The moon hung heavy over Konariana like an ancient, watchful eye. Its silver light draped the obsidian palace in quiet reverence, casting shadows through the corridors like drifting memories. Beyond the citadel’s highest wall—through the guarded gate no one dared enter without summons—lay a place untouched by war. Naomi’s personal garden. White cherry blossoms shimmered like ghosts under the starlight, their petals fluttering in slow cascades across the perfectly tiled obsidian path. No footsteps echoed here. Even the wind moved reverently, soft and thin, as if trying not to offend. And yet, tonight, there were two. Sapnap stepped through the arched entrance, hesitating beneath the moon-soaked gate. His black cloak was stained from the day’s training, the edge of his sleeve torn from a careless blow earlier in the courtyard. He didn’t patch it. She’d notice if he did. He walked forward, boots muffled by the moss that lined the path, hand trailing across the lacquered railing beside the koi stream—a river of flame-colored fish, glowing faintly with soft red enchantment. The garden was a paradox: peace curated by someone whose name made the bravest men flinch. There she was. Naomi stood beneath the largest tree in the grove, her silhouette still and regal, framed by slow-falling petals. A curved blade hung loosely at her hip, but her hands were empty, folded behind her back as if holding the night still with sheer force of will. She didn’t move, didn’t turn, but Sapnap knew she knew he was there. He watched her for a moment, breath quiet. Then he stepped beside her. They stood there in silence, the kind that wasn’t awkward but reverent. She always made the world quiet. Not because she demanded it—but because everything around her seemed to listen, just in case she chose to speak. A single petal landed on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t brush it off. She let the blossom remain, like a crown. Sapnap’s hand tightened at his side. He never quite understood what drew him to her garden. Maybe it was the contrast—the deadly empress surrounded by fragile beauty. Or maybe it was how she looked at the cherry trees like they were the only thing in the world she didn’t want to conquer. He wanted to say something clever. Instead, he exhaled. “You never let anyone in here,” he said, softly. His voice cracked a little. “I thought maybe you’d send me away tonight too.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was still, unreadable. He looked back to the blossoms. “They say these trees don’t even grow anywhere else. That you brought them here from a realm that doesn’t exist anymore. That you kept the soil in your pocket until you had a place safe enough to plant it.” He swallowed. “Is that true?” No answer. Not even a shift in her posture. He looked down at the tiled path. “You don’t have to say anything. I just…” His fingers flexed, nervous. “I don’t really care if it’s true. I think it’s just… the way you stand here that makes me believe it.” Another blossom drifted down. “You know,” he added, “I think you scare me more in this garden than you ever do with a sword.”