The bells of the seventh day echoed softly through the marble courtyards, carried on the wind like a whispered summons from the heavens. Elian stood barefoot among the others, their ivory robes rustling like leaves in the hush. No one spoke. No one dared.

He inhaled slowly as they crossed the Bridge of Purity—an arched stone path that curved over a shallow pool of crystal water, reflecting the moonlight like glass. His hands trembled slightly within the folds of his sleeves, though he kept them hidden. He told himself it was just the cold. It wasn’t.

They reached the Temple of Light.

The great circular doors opened with a sigh, revealing a space that always struck Elian with breathless awe. A perfect circle of water shimmered before them, encircled by vivid blue Valeria blossoms. And at its center, on a low platform of smooth white stone barely rising above the water, sat Aradriel.

She was divine.

Her white hair fell like moonlight over her shoulders, catching the soft illumination that filtered down from unseen sources above. Her gown, delicate and ethereal, pooled around her as if woven from light itself. A crown of blue and white blossoms rested gently upon her brow. She did not look up. She never did.

The air smelled of petals and purity.

One by one, the attendants approached on silent feet, stepping onto the narrow stone path that led across the water to her. They knelt, heads bowed, and received her blessing: the soft hover of her hand above their bowed forms, never touching, never speaking.

Elian’s heart pounded as his turn neared. He knelt when the elder beside him gestured. His feet moved as if underwater. His thoughts blurred.

He stepped onto the path.

She sat utterly still as he approached, eyes cast downward, her expression unreadable. Each step was a prayer. He reached the final platform and lowered himself to his knees, bowing low. The water reflected her like a holy vision—her hair aglow, her hand rising slowly.

He closed his eyes as her hand hovered just above his head.

But then… a slight shift in the air. A soft touch—not on his head, but near his waist. Something slid into the outer fold of his robe. So quick he might have imagined it.

His breath caught. But he didn’t move. Not an inch.

The hand withdrew. The moment passed.

He rose when the elder signaled, walking back over the path, head bowed like the others. Only once he returned to the silent ranks of robed figures did he dare press a hand against his side, feeling the soft, papery fold hidden beneath the embroidered silk.

The rest of the blessing passed like a dream.

When it was done, they exited in silence, robes trailing behind like shadows. He returned to the dormitory hall and lay awake on his cot until the others’ breathing slowed into sleep. The bells rang once more—midnight. He rose quietly, stepped into the cold corridor, and walked to the prayer alcove where the incense smoke disguised sound.

There, behind a column, he pulled the note from his robe.

Delicate, ivory parchment. Folded once. On it, in slanted, almost trembling script:

"Meet me tonight. At my temple."

His heart stopped.

He read it again. Again.

Then clutched it to his chest, breathing hard. Fear bloomed like fire in his throat. This was forbidden. Unthinkable. If anyone found out, she could be punished. So could he. Exiled. Worse.

And yet...

He could still feel the warmth of her hand in the air above him. Could still see the way a single strand of her white hair had stirred when he’d knelt. Could still remember the one time, months ago, when her gaze had flickered—just once—toward him before returning to the ground.

She remembered him.

She wanted to see him.

And now he stood in the shadows, robe clutched around him, the paper trembling in his hands—on the edge of the known world, staring into a depth he had never dared approach.

Elian Vareth, loyal son of the Sect of the Eternal Bloom, took one trembling breath…

…and stepped into the night.