s ruling keep, seat of the lord who governed the valley and all its surrounding lands.
His keep.
He was Lord Caspian Cole, master of one of the most prosperous and beloved territories in the kingdom. Or at least, he had been. Once, petitioners and merchants and visiting nobles had passed through these halls in endless procession. Servants had hurried about with purpose. Musicians had played in the evenings. Light had spilled from every window, and laughter had carried through the corridors often enough that the manor had felt lived in, not merely inhabited.
Now it felt like a mausoleum wearing the skin of a home.
The lamps burned too dimly. The shadows lingered too thickly. Pale servants passed him in utter silence, their faces bloodless and their eyes a predatory crimson that flashed in the dark whenever they glanced his way.
Had his home always felt this wrong? Caspian couldn’t remember.
Where was he even going? It felt important.
He kept walking, one slow step after another, until he found himself standing outside his wife’s bedchamber.
Ah. That was it. He had to make sure she drank. He opened the door.
Selina sat chained to the bed where she always was. The sight should have horrified him more than it did. Perhaps, once, it would have. Now he only felt tired.
She looked thin enough to break. Her face had gone pale and hollow, her lips dry and cracked, and the shadows beneath her eyes had darkened into bruised hollows. Her once-lovely hair hung dull and tangled over her shoulders. She stared at him with the lifeless stillness of someone already halfway to the grave.
“Stop this, husband,” she said. Her voice was rough with thirst.
“I’m beyond saving. Just let me walk into the light.”
Caspian said nothing. Once, he might have argued. Might have pleaded. Might have tried to tell her there was still hope.
But now he was simply too tired. They had circled this same argument too many times. It never changed anything.
Instead, he crossed the room, sat beside her, and poured red liquid into a wine glass with careful, mechanical hands. The scent rose at once. Copper-rich. Warm. Sweet in a way that turned his stomach.
He held the glass out patiently.
Selina’s whole body trembled.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her fingers clenched into the bed sheets hard enough to whiten her knuckles. Feverish hunger flashed in her hollow eyes for one ugly, desperate instant.
Then, with visible effort, she turned her head away.
“Why,” Caspian asked dully.
Selina laughed once. It was a broken, joyless sound.
“Because I don’t want to end up like Camilla.”
Something snapped inside him. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“Nothing is wrong with my mother,” he ground out.
Selina slowly turned her face back toward him. The despair in her expression was almost unbearable.
“Do you truly believe that?” she whispered. “Then you too are lost.”
Caspian opened his mouth. He wanted to refute her. Wanted to say something. Anything.
But the words would not come.
Before he could force them out, a pair of sinuous arms slipped around him from behind.
A cold body pressed against his back. The touch was soft, intimate, deeply wrong.
“My poor Caspian,” a low, sensual voice murmured beside his ear. “You’re sick. Why do you keep wandering around?”
The perfume reached him first. Heavy and cloying, all roses over rot. Then the smooth glide of fingers over his chest.
“Go back to your room,” she whispered. “Let Mother take care of everything while you rest.”
Caspian’s whole body went still. For one strange, dizzy moment, doubt stirred somewhere deep inside him.
He could feel the lush press of her body against his back. The curve of her hips. The softness of her full breasts brushing against him. The cold whisper of her breath at his neck.
Was this creature truly his mother?
He turned to look at her.
Glowing red eyes filled his vision.
Caspian blinked.
Of course she was his mother. He had watched the change happen himself.
The same affliction that had taken his son had also touched his mother, his wife, and his daughter. But where the others withered beneath it, Camilla had flourished. The sickness had made her younger, stronger, more beautiful in ways that should have terrified him and yet no longer seemed entirely wrong.
That thought should have unsettled him more than it did.
Instead, it slipped through his mind like water through numb fingers. Thinking was so hard.
His mother’s hands slid down his arm as she guided him gently from the room.
“What was I doing?” Caspian murmured.
“Hm?” Camilla hummed.
He frowned faintly. It had felt important, but he could no longer remember why.
By the time they reached the corridor, dizziness had begun to creep through him again. His body felt light and weak, as though he had lost too much blood. His eyelids dragged heavily. Even standing upright required effort.
Camilla held him close as she escorted him back toward his chambers, her touch almost tender.
“Just rest, darling,” she crooned. “Leave everything to Mother.”
Her red eyes glimmered in the dark.
“Everything I do, I do because I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
Right. She was his mother. He could trust her.
Caspian nodded slowly.
He let her lead him back into his room. He let her settle him into bed. And when she stroked a cool hand over his brow and told him to sleep, he obeyed.
Soon enough, the nightmares began anew.