The corridors of the palace buzzed like a shaken hive. Servants scurried past with heads bowed, guards whispered nervously at their posts, and in the middle of it all, Daita paced like a condemned man, every step sharp and restless.
Behind him, Zuzu trailed nervously, tugging at his sleeves, eyes darting everywhere as if the walls themselves might accuse them.
"This is bad. This is worse than bad," Daita hissed, raking his hand through his hair for what felt like the tenth time. He turned abruptly, his glare pinning Zuzu.
Zuzu flinched. "Don't look at me! I—I reminded you yesterday!" His voice cracked, high and frantic. "I told you, seventh prince, I told you! I said, 'Maybe we shouldn't let His Highness sneak off'—"
"That—!" Daita spun on him, face pale, voice dropping in disbelief. "You should have reminded me of the Bloom! You should have stopped me!"
"You're the one who's supposed to be keeping an eye on him!" Zuzu shot back, stamping his foot like a child throwing blame. "If anything happens to the Crown Prince—" He turned on his heel with a huff, "—I'll blame you first!"
"You—mule bag!" Daita barked.
The two froze.
A slow, deliberate clap echoed down the corridor, each strike too loud in the hush that followed.
From the shadows of a jade pillar, Raizen Zeyu, the Fourth Prince, leaned lazily, his smile too sharp, too amused. His long sleeves dangled as he brought his hands together once more in mocking applause.
Daita's jaw tightened. He turned, glaring at the prince with a look sharp enough to curdle wine. "…Zeyu. I see the scorching sun of the South hasn't burned away your talent for slander."
Zeyu only grinned wider, head tilting, eyes gleaming with that dangerous, half-mad light. "Slander? No, no. Just truth dressed in prettier robes. But don't worry—I won't trouble His Majesty with reports. After all, you've done such a fine job. If His Highness dies out there, at least during this Bloom…" He let the words linger, pretending to weigh them. "…well, wouldn't that make succession deliciously interesting?"
Daita's glare sharpened, but before he could retort, Zuzu blurted out, voice trembling but stubborn,
"Fourth Prince—f-forgive me if I sound rude, but… even if the Crown Prince were to fall, you wouldn't be next in line. His Majesty would never put the throne in your hands. You—" He bit his lip, but the words tumbled out anyway, "—you're not exactly known for wanting to live, are you?"
The corridor froze.
Zeyu's smile lingered, but something in his eyes cracked gleaming cold and brittle. Then, suddenly, he laughed, a hollow sound that echoed too long.
"You're right. I've no interest in living. But that doesn't mean I can't decide how others stop living."
His hand shot to his sword. The steel hissed free, arcing toward Zuzu in a flash of silver malice.
But it never landed.
With a single motion, Daita stepped between them, two fingers snapping against the flat of the blade. Steel shuddered, halted mid-swing, and the sword was flicked aside with effortless disdain. His eyes burned into his brother's, his voice dripping ice:
"Zeyu, you've always disappointed me. First, for not dying on your last mission as you so clearly wished… and now, for raising your sword against someone who doesn't even wield one. Pathetic."
Zeyu staggered back a step, the manic grin twisting but never breaking. "Careful, Brother. His Majesty may think you're loyal to him… but how many know you've always been your beloved Crown Prince's shadow? His confidant, his partner in crime?"
Daita's jaw tightened, but he only laughed once, sharp and mocking. "And you? Don't act as though you're not one of his highness informants yourself. You think I don't see it? You, of all people, lingering at his heel… that's what I envy."
His gaze dropped, catching the gleam of the fallen sword on the floor. He recognized it instantly—It belonged to the Crown Prince's personal armory.
Zeyu bent, lifting it slowly, deliberately. The weight settled into his hand with a familiar ease as he slid it back into the scabbard. "I go where I find benefit, Brother. And right now…" His grin returned, thin and sharp as a knife. "…the scales are still undecided."
He turned on his heel, his gaze flicking toward Zuzu. The servant stiffened under the Fourth Prince's glare and quickly dropped his eyes.
Zeyu chuckled low in his throat and strode away, his footsteps fading into the corridor's echo. Daita exhaled through his nose, a wry twist at his lips. "This suicidal maniac… tch. Forget it."
He turned to Zuzu and gave him a heavy pat on the back that nearly staggered him. "You did well, Zuzu. I'll admit, you've got some courage in you."
Zuzu huffed, brushing off his sleeve and turning away, though his ears burned red. "Save the flattery, seventh prince. Let's just find the Crown Prince and bring him back first."
Daita barked out a laugh, folding his arms. "Hah! Damn mule bag—acting all high and proper."
————
Somewhere else, two silhouettes moved restlessly under the pale sweep of dawn.
Ryoma and Kaen paced back and forth beneath the eaves of an empty corridor, the stone still cold with night chill.
"She hasn't returned," Kaen muttered, rubbing his arms. "It's been hours. Even for Astra, this is—"
"Too long," Ryoma finished sharply, his boots striking the stone with frustrated precision. His jaw worked, a deep frown carved into his usually calm face.
Another moment passed before he exhaled hard and lowered himself onto a step. One hand rose to his forehead, fingers pressing hard as if to squeeze sense into the situation.
"Of all times…" he murmured, voice low, rough. "Again—she disappears at the worst possible time. When the Bloom is this close…"
The word Bloom hung heavy in the air.
Kaen froze.
Something flickered across his face—alarm, fear bleeding together. He turned to Ryoma abruptly.
"…The crown prince."
Ryoma's head snapped up. "What?"
Kaen swallowed visibly. "Ryoma—could she be with—"
The rest died on his tongue. But the meaning hit Ryoma like a blade. He shot to his feet so fast the air shuddered around him.
"No."
"No. Not again. It shouldn't be like this." His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. "Not now. Not when the Bloom is this close."
Kaen looked at him, the weight of the implication sinking deep.
Ryoma turned toward the temple district—the direction Astra had vanished hours ago and something dark, almost desperate flared behind his eyes.
"This time…" he whispered, barely audible, "she must not meet him."