Aidan's estate wasn't just a home—it was half of Gloria itself. Acres of flower-drenched land swept out around the house, painting every season in vivid bloom. The villagers called it paradise, a countryside of endless beauty. The flowers weren't just a backdrop; they were a symbol of irony. Once a noble family, Aidan's kin had fallen from title, but their land, now fertile and thriving, made them richer than most titled households in the region. That alone stirred envy in distant relatives and fueled the whispers that haunted their lineage.
Aidan didn't care about that.
That morning, the sky was mild and blue, birds flitting over budding orchards. Aidan was in his cabin—a small building tucked to the rear of their estate. Not many people were allowed in it, and no one, not even his mother Naina, dared step inside. It was a research room, his secret sanctuary. Bottles lined the walls—some with thick green pastes, others with shimmering liquids. Sketches were pinned near his worktable, herbs annotated with scrawled notes.
Sunlight trickled through the window, hitting his pale arms. His skin shimmered faintly, like metallic dust caught in light. Aidan narrowed his eyes. The glow had become more frequent.
"Is it the dosage again...?" he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep. He coughed, brushing his fingers over the faint shimmer near his wrist.
Today, he didn't wear the scarf he often used to hide the markings. Instead, he had dressed in a thin farmer's shirt, sleeves rolled up, with trousers dirtied from last evening's planting. His long hair, tied low at the nape, seemed slightly longer than he remembered. He tugged at it absently.
"Odd," he muttered. "Wasn't this shorter yesterday...?"
He stared at himself in the mirror, uncertain.
*Never mind. Adeena won't be here today. She's working... even if she sees me, she won't notice.*
His fingers ran over a sketch beside him—a flower with curled petals and a vibrant golden core. Next to it, in a clay pot, grew the real thing. The petals were luminous in a way sunlight couldn't explain. A lost treasure, the kind of flower long believed extinct. A relic from their homeland. From the old realm.
Aidan didn't know what it truly was, only that his blood reacted to it. When he stood too close, the flower leaned toward him, and when he pricked his finger, the petals would pulse with warmth. He had a feeling—just a feeling—that the flower was linked to something deeper. A connection to a forgotten past, a hidden truth.
He reached for the door, ready to step out.
But it opened first.
"Holy sh—!" Aidan yelped, stumbling back.
A vegetable hit his head.
"Language," Adeena scolded, holding a half-filled sack at her hip. "What happened to minding your words, hm?"
"Ow," Aidan rubbed his head, blinking at her in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Collecting apples," she answered sweetly, lifting the sack. "Help me?"
He narrowed his eyes. "No, no. I'm not falling for this again."
She laughed, brushing dirt off his uneven hat and fixing it. "Just a bit? I need your wind magic. Come on, Addy."
He scratched his neck, skin reddened either by mosquito bites or sensitivity—he didn't know anymore. Sighing, he turned toward the tomatoes. "Fine. Why apples, though? Doesn't your employer buy from the market?"
She hesitated. "Well... I thought it'd be nicer if they were fresh."
"Are you paid extra for this labor?" he asked sharply. "Got a written contract?"
"No."
Aidan's brows knitted. "That's not good, Adeena. What if something happens and there's no proof you even work there?"
"Nothing will happen," she smiled. "Gloria is peaceful. And Dahlia is our aunt-in-law."
"Grandmother-in-law," Aidan corrected. "And that family has a hobby of marrying old men. Let me know in advance if you plan to join that tradition."
Adeena rolled her eyes. He could still joke, at least.
"Why are you here anyway? Weren't you supposed to be at Dahlia's estate for that event?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her monologue echoed quietly.
*Because I'm not needed during the day. I'm only called to be 'pretty' at night.*
She reached forward, gently cupping his cheek.
"Stop it," Aidan growled.
She caressed it again. Then pinched.
"Ow!"
"You always tell me to rest on my day off. I picked veggies, and I'll cook, okay?"
He didn't respond. Just moved to check the other rows.
"You stepped on my baby," he grumbled, pointing at a crushed seedling.
"Oops. Want water?"
"Yes."
As she turned to fetch it, her eyes scanned his skin, quietly searching for signs. The shimmer. The possible scales she thought she saw in the moonlight weeks ago.
Then she paused, turning to him.
"Are you still taking the dosage from Dmitri?"
Aidan stopped. His shoulders tensed.
"Adeena—"
"I'm worried."
He exhaled slowly. "It's... under control."
She didn't look convinced.
Naina never asked about it, but lately, her glances had grown longer, her footsteps near the cabin more frequent.
"I'm fine," Aidan said hoarsely, coughing lightly. His body felt strange—too light and too heavy at once.
The truth was darker than anyone could imagine. He paid Dmitri, not in coin, but in blood. His blood had healing properties, and it sold like wildfire in the black market. Gloria ignored myths, scoffed at creatures of legend. But Dmitri, from the central city, ran an illegal empire beneath the surface. When Aidan first met him, he thought he could trust him—Dmitri had once served his father, after all.
Aidan only discovered the flower's origin after Dmitri showed him forbidden books. The plants, like his blood, could shift the tide of time, twist growth, and delay death.
It was why Aidan farmed. Why he cared for herbs. Why he stayed in this beautiful prison with his mother and sister.
One day, his mother would discover the truth in that cabin. One day, everything would unravel.
But not today.
Today, Adeena laughed beside him, her fingers brushing past tomato leaves. Today, he watched the wind curl around them like a quiet friend.
He reached for an apple. The tree responded, branches swaying. He bent the wind with a gentle flick of his hand. Dozens of apples dropped into the sack.
Adeena gasped. "Show-off."
He smirked, his eyes gleaming like silver in the light.
From the hill nearby, Naina stood by the porch, watching. A soft smile curled at her lips. Her son laughed, and for a moment, she didn't worry.
But the wolfsbane her late husband once used... its recipe still sat hidden beneath the floorboards, written in a script only she could decipher. It required blood like Aidan's.
And she knew, deep in her soul, that the peace they had would not last forever.