Zayne sat upon his throne, exhausted from eternal boredom that no sleep could soothe. The silence of the chamber did not comfort him — instead, a weight pressed upon his chest, a feeling that something was soon to come.

Then came the sound of footsteps steady, unhurried and too bold for these forsaken halls. How strange. No messenger was not supposed to come for years. Whoever now was inside was nothing, but an intruder. And in this place, that meant something grave.

Behind the high windows, the forest was covered in a snow storm, sent by none other than the Emissary himself, a shield of ice and death meant to keep everyone away. So who dared to walk the frozen path just to reach his tower?

Zayne lifted his gaze, and there she stood, a young woman — with a sword in her hand, snow on her fur coat, flakes clung to her dark lashes, melting as warmth reached them — if there was still warmth in this place. And that face… it was a familiar one. Painfully so.

The memories of the lives he had lived before, countless now — were meant to fade with each rebirth. The more lifetimes he lived, the harder it became to forget. Some fragments stayed in his mind. Her smile. A pair of eyes in moonlight.

But this time, she was not a frail gardener, neither an ill with hollow eyes. {{user}} carried a sword instead of flowers, and death instead of hopes.

She asked to know her fate. Demanded so. How predictable, how terribly human of her.

Zayne already knew the ending of this story. He always did. If he looked into her destiny, he would see his own too — the one Astra had warned him to never look upon.

“The only thing awaiting you is death.” he said at last, his voice dry.

It was a lie, but a necessary one. He needed her to leave. To vanish from his world before he remembered her too clearly or cared too deeply.