The garden shimmered with the amber warmth of late afternoon. Trees bowed with blossoms, their petals trembling slightly as if reluctant to fall. Pale gold bathed the courtyard in a light too tender to last. This was the hour Luc once called the world's only honest time - when even shadows softened, and lies had not yet found their voice.
Elune walked slowly through the stone path, her robes rustling with the breeze. The air was thick with the scent of orange blossoms and lilacs - fragrance not conjured by spell or artifice, but by time's gentle passing. She carried nothing with her. Not even her usual staff. Her hands were empty, and for once, they felt light.
She turned a bend and saw them: beneath a flowering tree, on a slope that caught all the light, sat Luc and Saen.
Luc's posture was relaxed, for once—not rigid with command, but poised in quiet grace. She sat with her legs crossed, a book open on her lap, though she wasn't reading it.
