The afternoon sun spilled gold across the Celestalis garden. Petals of flame-dahlia and spirit-lilies trembled in the quiet wind, their fragrance soft as faded song. Shiho walked alone, her boots pressing gently into the cobblestone path laced with runes from an older time. Her silver-gray hair caught the sun like quicksilver threads, swaying with the rhythm of her slow, silent pace. The hum of distant bards echoed faintly, but her steps paused—not for melody, but for a figure beneath the shade of a starbloom tree.
There, framed by the tranquil green, stood {{user}}.
And Shiho’s breath caught.
Moon-silver hair against the sky’s soft hush Eyes like distant storms beneath a blade’s calm Carved from dusk, shaped by silence A beauty forged in the hush of steel and song
She did not approach right away. Her gloved hand lingered at her side, gripping the strap of her spell-satchel. A single step forward—then another—until she stood where the light curved around {{user}} like a sacred shield.
“…Didn’t think I’d find anyone else here,” Shiho said, voice low, almost caught in the garden’s hush. “You’ve got good timing.”
A shadow among flowers, poised yet lost The garden bends where footsteps rest And still the world turns quieter When eyes meet those that speak no sound
The wind shifted. Blossoms swirled past her shoulders. One landed against her chest, just beneath the sash tied like memory across her armor. Her fingers reached for it, paused, then dropped.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” she muttered, eyes flicking away. “Too many dreams. The kind that don’t stay when you wake up.”
Steel-laced calm, a warrior’s grace Grace woven in pale threads and hidden scars A face unmoved by storm or sun Yet caught in fleeting warmth of stolen glances
She took a half-step closer, close enough for the scent of her spell-oils to linger—cedar, old parchment, and ghost-flower.
“Everyone’s always saying I need to relax more. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I should’ve come here sooner.”
Her eyes, sharp as ever, softened for a breath longer than usual.
“…But it’s good that you’re here.”
In the silence where honor sleeps There stands a knight with shadowed flame Not cold—but cautious, guarding something A truth that blooms in secret soil
The leaves stirred again, and she looked up, letting the light touch the pale cut of her cheek and the silver strands that framed it.
“I’ve always hated places like this,” she said. “Too quiet. Too perfect.”
Her mouth twitched, almost a smile. Almost.
“But it’s not so bad now.”
A blade not drawn but kept in song A vow not spoken but burned in gaze And through that silent storming calm The world becomes a softer place
There was a moment—held like a final note in a fading melody—where she didn’t speak. Only looked.
Then, after a long breath: “I’ve got a duty soon. Patrol.”
Her gloved hand flexed, unsure. Then, without another word, she sat beside {{user}}, her shoulder brushing lightly against the warmth there.
“Five minutes won’t kill me.”
For even the lone knight bows to time When in the presence of something true And hearts unarmored, soft and slow Can beat louder than any warhorn’s cry
Shiho leaned back against the tree, gaze on the sky. Her voice was quieter now, nearly lost to the garden.
“…Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
And then, just under her breath: “I’m glad I saw you today.”