The balcony garden was a secluded pocket of green carved above the estate—aloof from courtly noise and political echoes.
Delicate lanterns floated midair, held by soft runes, casting golden halos over blooming nocturne lilies and swaying feathergrass.
The scent was part jasmine, part mana—something more refined than perfume, more elusive than thought.
Aden stood by the edge, one hand on the cold marble rail, his eyes following the shadows cast by the wind. Below, the estate was a breathing fortress. Above, the stars scattered like lost truths.
She entered without sound.
Serenia Joshua, heir of House Joshua, glided through the arched entrance of the balcony. Her gown was woven from dusk and silver thread, blending with the shadows and shining just enough to suggest wealth that didn't need to be announced.
Her hair was tied with an antique clip—probably older than most nobles alive—and her posture carried the confidence of someone used to commanding strategy, not affection.
"Okay… don't be weird," he thought, adjusting the clasp of his cloak. "Just talk like a person. Not a walking war crime."
She stopped a few paces away. "You're early."
Aden turned, suppressing the instinct to stare—but not very successfully.
She was that kind of beautiful. Not just stunning—dangerous. The sort of woman sculpted by divine precision and sharpened by intellect.
"Damn," Egmund muttered inside his head. "Bro, focus. You keep staring like you're writing poetry with your eyes."
Aden cleared his throat and offered a curt nod. "I figured I'd get ahead of time before the conversation got ahead of me."
She stepped toward him with measured grace. "Didn't expect the infamous Twelfth Seat to be a punctual man."
Aden smirked lightly. "Figured being fashionably late might send the wrong message. Especially after today."
Her eyes studied him. "Yeah… about that."
Serenia smirked faintly. "You never spoke like this before."
"No," Aden said, "I didn't."
A pause settled between them, soft like snow.
Egmund's voice rang inside his head like a bad ringtone.
"Okay, but—damn. You sure this is your fiancée? 'Cause she's staring like she knows your bank password."_
Aden almost snorted aloud.
Serenia raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, waving it off. "Just… mental noise."
She nodded. "You looked like you were having an argument with yourself."
He shrugged. "Kind of am."
She turned her full attention to him then. Not the poised tactician now, just a woman trying to figure out a stranger's face. "You really don't seem like the same Aden. So what happened? You wake up one day and decide to be terrifying?"
"You've changed," she said.
"Everyone says that."
"I knew you before the wars," she added. "You were… easier to predict."
"I was also weaker."
"And probably dumber," Egmund added with a chuckle.
Aden mentally elbowed him and leaned back against the balcony. He took a second, letting the silence settle before speaking again.
"You're different too," he said, voice low.
She tilted her head. "How so?"
"Well from what i heard," he said softly, "you were always surviving. Quietly outlasting everyone. Like a thread that couldn't be cut."
That made her pause. "Hmm"
There was a long silence. Just the breeze and the soft clink of ceramic.
"Is this your idea of a date?" Egmund piped up. "Because man, you're killing the mood."
"I don't know how to do this," Aden replied mentally. "I've killed more people than I've spoken to romantically."
"Well, stop making it sound like a eulogy. Look at her, she's half-flirting already."
He didn't answer.
But inside, a memory stirred. In the novel, Serenia Joshua was a tactician of uncanny foresight. She guided armies, advised kings, and never faltered—no matter how bloody the tides. While kingdoms fell and main characters died, she endured. A fixed point in the storm.
"She was the one who always survived," Aden whispered to Egmund. "Even when the story collapsed around her."
"No wonder she's hot," Egmund quipped. "Survival's sexy."
Aden chuckled faintly aloud, prompting a raised eyebrow from Serenia.
"Something funny?" she asked.
"Just… ghosts in my head," he said with a wry smile.
She stepped closer, just enough for the light to dance in her eyes. "So what brought the Twelfth Seat here tonight? Besides dramatic tension and suspicious charm."
Aden folded his arms. "To speak. About us."
His breath hitched—not enough to be noticed, but enough to stir something.
She sat back again, her voice softening. "If you do become a god of war, don't forget the ones who lit your altar."
That line struck deeper than she probably meant it to. Or maybe she did.
He looked out over the horizon. The sun had begun to dip, turning the fields amber.
"I don't think I was meant to be a god of anything," he said. "But… I'll remember that."
A long silence stretched again, this time heavier. But then Serenia stepped back, arms behind her.
"I should return. My father wants to speak with you."
"I figured."
As she turned to leave, her voice drifted one last time.
"Tell the voices in your head I said goodnight."
Aden blinked. Egmund *howled* with laughter.
"She heard me?! Yo, we gotta marry her now. That's telepathic soulmate energy."
Aden smirked to himself as he followed her path, heart lighter than when he'd arrived. Yet in his chest, a storm still brewed—because even here, in a moment of calm, war was only a breath away.
Aden stood as well, letting her lead the way back through the corridor. As they walked side by side, he found himself glancing at her again—just briefly.
'She's nothing like I expected. But somehow… this feels right.'
"Careful," Egmund warned teasingly. "That's how every love story starts. Guy meets girl, girl sees guy kill thirty nobles, and boom—wedding bells."
"Not funny."
"I'm hilarious. You're just in denial."
As the corridor narrowed, and the light dimmed beneath the mansion's stone arches, Aden couldn't help the faint smile tugging at his lips.
Maybe… just maybe… not all the stories in this world would end in blood.
Some might even begin with tea and lavender.