The Forbidden Garden was quieter than any battlefield, yet no less dangerous. Every leaf glistened with a strange sheen, faintly imbued with spiritual energy, and the fragrance in the air was sweet enough to mask the poison that lingered beneath.
It was here, in this forbidden corner of the Obsidian Silver Sect, that I faced him—Kael Darius, the Sect Heir.
Our eyes locked.
His robes—woven with threads of obsidian and silver—fell in sharp lines that seemed too regal for the morning light, yet perfectly suited him. He was the living embodiment of his sect's name: cold, formidable, untouchable.
"You're late, Lady Seraphine," Kael said, voice flat and unyielding.
I bowed, deliberately graceful, despite the small scar that marred my hand. He noticed it. Of course he noticed it. The heir of the Obsidian Silver Sect missed nothing.
"I live to survive," I replied, allowing the corner of my lips to curl in defiance.
For the briefest heartbeat, the corner of his lips twitched—almost a smile. Almost.
I caught it, and I knew he hated that I did.
The tension between us thickened like spiritual mist before a storm.
And then… I felt it.
The air shifted. It wasn't the garden's usual oppressive energy, nor the suffocating aura Kael carried like a blade always half-drawn. No, this was something else. Something colder.
A presence. Hidden. Watching.
Kael turned his back, dismissing me as though I were beneath his notice. But in that single instant, I knew—the true danger wasn't the heir's disdain.
It was the threat creeping silently closer.
Kael's POV
Her words clung to me longer than they should have.
I live to survive.
Such an answer would have been impertinent from anyone else. But from her lips, it rang differently—like a blade tested against stone. Defiant. Sharp. Yet… real.
Most daughters of noble clans softened their tongues in my presence. They either feared the Obsidian Silver Sect heir or fawned for favor. This one did neither.
Lady Seraphine.
Her aura flaring instinctively when the assassin struck—still lingered in my mind. She shouldn't have survived that night. And yet she had, her power erupting like a dormant star awakening.
And now here she stood, before me in the Forbidden Garden, as though the shadows themselves couldn't devour her.
I turned my back deliberately. I had to. My mask—the heir's mask—allowed no room for weakness. But my senses remained sharpened, not on her… but on the faint disturbance stirring among the garden's vines.
The Garden was alive in ways outsiders could never fathom.
Each plant had been cultivated for centuries with spirit-rich soils, watered by veins of leyline beneath the sect's mountain. Some bloomed once in a decade, others fed upon blood spilled unwisely near their roots. Only the heir was permitted entrance without supervision. And now… her.
I could already feel the garden's reaction to her presence.
Where I walked, the leaves curled slightly, respectful of the bloodline I bore. But when she stepped forward, one particular vine lifted, as though scenting her aura.
It trembled. Then recoiled.
Fear? Or recognition?
Interesting.
"Your scar," I said without turning, my tone casual enough to mask my scrutiny. "Most noble daughters would hide such a blemish."
"Then I am not 'most noble daughters,'" she answered smoothly.
The corner of my lips twitched again before I crushed it flat.
Her voice carried no shame. No hesitation. Just the stubborn weight of someone who had bled and chosen not to bow.
I despised it.
I respected it.
Perhaps both.
But respect was dangerous. In this world, sympathy made you careless. And I could not afford carelessness—not as heir. Not while shadows were already clawing for my life.
Seraphine's POV
He hadn't struck me down with words, though I'd half-expected it. Instead, Kael's back remained turned, the silver-threaded patterns of his obsidian robes catching faint light as he moved.
I had to admit it—the sight of him commanded the space. Every step was precise, controlled, like a sword unsheathed but never wavering. No wonder his sect carried his presence like a warning bell across the continent.
The Obsidian Silver Sect.
Cold, unyielding, feared.
And its heir stood a breath away from me, evaluating me as though I were another poisonous bloom in this cursed garden.
"I thought the heir of such a great sect would prefer obedience," I said, letting my voice carry just enough steel.
He didn't look back. "Obedience is easy to purchase. Survival cannot be bought."
That struck me. Too close to my own heart.
The silence stretched, weighted by the garden's oppressive aura. My fingers brushed against one of the jade-leaved plants nearby, and instantly a whisper of spiritual qi bit at my skin. The plant recoiled as if burned.
I pulled my hand back quickly.
Kael finally turned then, his gaze sharp enough to slice through marrow.
"The Garden remembers blood," he said softly. "Touch what you don't understand, and it may feed on you instead."
His warning wasn't gentle. It wasn't meant to be. But the fact that he warned me at all… that was telling.
I tilted my head, refusing to be cowed. "And yet you invited me here."
For the first time, his eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Perhaps I wished to see how long you'd last."
The deeper we moved into the Forbidden Garden, the denser the qi became.
It pressed against my skin like heavy water, seeping into pores, coiling around bones. My own cultivation stirred in response, restless, hungry. This garden wasn't merely a place—it was a crucible.
Kael walked as though the weight didn't exist. His aura swallowed the atmosphere, bending it, forcing it to yield. Each step resonated with the authority of someone born into legacy, trained since birth to crush opposition.
And yet… the plants whispered differently when I passed.
A vine shivered. A flower opened prematurely, its petals glowing faintly before collapsing. A ripple of recognition? My chest tightened, but I ignored it. The last thing I wanted was to give him the satisfaction of seeing me unsettled.
"Your sect raises plants that fear and plants that kill," I remarked, breaking the silence. "What does that say about its heir?"
He glanced at me sidelong, silvery eyes unreadable. "That I am both."
My breath caught. It wasn't arrogance. It was truth, spoken without hesitation.
The closer I looked, the more I saw it: the sharp edges of someone who had killed, who had survived assassination attempts before, who had been carved into steel by the weight of succession.
And yet, something cracked the surface when he looked at me.
Something I wasn't supposed to see.
Kael's POV
Her words cut sharper than I expected.
What does that say about its heir?
That I am both. Yes. Both poison and shield. Both weapon and prey.
But when her eyes lingered on me with that unsettling steadiness, I almost faltered. Almost.
The truth?
For a moment—one brief, damning moment—I wanted her to see me not as heir, not as blade, but as Kael. Just Kael.
I buried the thought instantly.
Weakness. Nothing more.
The air shifted again.
My hand fell instinctively toward my sleeve, where a concealed blade lay hidden.
This time I was certain. We were not alone.
Seraphine stiffened. She felt it too.
The oppressive qi of the garden twisted unnaturally, like a ripple in still water. Someone—or something—was cloaked within the spiritual density.
I met her gaze, and for the first time, words weren't needed.
Her pupils tightened, hand brushing instinctively toward her hidden dagger. My own aura flared, silver and obsidian threads of power rippling outward in controlled precision. The garden responded, vines trembling, flowers wilting under the sudden clash of qi.
And then—silence.
A single droplet of dew fell from a leaf. Too loud. Too sharp.
The strike was coming.
"Stay behind me," Kael said curtly.
Her lips curved into a smirk. "I thought you wanted to see how long I'd last."
Before I could retort, the shadows moved.
A figure emerged, cloaked in black, aura suppressed to near nothing. Their blade gleamed with the faint sheen of poison, slicing through the air toward me with lethal speed.
Time slowed.
I shifted, obsidian qi bursting from my core, silver threads weaving like chains of light around my frame. My blade met theirs in a thunderous clash, sparks scattering.
But before I could counter, the assassin pivoted—too fast, too precise. Their true target wasn't me.
It was her.
Seraphine.
Her power flared instinctively, wild and raw, as though something deep within her bloodline had been waiting for this moment. A pulse of energy erupted outward, not cultivated, not controlled—instinctive. Primal.
The assassin froze mid-strike, their aura faltering under the sudden blast of power.
My eyes widened.
What in the heavens was she?