The Shattered Garden

I slowed opened my eyes, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding around me. The blinding light had dimmed, and as my vision cleared, I saw a figure standing nearby- a man clad in a white robe. The pure, ethereal quality of his attire contrasted sharply with the charred remains of the garden.

As I focused on him, recognition hit me like a bolt of lighting.

Prince Ancillin Emrys Ashbourne.

His presence was almost otherworldly, a stark contrast to chaos that had just erupted. His eyes, intense and clear, surveyed the devastation with a cold, analytical gaze.

"What the hell? A suicide?" he murmured, his voice carrying a tone of disbelief and irritation. His words seemed to cut through the lingering haze of smoke and fear.