Vi, Edward and Mirac had almost reached the end of the royal garden.

  On the left side of the path, but also nearing its end, majestic trees rose skyward. Their massive, grunks iwiheir branches into a opy of leaves, as if guarding the mysteries of the dense forest.

  This forest, in fact, extended far beyond its deceptive appearance, encirg the castle’s entire perimeter for a kilometer and a half, much like its walls.

  On the right side, however, y a field of white roses, a surreal trast to the dark shadows of the forest.

  The petals, white and soft as angelic feathers, danced in the gentle breeze, creating the illusion that the earth itself was breathing. Each flower seemed sculpted to perfe, with blooms open like faces turowards the setting sun, which, with its st rays, caressed them delicately, tinging them with golden and rosy hues.

  In this ented tableau, the tall stems of the roses stood like elegainels, their blossoms in full bloom, exuding a sweet, enveloping fragrahat filled the air with an almost otherworldly atmosphere.

  If not for his skill, “Instant ting,” Mirac might have thought there were infinite flowers in that field of white roses. A thought that, in truth, had apanied him throughout his entire journey in the royal garden.

  “WOOOW!” excimed Mirac, his eyes wide with wonder.

  Although he had already seen many flowers that day, none had captivated him like these.

  There was something special about that expanse of pristials, a beauty that seemed to trap his every thought.

  Edward stopped beside Vi, pointing a fiowards the flowers.

  “What do you think of these, Professor Shirkenn?” he asked, his voice full of hope.

  Vi stepped forward a few paces, the field before him attentively.

  “These…” he begaantly.

  His eyes moved slowly, expl every er of the ndscape: first to the left, then to the right, as if trying to capture every detail before his opinion.

  After a moment of ptive silence, his face broke into a radiant smile.

  “They are magnifit!” he excimed enthusiastically.

  Spreading his arms as if to embrace the entire expanse, Vi finally seemed satisfied for the first time all day.

  He then turo Mirac, the smile still on his face.

  “And you, young Prince, what do you think?”

  Mirac, his eyes shining with wonder, responded with a sincere aed tone:

  “Yes, Professor! I think they are beautiful too! I’m sure Carmen will love them!”

  Mirac then turo Edward.

  “Mr. Foss, could you help us gather some?”

  Edward chuckled good-naturedly.

  “Of course! It’s an honor to assist you.”

  Without hesitation, he headed towards a small wooden shed located a bit further along the path.

  After a few minutes, he returned with gardening tools, a pair of wloves, and some sharp shears.

  Donning the gloves, Edward began cutting the roses one by one, handling the tools with care to avoid damaging the delicate petals.

  Vi, fasated by Edward's skill and calm demeanor as he hahe roses, approached with a hint of hesitation.

  “ I help you in any way?” he asked timidly, almost afraid of being a bother.

  Edward looked up, a gentle smile grag his lips, though he didn’t pause in his work.

  “Don't worry, there’s no need, Professor Shirkenn,” he replied in a reassuring tone, tinuing to cut the roses with precision. “Carmen is probably already on her way back to the castle by now. I promise to be quick.”

  Vi nodded but cleared his throat before responding, betraying a trace of nervousness:

  “Thank you so much.”

  Mirac watched the se, keenly noting the tension Vi was unsuccessfully trying to mask. The professor kept fiddling with his tie, tightening and loosening it in a repetitive, almost pulsive gesture.

  ‘He’ll never ge, will he?’ thought Mirac, a faint, amused smile curving his lips.

  Croug in front of some roses, Mirac began them more closely.

  Vi and Edward, to his left, tiheir work, immersed in silence broken only by the faint clig of the shears.

  The evening air was cool and charged with anticipation, as if the entire universe were holding its breath during this quiet moment before aable decration.

  ‘Maybe I’ll pie for my mother as well...’ thought Mirac, reag out his right hand to pluck a rose.

  But his a tly interrupted.

  A thorn pricked his finger, making him flin pain.

  “AUGH!” he groaned, bringing the finger up to exami.

  A drop ht red blood rolled down and fell onto the white gravel of the path, a stark trast to the purity of the roses.

  Edward turned around suddenly, his face clouded with .

  “Oh, heavens! Are you all right, young Prince?”

  Mirac responded calmly:

  “Yes, don’t worry. Nothing happened."

  He smiled to reassure the older man, though it didn’t seem to work.

  Even though it was just a tiny wound, aainly nothing serious, Edward reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a roll of white gauze. With expert movements and without saying a word during the “treatment,” he ed Mirac’s injured finger.

  He didn’t skimp on the gauze, bandaging it with a care that revealed his kind and atteure.

  “You must be more careful, young Prince,” he said with a nod.

  "Yes, you're right. I was foolishly reckle-"

  Mirac didn’t have time to reply.

  He remaiill, taken aback, staring half incredulously at the bandaged finger.

  Perhaps because it was just a minor wound, he clearly felt the throbbing pain gradually subside until it disappeared entirely.

  ‘Incredible!’ he thought, surprised.

  Edward, sensing both Mirac’s amazement and fusion, hasteo expin:

  “Sometimes I cut myself as well, young Prihat’s why, a few years ago, my wife gave me this roll of ‘magic gauze.’ To the naked eye, you ’t see anything, but on the surface,” he raised his hand to show Mirac the roll of gauze carefully, even though there was indeed nothing visible, “there are healing runes applied. That’s why I always keep it in my pocket, just in case it’s needed.”

  With that said, before Mirac could raise any questions about the unusual magical object, Edward cut the rose responsible for the i. Before handing it to Mirac, he carefully removed all the thorns, making sure there were no further risks of injury.

  The kindness of the gesture revealed a deep sensitivity aleness.

  “Here you go, take it. This is the one you wanted, right?”

  Miraodded, a slight expression of embarrassment mixed with aowledgment of the “lesson.”

  “Thank you.”

  After an exge of smiles, Edward returo his work.

  However, even without giving Mirac the time to observe the rose he was holding in his hands, Edward’s voice broke the silence again, filled with a sweet nostalgia:

  “You know, now that I think about it, my wife loves these flowers too.”

  “Really?” Mirac asked, intrigued.

  “Yes, young Prince. She absolutely loves these roses! However, to be ho, I’ve never quite uood why. But…” He paused with a ugh. “After all, who uand women nowadays?”

  He let his warm, sincere ughter fill the air before tinuing:

  “Every time I visit her, I bring her a bouquet of these roses. Without a doubt, they are her favorite.”

  Meanwhile, Mirac had brought the rose to his face, closing his eyes as its delicate fragranveloped his senses.

  The young Prince remained silent for a moment, captivated by the st, before speaking almost absent-mindedly:

  “Where does your wife live?” he asked, his words almost lost in the wind.

  “In the tryside, fortunately not too far from here. I only see her during my vacation days, but… I miss her every day…” He paused, gazing at the sky turning golden and pink. “But it doesn’t matter! Ily one week, I’ll be able to return to her. Or rather,” he added, with a fsh of determination in his eyes, “this was my st year of service here at the castle. After that, I’ll retire and live with her.”

  Mirac lowered the rose from his face, his gaze filled with a veil of soft emotions.

  “You’re very lucky, Mr. Foss,” he said with a faint smile. “Having someone who waits for you at home, someone who hugs and loves you… Yes, I suppose it’s every man’s dream! Isn’t it, Professor?”

  Vi, who had been listening silently until then, nodded first, then replied with measured words:

  “I suppose so, young Prince…”

  His gaze seemed lost in an undefined point, beyond the field of roses.

  A brief silence fell between them, broken only by the whisper of the wind caressing the leaves, the soft rustling of the flowers, and the steady rhythm of Edward’s shears.

  Suddenly, the autumn breeze greer.

  Mirac slowly stood up, letting the st of the rose fill his senses once more.

  Before him, a breathtaking view unfolded: the eretch of the royal garden they had traversed so far extended as far as the eye could see, with the white roses swaying to his left and the dense, dark forest closing in on his right.

  However, his gaze shifted elsewhere, toward the horizon in front of him, where the rear of the castle loomed solemnly, bathed in the warm golden light of the su.

  Behind him, Vi and Edward tiheir versation.

  “Mr. Foss,” Vi began, his voice surprisingly calm, free from his usual uainty, as he untied his tie for the umpteenth time, “do you prefer white roses or red ones?”

  Mirac didn’t turn around, but he clearly heard the shears stop and Edward rise with a slight sigh.

  “Heh, good question,” the gardener replied with a soft ugh. “Red roses have a majestic elegahat’s for sure. And maybe I was simply influenced by my wife, but I would say that I also have a strong preference for white roses, for their purity and simplicity."

  Edaused for a moment, looking at the bunch of flowers he had gathered.

  “Anyway, I’ve cut about twenty roses. I think that should be enough. And it’s fortuhat there’s all the necessary material in the shed to make a nice bouquet.”

  Then, tilting his head with a sly smile, Edward added:

  “But, Professor Shirkenn, I see you’re struggling with that tie… Would you like some help?”

  Vi chuckled lightly, a rare moment of lighthat mao break the heavy atmosphere of his thoughts.

  Meanwhile, Mirac had remaianding still.

  He felt as if he was immersed in a vortex of indefihoughts, a tangle of refles that couldn’t take shape, and for which all he could do was stay motionless and focus, hoping his mind would unravel.

  He remaihis way for several moments, suspended in a sort of mental calm.

  It was only when a butterfly with sky-blue wings crossed his field of vision that his gaze broke away from the distant castle. He followed it with his eyes as it fluttered among the white petals, floating lightly and unaware of the world around it.

  And when it least expected it, its flight was soon interrupted...

  The blue wings became entangled in a thin spider's web.

  And, as expected, a bck spider, with its eerie body and long, slender legs, began to slowly move towards its prey, ready to weave its fate around the butterfly.

  Mirac watched the se with a strange unease, uo tear his gaze away.

  For some strange reason, that small drama betweeor and prey awakened a distant memory in him.

  He found himself recalling about a year earlier, during his first sword training.

  However, what came to his mind more strongly wasn’t so much the training itself, but Leonard’s words: a phrase that had struck him deeply that day, and whiow echoed in his mind.

  “Remember, young Prince... If you want to survive, do as you did today: always trust your instincts!”

  Those words, vibrating like thunder, seemed to shake every fiber of his being.

  A tingliion coursed through him from head to toe, leaving him still motionless in his pce, with his mouth slightly open, almost unaware of his surroundings.

  His gaze shifted back to the castle in the distance, as the image of the trapped butterfly merged with the vivid memory of the training.

  Time seemed to stop for a moment, with the details of the present and the past iwining in that unscious state.

  Vi and Edward were still talking behind him, but Mirac could no longer hear them clearly. Everything seemed muffled, as though he were submerged uer.

  But even if he could have heard their voices, Mirac was too focused on that mental fshback to listen, or eveion what was happening.

  ‘Trust your instincts!…’

  The words rang incessantly in his mind, first as a whisper, then as a distant echo, growing louder and louder!

  ‘Trust your instincts… Trust your instincts… Trust your instincts… Trust your instincts… Trust your instincts… Your instincts… Your… INSTINCTS!‘

  And then, without his mind fully uanding why, his body reacted.

  In an instant, Mirac threw himself to the side.

  He didn’t even have time to realize what was happening when a fierce, tearing pain exploded suddenly in his left arm.

  He was still mid-air, barely a heartbeat after the jump, when the devastating pain hit him with sutensity it almost made him lose sciousness.

  The impact with the ground was brutal: he fell heavily on his right side, his body already shaken by pain and adrenaline as he rolled a little further ahead.

  “AAAAAAAAAGH!!!”

  A heart-wreng scream escaped his lips, shattering the uneasy silence of the garden.

  Frightened by the cry, some crows perched owisted branches of the nearby forest took flight, emitting harsh calls, while the air around him seemed to vibrate with fear.

  “Fuck, that hurts!” Mirac groahrough ched teeth, his breath broken by the pain.

  When he looked down at his arm, his heart skipped a beat.

  “W-What the...?!”

  His left arm… was gone!

  At the elbow, the torn flesh gaped in a gruesome sight.

  The fracture was right between the distal end of the humerus and the bones of the ulna and radius, where the joint had been brutally shattered.

  The muscle fibers, like torn ropes, hung disordered around the white, shattered bone protruding from the wound.

  Warm blood pulsed in irregur bursts, p out with terrifying ferocity and staining the white gravel of the path. The red drops mixed with the dust, f dark streams that flowed like small, bloody rivers.

  Mirac couldn’t tear his eyes away from the wound, as pure terror mixed with horror and disbelief.

  “M-Motherfucker!!! Damn, that hurts!!!” he screamed again, his breath broken and gasping as he struggled to maintain some sembnce of crity.

  The pain was overwhelming, a merciless wave threatening to drown him.

  In that moment, the formalities and impeccable nguage expected of a false child from his high social status were the st thing on his mind.

  “W-What the fuck happened?!” he shouted, instinctively pressing his severed arm in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding.

  The stump pulsed uhe desperate pressure of his fingers, but the blood gushed in torrents, a hot and viscous river.

  Despite the chaos in his mind and the paralyzing pain, Miraew he couldn’t afford to lie there and despair for even another sed!

  It was clear that whatever had attacked him, and severed his left arm, was still nearby, ready to strike again.

  He o locate the assaint immediately and, if necessary, brace himself to dodge their attack.

  With this in mind, Mirac fought with all his strength to get ba his feet, stumbling as he tried to rise. His body trembled spasmodically, eaent a battle against the pain and fear.

  Breathing heavily and with his heart pounding, he began nervously sing the surrounding area.

  The first thiiced out of the er of his eye, to his left, from the spot where he had jumped, was his severed arm lying on the ground, blood still dripping from the stump.

  Thee the pain gripping his mind, his gaze was involuntarily drawn back behind him, to the spot where Edward and Vi had been talking just moments before.

  A growing ay pushed him to check, to see if something had happeo the two of them.

  But as soon as he turned, he instantly regretted it…

  “W-What…”

  The sight that greeted him took his breath away, and blood seemed to freeze in his veins.

  On the ground y Edward…

  Or rather, what was left of him…

  His body, in fact, was sliced in two perfect halves!

  His legs, pelvis, chest, and head were divided along the sagittal pne, as if a bde had performed its work with incredible precision.

  Even his face, that face that had been so alive and vibrant just moments before, was now split in two: an expression of pure horror eternally etched in his wide, empty eyes.

  Both halves y motionless, the entrails exposed in a macabre pool of blood and tissue.

  The gardener’s right hand, still half open, clutched the shears with which he had been cutting the roses, while his other hand held what would have been the bouquet of flowers for Carmen.

  The white roses beside him, once pure and perfect, were now stained with blood, soaked iragic fate.

  “MR. FOSS!!!” Mirac screamed, his voice torn with panid despair.

  With his right hand, he tio press against the wound, trying to stem the blood that flowed relentlessly, but the sight of Edward's butchered body made him falter.

  A wave of nausea surged in his throat, almost making him vomit, and the world seemed to lose its stability.

  It was then, before Edward’s mutited body, that his eyes caught a familiar figure...

  “P-Professor Shirkenn?” Mirac whispered.

  Vi was standing there, unharmed, but he appeared almost indifferent to the age around him.

  The tie, which he had nervously fidgeted with all day, hung loosely from his right hand, stained with blood, while with his left hand he unbuttohe colr of his bck shirt, also stained with red, letting the cool air caress his skin.

  His bck trousers, once immacute, now bore dark bloodstains that spread along the knees and sides.

  His face, usually gentle and awkward, was now cold and impassive, streaked with spshes of blood, adding an uling touch to his expression.

  Vi's eyes, which had always betrayed anxious nervousness, were now devoid of emotion, fixed on Edward's corpse with a chilling ess.

  “I also love white roses, Mr. Foss," Vi said, his voice low and ominous, filled with a silent threat that sent a shiver through Mirac's core.

  Any trace of his usual stammer or shyness was gone.

  Slowly, Vi lifted his gaze towards Mirad his cold eyes met those of the young Prince.

  “But then,” Vi cluded, with a sinister smile, “I prefer to dye them with blood...”