The black flower rested on Kira's desk until dawn. She hadn't touched it after the physician left.
The candle beside it had burned itself into a puddle of wax sometime during the night, yet the flower remained as fresh as though it had only just been picked. Even the droplets of dew clinging to its petals hadn't dried.
It shouldn't have been possible.
Flowers didn't remain untouched by time. Neither did memories.
Kira reached for it carefully, turning the stem between her fingers. Every part of it looked ordinary, yet something about it refused to leave her thoughts. It wasn't the flower itself that held meaning. It was where it had come from.
Whoever had sent it wanted her to find something.
Not through a letter. Not through a messenger.
Through the flower itself.
She studied it for nearly an hour before finally noticing what she'd overlooked.
The stem had been wrapped with an unusually thin strip of pale linen instead of ordinary florist's twine. It wasn't decorative. It had been tied with a specific knot—small, neat, and tucked beneath a single fold.
Recognition flickered across her face.
She had seen that knot before.
Years ago, during one of her countless walks through the capital, an elderly florist in the Old District had wrapped flowers for his customers the exact same way. At the time, she had only found it peculiar because no other flower merchant used that style.
She hadn't thought about it since.
Until now.
Kira slowly closed her hand around the stem.
"So that's where you want me to go..."
Leaving the Solis Estate proved easier than she expected.
Her father was eager to repair the family's reputation after the banquet, and a disgraced daughter publicly visiting the temple to pray for forgiveness painted a far better picture than one locked away inside her room.
The carriage dropped her near the Temple of Light shortly after midday.
She waited until the attendants disappeared inside before quietly slipping into the maze of narrow streets beyond the temple square.
The further she walked, the older the capital became.
The grand marble buildings slowly gave way to weathered stone and faded timber. The streets narrowed until two passing carriages could no longer travel side by side. Laundry hung from second-story windows, children chased one another through winding alleys, and shopkeepers called lazily to passing customers beneath faded wooden signs that had survived decades of rain and sun.
This was the oldest part of the capital.
Long before nobles built their towering estates, people had lived here.
Some still did.
Others had simply refused to leave.
Kira continued deeper into the district, allowing memory to guide her more than instinct.
Eventually, she stopped.
Nestled between two abandoned storefronts stood a tiny flower shop she would have walked past without a second glance had she not been looking for it.
Time had not been kind to the building.
Its faded sign swung gently in the breeze, the lettering almost completely worn away. Cracks stretched across the stone walls, and the wooden roof sagged beneath years of neglect.
It looked abandoned.
Forgotten.
As though the city itself had simply learned to look around it.
Yet something immediately felt wrong.
Flowers bloomed outside the shop.
Not a handful.
Dozens.
Kira stepped closer.
Her brows slowly drew together.
Impossible.
Spring peonies blossomed beside autumn chrysanthemums.
Delicate winter camellias grew alongside summer roses.
Lilies, tulips, lavender, magnolias...
Flowers separated by entire seasons flourished together beneath the same patch of afternoon sunlight.
No garden should have looked like this.
No gardener could have made it possible.
A quiet splash interrupted her thoughts.
Near the entrance, an elderly man knelt beside the flower beds, gently watering each plant with slow, practiced movements. His beard had long since turned white, and the sleeves of his plain brown robe were rolled neatly above his wrists.
His cloudy eyes stared into nothing.
Blind.
Yet the stream of water never wandered from its mark.
Each flower received exactly what it needed.
Not a drop more.
Not a drop less.
Kira watched in silence.
The old man finished watering a cluster of lavender before speaking.
"If you're planning to keep staring, young lady," he said with a faint smile, "you might as well come closer. My flowers are beginning to think they've grown two extra leaves."
Kira's eyes narrowed.
"You knew someone was there."
"I knew someone stopped walking."
His smile widened ever so slightly.
"The flowers notice these things."
She wasn't sure whether he was joking.
Or whether he truly believed it.
After a moment, she stepped closer until she stood before the display of impossible blooms.
The old florist continued his work as though she weren't there.
Neither of them spoke.
Finally, Kira broke the silence.
"I'm looking for a black flower."
The old man chuckled quietly.
"No."
That was all he said.
He continued watering the flowers.
Kira frowned but didn't move.
Several long moments passed with nothing but the gentle sound of water striking the soil.
Just as she began to wonder whether she'd followed the wrong trail, the old florist set down his watering can.
Without looking at her...
Without changing the peaceful expression on his face...
He spoke once more.
"I'm waiting for one."
Kira's breath caught.
The old man simply picked up another flowerpot and continued tending his impossible garden, leaving her standing in absolute silence as the afternoon breeze carried the scent of blossoms through the forgotten street.