As they approached the ancient oaks, Ema discerned a silhouette in the distance. It wasn't Friedrich's posture. This man stood differently—motionless as a statue that had stood there for ages. "Who is that?" Ema asked her little guide quietly. "He said his name is Azriel," the child answered carelessly and let go of her hand to return to the others.

  Ema was left alone. Before her, in the half-shadow of the trees, stood a man. He wore a long white coat resembling the uniform of a high-ranking officer, but from an era history did not remember. Golden epaulets and intricate embroidery on the collar and cuffs gleamed as if woven from actual sunlight. His skin was pale, almost translucent, in sharp contrast to the raven hair that fell into his eyes. When he turned to her, Ema froze. His eyes had no whites. They were black, deep as the Void itself, absorbing all the light around them. He radiated an aura so powerful and ancient that the flowers in his vicinity bowed their heads. Ema felt a mixture of sacred terror and inexplicable peace. Instinctively, without thinking about it, she bowed deeply to him.

  The man watched her in silence. An ordinary yellow sunflower materialized in his palm.

  "A moment..." he pronounced, and his voice sounded like the resonance of a bell in a deep valley. It wasn't the voice of a man, but an echo of the old world. "That human child is here for a mere moment, a fraction of a second in the flow of time. And yet, she managed to get caught in the webs of intrigue that humans spin here, with the naivety of a moth flying into a flame."

  His black, sclera-less eyes slid to the ordinary sunflower in his palm. Ema watched him in fascination, not knowing who he was talking about.

  "How is it possible," he began quietly, more to himself and to the sky than to her, "that a completely ordinary, mortal creature can touch a shard of raw power..." With those words, the sunflower in his hand instantly lost its color. The leaves withered, the bright yellow turned into a putrid brown, as if the life had drained from it in a hundredth of a second under the weight of something it wasn't meant to bear.

  "...how could that fragile body pass through the Void..." Azriel continued, raising the withered flower higher against the sun. The plant changed again before Ema's eyes. The brown tissue became transparent, hardened. The sunflower turned into a perfect but dead piece of ice. Fragile and absolutely cold.

  "...without losing its own self in that deathless silence?" The ice sunflower suddenly filled with a thick, white liquid from the inside. Long, black thorns abruptly burst from its stem and petals, tearing the icy shell from within. It was a grotesque transformation—a battle of life with nothingness. And then, in a single moment, the whole mutated thing crumbled into fine, gray dust with a quiet pop.

  Azriel gently blew that dust from his palm. Not into the wind. Directly toward Ema. The particles glinted in the sunbeams and settled on her like ash. Only then did he raise his gaze and look into her eyes.

  "And yet..." he fixed that abyssal gaze of his upon her, "your first step in freedom leads here. You willingly put your neck into a yoke woven for you by people who see no further than the limits of their own power. Humans are hasty, egoistic creatures."

  Azriel took a step closer to her. His aura was heavy, almost tangible. "In their desire for control, they will destroy even what they love, because they have forgotten that love is not ownership, but surrender. Humans have exchanged emotion for contracts, passion for genetic engineering. They have created a world where love is a weakness and possessiveness is a virtue. Tell me, child... perhaps that is why God abandoned them? Perhaps that is why he left, because he found nothing in their temples but the echo of his own pride?"

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  It was a rhetorical question, but his expression suggested he knew the answer better than anyone else.

  Ema felt small, exposed under his gaze. She wanted to defend herself, wanted to justify her choice, but the words caught in her throat. "I had no choice," she defended herself, but her voice shook and sounded hollow in that majestic presence. "Friedrich... is kind to me. He offered me protection when I had nothing. He promised me a home, a background. He said we would be stronger together. I... I'm tired of running. This is my chance for a normal life." Even as she said it, she felt how false it sounded. As if she were reciting a learned text she was starting to disbelieve herself.

  Azriel silently handed her a completed bouquet. It was beautiful, composed of flowers that did not grow in this world. "You have decided to walk a path paved for you by others," he said quietly, and his voice suddenly sounded very human, full of sorrow.

  He walked closely past her. His white cloak brushed against her, but she felt no fabric, only a gust of cold air from another world. He leaned close to her ear and whispered words that chilled her to the bone: "Instead of walking by the side of the one whose eyes glow golden in the darkness..."

  Azriel continued walking without looking back. His step was silent, leaving no traces in the grass.

  Ema stood there frozen, clutching the bouquet so tightly her knuckles turned white. Thoughts whirled in her head like runaway horses. Golden eyes in the darkness... The image surfaced from her memory with painful clarity.

  "Viktor?!" she gasped and spun around sharply. "Do you mean Viktor?!"

  But there was no one behind her. The garden was empty. Only blossoming leaves began to fall from the trees upon her like a silent rain.

  "Who is Viktor?"

  Friedrich's voice didn't cut through her like lightning; rather, it coiled around her like a cold snake. Ema flinched. He stood just a few steps from her, hands casually in his pockets, that rehearsed, indulgent smile on his face. He looked like the perfect fiancé who just happened to overhear something he shouldn't have. His eyes were calm, but an underlying steel wariness was reflected in their depths.

  "No one," she blurted out quickly. Too quickly. She tried to make it sound indifferent, but her voice cracked. "Just... a character from a book I read once. I remembered the ending."

  Friedrich tilted his head to the side, as if studying an interesting insect. "A character from a book," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. "A strange name for a romantic story." His gaze slid lower. It stopped on the bouquet Ema was convulsively clutching. The flowers in her hand still glowed softly, alien and inappropriate in this reality.

  "And this?" he asked, reaching out a hand toward them without touching them. "A wedding gift? Those flowers... don't look like they grew in our greenhouses. Where did you get them, my dear?"

  Ema jerked her hand back as if he wanted to steal the bouquet from her. "One... one of the guests," she lied, feeling her cheeks burning with defiance. "An older gentleman. He already left. He said he was in a hurry." She wanted to bypass him, to disappear from his reach, but Friedrich took a step to the side. He blocked her path. Not aggressively, just with the natural authority of the castle's owner. He caught her free hand. His grip was gentle but unyielding.

  "Ema," he said softly, in a tone used to calm a frightened animal. "You're trembling. You're pale. Did someone tell you something unpleasant? You know, guests sometimes talk nonsense out of envy..."

  Ema looked into his eyes. She saw the mask in them. That perfect, bulletproof facade of care. And suddenly, she found it laughable. A bitter, desperate laugh. "Envy?" she snorted and tore herself away from him. This time it wasn't out of fear, but out of anger. "Or maybe someone just forgot the script, Friedrich? Tell me, what role do I play in this theater?"

  Friedrich didn't even flinch. His smile only stiffened slightly at the corners. "You are my fiancée, Ema. The future lady of this house. What theater?"

  "The one we're acting out here!" she snapped at him, waving her hand toward the castle, toward the guests, toward the illusion of perfection. "Is any of this even real? You, your feelings, this 'protection'? Or was I just stupid enough to fall for it?"

  Friedrich sighed, as if speaking to a tired child. He approached her again, this time closer, invading her personal space.