Haroun's thoughts

I spot my dear grandfather in the garden, nestled amongst the flowers as if the world beyond these walls doesn't exist. His figure, slightly hunched with age but no less sharp in presence, moves with deliberate care as he tends to the vibrant blooms. The scent of earth and petals fills the air, mingling with the cool breeze.

"Don't you have work to do, old man?" I call out playfully, sauntering towards him. My voice breaks the silence of this private haven, a sanctuary few would dare to intrude upon.

Without lifting his gaze from the rose he's carefully pruning, he replies in that calm, all-knowing tone, "This is my work."

I roll my eyes, smirking. "Of course it is," I say, stepping closer. "Leave it to you to consider fussing over flowers more important than running the entire Church of the Moon." 

He lets out a small chuckle, still focused on his task, and it makes me smile. I can see why people respect him—his quiet authority, his ability to find peace in the simplest things. But I'm not just people. I'm Lucina, his granddaughter, his only adopted child—and I can come and go in this sacred garden as I please, unlike the rest of the world. It's a privilege I relish. No one else would dare disturb him here.

I spot a pair of garden scissors lying on a nearby table and grab them, spinning them in my hand with a bit more flourish than necessary. "Guess I'll join you then," I say, half to myself, half to him.

"Careful with those," he says without glancing up, though I can hear the smile in his voice. "You tend to make things bleed."

"Oh please," I scoff, snipping at some nearby bushes. "I'm not a complete disaster. Though, if I were, you'd be fine with it. After all, I am your favorite."

He finally looks up, arching a brow. "My only child," he corrects, the corners of his mouth lifting. 

"Exactly. Which means this garden is basically mine too," I say smugly, pruning a little too enthusiastically. "No one else can come here. Just me. I mean, I could have an entire audience if I wanted to."

He shakes his head, turning his attention back to the roses. "Is that why you're here, Lucina? To flaunt your exclusive access to my garden?"

"Maybe," I say with a grin, trimming a few more stems with a little too much gusto. "But mostly, I'm here to remind you how lucky you are to have me around. Imagine your life without this bright spark of joy."

The Pope lets out a soft laugh, a rare sound that feels almost magical in this quiet place. "Oh yes, my life would be *unbearably dull* without your occasional disruption."

I laugh back, knowing full well I'm an exception in more ways than one. "Glad you see it my way, old man."

"Birdies are telling me here and there that you're getting married soon," my grandfather says, his tone casual but teasing as he snips away at another flower.

I roll my eyes and wave my hand dismissively. "Don't listen to such nonsense. It's all the emperor's delusions," I say, knowing full well the rumors have been swirling. 

He scoffs, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Agreed. Who would be so unfortunate as to take you in?" He clicks his tongue mockingly, shaking his head in exaggerated pity.

Without meaning to, I snip a flower a little too harshly, the stem snapping in my hand. I hold it up, frowning at the ruined bloom.

"Proving my point," he says, clucking his tongue again. "Look at how violent you are. The poor flower didn't stand a chance."

"You wound me," I say dramatically, pressing a hand to my chest as if I've been struck. "I'm dainty and kind."

He raises a brow and snorts. "Like the sun that rises from the north."

*

It's a sight I've grown familiar with now. The Princess, laughing and bantering with the Pope in the private garden. It's almost surreal, watching her interact so freely with a man most would never even dream of meeting. Even if they prayed their whole lives, few would be granted an audience with him.

But there she is, laughing, her silver hair catching the sunlight and glowing as if crowned by light itself. She looks ethereal, untouchable—like a being beyond this world, a goddess descending to mingle with mere mortals.

She's right there, yet... she feels distant. Like the moon—so close, yet impossibly far. And yet, I can reach her. That truth, simple as it is, plays with my mind. If someone had told me, back when I fought in the underground arena, that I'd one day be here—watching this scene, standing guard for her—I would've called them insane. 

The idea would've seemed like a cruel joke back then. But now? Now it's my reality, and the fact that she's within my grasp—just an arm's reach away—messes with me more than I can admit.

Initially, all I felt was reverence and overwhelming gratitude. She pulled me from the gates of the abyss, saving me from a fate worse than death. But now... my emotions have shifted, becoming clouded with something darker, more possessive. The reverence is still there, but it's intertwined with something obsessive, something dangerously close to romantic. I find myself consumed by the urge to protect her, to claim her in ways I can't admit out loud. Every time I see another man look at her with those lust-filled eyes, I want nothing more than to gouge them out. 

But I'm not foolish. I'm smarter than that. Ever since reaching a higher level as a swordsman, my sense of danger has been heightened, sharper than ever. Only three people in this empire have ever made me feel genuinely uneasy: the Emperor, the Pope... and the Princess herself. 

Sometimes, when her anger flares, I get this strange feeling, like I'm an ant standing before a colossal beast. Her power is immense, terrifying even. She could obliterate someone without breaking a sweat, and she hides it well, but I've noticed. We've all noticed. The way the air changes when she's displeased, the quiet threat that lingers just beneath her smile. It sends shivers down my spine every time.

And yet... I can't stay away. Just like a mot

h to a flame. Yet I wouldn't trade this for the world.