The moonlight that spilled into the royal garden cast everything in a shade of silver and frost. Serenil sat beneath the old moonbloom tree, quietly polishing a training sword when he sensed her—an unfamiliar presence, like wind moving against the current.
A girl, no older than eight, with long white hair and silver eyes, stood at the edge of the path. She wore a simple maid's uniform, far too clean for someone working in the palace's lower halls.
Serenil didn't speak. He simply observed.
The girl bowed politely. "You are Prince Serenil, yes?"
"I am," he said, not rising. "You are?"
"Lyra," she replied, tilting her head slightly. "They said I would be assigned to clean the eastern wing, but… I saw you here. So I came."
His gaze narrowed slightly. "Saw me?"
"In my dream," she said, her silver eyes gleaming unnaturally. "You stood in a sea of stars, wrapped in shadows, holding a blade of darkness. The world split open behind you."
Serenil froze.
A vision?
A prophecy?
Lyra took a cautious step forward. "You're not like the others, are you?"
He looked away. "No. I'm not."
She sat down beside him without asking. "I dreamed of dying once. Then I woke up in this body. Sometimes… sometimes I still remember the pain. The fire. The chains."
Her words struck a deep chord within Serenil.
"You're a reincarnator too?" he asked, more a whisper than a question.
She gave a soft smile. "I don't know what that word means… but maybe. I think I was something else. Before this."
A strange silence fell between them. Two old souls, sharing the weight of lives they no longer lived.
Then Lyra looked up. "Your sword… it sings. Even when it's quiet."
Serenil gave her a rare glance of surprise.
Only someone with divine sense could feel Voidrender.
He stood up. "Keep that to yourself."
Lyra nodded. "I will. I think… we'll be friends."
He didn't reply, but as he walked away, something about her words lingered.
A friend. Perhaps the first one who truly saw him.