Soon Hiro heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Not fast — careful, slightly heavy, as if each step echoed inside the head.

  He turned just in time to see Rosalin come down to the first floor, holding the railing.

  “My head hurts so bad…” she muttered, frowning.

  But a second later, her expression changed.

  She inhaled the air. Deeper. Once more.

  Her face brightened.

  “That smells amazing…” Rosalin said in surprise, looking at the table.

  “Did you cook something?”

  Hiro smirked without taking his eyes off the pot.

  “I hope it’s edible.”

  He placed a plate in front of her.

  A thick stew: vegetables, chunks of meat, spices — and a subtle, rich aroma of red wine everything had simmered in.

  Rosalin sat down without hesitation and immediately grabbed a spoon.

  Hiro turned away, preparing his own portion.

  “If it tastes awful, you don’t have to eat it,” he said calmly.

  “I’ll find something else.”

  He was about to add something else when he heard:

  “It’s so good…”

  He froze and turned around.

  Rosalin was eating quickly, with obvious pleasure, as if she hadn’t had a proper meal in a very long time.

  “This is… incredible,” she mumbled between bites and kept devouring it.

  Hiro snorted.

  “Hey, hey, slow down,” he said with a light smile.

  "You’ll choke on a spoon”

  He stepped closer and, without thinking, placed his palm on her head, gently stroking her hair.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said more softly.

  “Do you feel better?”

  Rosalin froze. The spoon hovered midair.

  “Yes…” she replied quietly after a short pause.

  Hiro frowned slightly, but his voice stayed calm.

  “Don’t scare me like that again.

  If you want to talk about something — don’t bury it inside.

  Just tell me.”

  She nodded.

  “Okay.”

  Hiro lingered for a moment, then hugged her from behind — briefly, without pressure, like a simple confirmation that he was here.

  After that, he turned and headed for the stairs.

  His footsteps faded again on the second floor.

  Rosalin stared at her plate but didn’t rush to eat. Steam rose, mixing with the scent of spices and wine.

  She tightened her grip on the spoon and drifted into thought.

  Why…

  Why do I feel so good when he’s nearby?..

  Rosalin lay on the bed without moving.

  The ceiling was dark, its cracks forming strange shapes, but her gaze kept returning to the bedside table.

  To the overturned photo frame.

  She slowly sat up and picked it up. Her fingers trembled as she turned it over.

  A family looked back at her from the photograph.

  Her father — smiling, happy, average height, with a gaze that always meant calm and trust. Not a trace of anger.

  Her mother — beautiful, serene, with silvery hair and a gentle smile.

  And herself — small, happy, not yet knowing how easily everything could disappear.

  Rosalin’s lips trembled.

  “I’m sorry… Mom,” she whispered.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “If only I hadn’t asked to go to that damn lake…”

  The words hung in the air, heavy and useless.

  The door creaked softly.

  Rosalin didn’t notice his footsteps right away.

  Hiro entered the room and understood everything at once — by her posture, by the way she held the frame.

  He came closer and sat beside her. Slowly.

  He carefully covered her hand with his and squeezed her fingers — firm, but gentle.

  “Easy,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

  Rosalin looked up at him.

  “You… really think so?”

  There was no doubt in his voice.

  “I know.”

  Those two words carried more weight than any comfort.

  Hiro stood up.

  “I’ll take a short walk,” he said casually.

  “Don’t lose me.”

  And without waiting for an answer, he left.

  The door closed.

  Rosalin stared into emptiness for a few seconds, then looked at the spot where he had stood moments ago.

  And only now did she realize something strange.

  Hiro… hadn’t looked her straight in the eyes.

  His gaze had been slightly higher. Or slightly lower.

  Between her eyes.

  She frowned.

  Why?.. I don’t remember ever seeing the color of his eyes clearly…

  And now I want to see them completely.

  Hiro walked along the narrow path, barely leaving footprints.

  The words echoed in his mind again and again:

  “To the west of the family estate.”

  A woman’s handwriting. Even, confident, aristocratic.

  The picture had already formed.

  Rosalin’s panic attacks in the mansion.

  A house that felt more like a crypt than a home.

  The constantly tired, fractured gaze of Director Selveran.

  Yeah…

  Hiro was almost certain.

  Selveran was her uncle.

  And all of this… traced back to a single night.

  He stepped out of the trees and reached the lake.

  And froze.

  The shore was covered in golden sand, as if someone had scattered powder made of melted light.

  The water was crystal clear, calm. But it reflected neither trees nor sky.

  It reflected stars.

  All of them.

  As if the lake wasn’t water at all — but a window.

  “This is it…” Hiro said quietly.

  He scanned the shore.

  He had been here before.

  Then he noticed something else.

  Not on the shore.

  Not in the reflection.

  Under the water.

  He narrowed his eyes. His pink pupils slid through the surface as if the water were nothing but glass.

  “…So that’s how it is.”

  Hiro stepped closer and extended his arms forward, then slowly spread them apart.

  The water trembled.

  The lake obediently parted, as if responding to a silent command. Streams withdrew, revealing part of the lakebed near the shore. Wet sand hissed as it was freed from the water.

  And there, embedded into the stone, an arch appeared.

  Old. Massive. Sealed.

  A pattern ran along its contour, darkened by time, and around the central plate were five recesses — perfectly shaped holes, as if made for something specific.

  Plates.

  Hiro stepped closer, examining the mechanism carefully.

  The corner of his lips lifted.

  “And there’s our ticket home.”

  He straightened and looked toward the forest path.

  “I need to tell Rosalin.”

  Hiro leaned his back against a tree and closed his eyes, remembering why he had come here.

  “What really happened that night…”

  And at that moment, a male voice echoed from deep within the forest.

  Muffled. Irritated.

  Hiro opened his eyes.

  Rosalin lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

  Suddenly, she flinched.

  Warmth. Familiar.

  She looked down — the key on its chain had heated up again. The rose symbol glowed softly, as if calling her.

  Rosalin went to the window.

  From the ground near the estate walls, roses were growing again. Their petals opened one by one, forming a path — away from the house.

  Into the forest.

  “Well, I’ll be… quick,” she muttered to herself.

  She threw on her cloak and ran outside, stepping on the flowers that seemed to be waiting for her.

  A man stood near the trees, almost blending into the shadows.

  He wore a strange suit — dense, dark, with metal elements. Over it, a cloak embroidered with a symbol: a moon with rays of light spreading from it.

  He pressed a hand to his ear.

  A metal plate with several buttons was embedded into his temple, glowing faintly.

  “Yeah…” he said irritably. “I’m on site.

  No, there’s no one here.”

  He spat aside.

  “I told you! Maybe it’s just not time yet!

  I eliminated a few, yes.”

  He fell silent, listening, then suddenly raised his voice:

  “I don’t give a damn what headquarters says!

  If that girl with the lime module failed, what chance do I have?!”

  He took a few steps, kicking a stone.

  “I’ll do everything I can…

  But you’ll reimburse the full payment!”

  Anger — and fear — rang in his voice.

  “Not my fault you lost a couple of caravans with Erkan…”

  He went silent.

  At that moment, right behind him, two pink lights ignited in the pitch darkness.

  Quietly. Without a sound.

  The man kept talking, unaware:

  “…and if everything goes according to plan—”

  He froze.

  The connection cut off. The metal plate clicked softly.

  The silence became too dense.

  “…what the—” he started, slowly lowering his hand.

  Rosalin walked, stepping between the roses.

  The petals glowed softly under her feet, as if they knew the way better than she did.

  And suddenly—

  A dull impact.

  Not an explosion.

  No flame.

  More like a sharp, compressed crash, as if the air itself had been squeezed and burst.

  Rosalin stopped abruptly.

  “What was that…?”

  She raised her head.

  The thought came instantly. The only one.

  “Hiro…”

  His name slipped from her lips in a whisper, then louder, frightened:

  “Hiro!”

  She ran.

  The roses bent beneath her feet but did not break, as if urging her forward.

  Her heart pounded too fast.

  Please. Not him.

  Then the heat grew stronger.

  Rosalin stopped, gasping, and pulled out the key.

  “What now?!” she snapped irritably.

  A new symbol lit up on its surface.

  A butterfly.

  Rosalin frowned.

  “And what does that mean…?”

  The answer came on its own.

  An ember butterfly flew past her. Slowly, almost lazily.

  It wasn’t flying forward — it was going back. Along the path she had come from.

  Rosalin froze.

  A second.

  A third.

  More.

  Soon an entire swarm surrounded her — fiery butterflies glowing softly, leaving thin trails of warmth in the air.

  And then she saw him.

  In the distance, beyond the trees, a pink light flared.

  That same one.

  Like back then.

  In childhood.

  It slowly drew closer.

  A silhouette formed in the darkness. Tall. Calm.

  And pink eyes, glowing like twin beacons.

  Rosalin stopped running.

  Her thoughts tangled.

  Her heart clenched — but not from fear.

  She smiled faintly and said, as if he could hear her:

  “You’re my ideal…”

  The warmth in her chest trembled.

  “But the one who truly matters to me,” her voice softened, “is somewhere else too.”

  She turned away.

  One step.

  Second.

  Third—

  Her body jolted as if struck by lightning. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened.

  Rosalin stopped abruptly.

  “…What?”

  She slowly turned back.

  The realization hit like ice water:

  The sound came from that direction…

  Her face twisted.

  Warmth turned into fury.

  “If you did something to him…” her voice shook, sharp as a blade.

  She extended her hand forward. Light gathered in her palm, dense and blinding.

  “Radiant power of light,” she began, enunciating every word,

  “gather into a projectile like a spear and punish my enemy.

  Light spear—”

  “ROSALIN!”

  The voice struck harder than any spell.

  Joyful. Alive. Real.

  Rosalin froze.

  The light in her palm wavered and scattered into sparks.

  The silhouette rushed closer, stepping out of the darkness.

  And the voice…

  She knew it.

  That voice had been with her in hard moments.

  In silence.

  In fear.

  In pain.