The old florist led Kira away from the bustling streets of the underground city, neither slowing his pace nor offering further explanation. The deeper they ventured into Wildflower, the quieter the surroundings became. Merchants disappeared, the workshops grew fewer, and the wide avenues gradually narrowed into corridors carved from ancient stone. Even the steady rhythm of footsteps faded until only the soft glow of the lantern remained to accompany them.
Eventually, they stopped before a pair of towering wooden doors reinforced with black iron. Unlike everything else Kira had seen underground, these doors bore no carvings, no symbols, and no decoration of any kind. They were deliberately plain, as though whoever built them wanted nothing to draw attention to what lay beyond.
The florist raised his hand and knocked seven times.
Not quickly.
Not slowly.
Each knock landed with measured precision, separated by just enough silence to feel intentional.
For several moments, nothing happened.
Then the heavy doors creaked inward.
A circular chamber stretched beyond them, illuminated by dozens of suspended lanterns whose warm light reflected across polished stone floors. A long table occupied the center of the room, carved from a single slab of dark wood that had undoubtedly survived generations of use.
Seven people were already seated around it.
No servants.
No guards.
No attendants.
Only seven figures quietly waiting.
The florist stepped inside first before bowing his head ever so slightly.
"I found someone carrying the Black Bloom."
Every pair of eyes shifted toward Kira.
Not one of them stood.
Not one of them bowed.
Their expressions held curiosity more than surprise, as though they had spent years preparing for possibilities they never truly expected to happen.
Silence lingered inside the chamber until an elderly man seated near the far end of the table folded his hands together.
"So," he said calmly, "this is the woman."
Kira met his gaze without speaking.
She had expected questions.
She had not expected indifference.
The man sitting beside him adjusted a thick ledger resting on the table before speaking without looking up.
"Age?"
"Twenty."
"Younger than expected."
Another voice answered before anyone else could continue.
"Everything is younger than expected once enough years pass."
The speaker was an elderly woman with silver hair tied neatly behind her head. Ink stained the tips of her fingers, and countless rolled maps surrounded her chair.
A broad-shouldered man seated opposite her crossed his arms.
"I don't care how old she is."
His voice carried the quiet weight of someone accustomed to ending arguments before they began.
"I care whether she's a threat."
The room fell silent once more.
Kira slowly looked around the table.
Although no one had introduced themselves, she could already begin to understand them.
The elderly man with the ledgers noticed profits before people.
The woman surrounded by maps thought in terms of roads and distances rather than conversations.
The broad-shouldered man measured everyone like a battlefield.
Another quietly observed every movement she made without uttering a single word, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
A woman in simple robes rested one hand upon a physician's satchel, her calm expression revealing little.
One elderly gentleman absentmindedly sorted sealed reports into careful stacks, reading each seal before placing it aside.
And at the head of the table sat a gray-haired man whose presence alone kept the others from speaking over one another.
None of them looked alike.
Yet they shared the same quiet confidence.
These people weren't advisors.
They were leaders.
The florist finally broke the silence.
"For the last ten years, each of them has tended one root of the garden."
He gestured toward the table one seat at a time.
"Trade."
The man with the ledger inclined his head.
"Medicine."
The woman carrying the physician's satchel acknowledged her with a faint smile.
"Transportation."
The silver-haired cartographer rested a hand upon her maps.
"Finance."
An older gentleman lightly tapped the account books before him.
"Information."
The silent man sorting sealed reports never looked away from Kira.
"Intelligence."
The sharp-eyed observer finally leaned forward.
"And Enforcement."
The broad-shouldered man remained exactly where he sat, watching her without warmth.
The florist's voice softened.
"When Wildflower lost its gardener... the roots chose to protect themselves."
No one corrected him.
No one argued.
It was simply accepted as truth.
Kira's heartbeat slowed.
She had expected followers.
Instead, she had found rulers.
Each of them had spent years protecting a different part of Wildflower. Together, they had transformed it into the hidden civilization she had walked through only moments ago.
Whatever Wildflower had once been...
It no longer belonged to a single person.
The broad-shouldered man finally broke the silence.
"If she truly is who you suspect," he said, "then she abandoned this garden."
The physician calmly shook her head.
"Or perhaps she couldn't return."
"Intent doesn't change absence."
"No," the physician agreed. "But neither does absence erase truth."
Trade closed his ledger with a quiet thud.
"We're discussing assumptions."
Finance nodded.
"Assumptions are expensive."
Information finally spoke for the first time.
"We have no proof."
Every conversation stopped.
The gray-haired man seated at the head of the table slowly lifted his eyes toward Kira.
There was neither hostility nor kindness in his expression.
Only patience.
He studied her for several long moments before speaking.
"Whether you are an imposter..."
His fingers rested lightly upon the polished table.
"...or the woman whose shadow built everything around us..."
The room became perfectly still.
"...makes no difference."
He leaned back slightly.
"In this room, names have never held value."
His gaze never left hers.
"Only truth does."
Another long silence followed before he asked the question every person around the table had been waiting to hear.
"Prove..."
His voice remained calm.
"...that you are Wildflower."
No one spoke.
No one came to her defense.
For the first time since returning to the past, Kira realized she wasn't standing before loyal followers.
She was standing before seven people who loved Wildflower enough to deny even its founder if she failed to convince them.