The Flower bud

A brooding veil of gray clouds hung like mourning shrouds over the forgotten village — a place that felt carved from memory rather than stone. It resembled a prehistoric ruin left to rot at the edge of time, nestled somewhere in a rank, mist-drenched hollow. The kind of village only dreamers or the damned would find. A cold fog rolled low over the mossy ground, curling into every crevice and cranny like the probing fingers of a water witch, ancient and searching. From atop a jagged bluff, a young man descended. His snow-white hair glinted against the gloom, striking like a ghost's flame. He moved swiftly, almost gliding, his every step graceful yet urgent. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips — mischievous, soft, familiar. He called out to me gently, my name dancing on the wind like a spell. And just as his hand reached for mine— I jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. My chest heaved as though I'd been running, my heart thudding with the kind of terror that doesn't come from monsters, but from memories. The room was dim, quiet — too quiet. But outside, the world remained unchanged. The full moon hovered over the Pandora Mountain range twenty miles west, casting a pale glow across the sky. The clouds around it were faintly illuminated, glowing silver-white as I stared through my half-opened window, letting the cold air soothe my feverish skin. **Why him again?** The question came like a whisper in my mind, one I'd asked too many times since I came back. Ever since my return from Japan, after six long years of grueling study and silence, I had begun to lose focus. My thoughts unraveled far too often, always spiraling back to him — that face, that voice, that pain. I hadn't even been allowed to leave the house yet. Some form of tradition, or punishment, I guessed. Ryan, on the other hand, was free to roam. So long as he followed the family code, he could go anywhere. Maybe it was because he was older — twenty-three — or maybe just because he was a man. Meanwhile, I, at twenty-two, remained on lockdown like some relic in a display case. A knock tapped against my door, but before I could respond, the door creaked open. Ryan entered as if he owned the place — tall, lean, the color of his skin kissed by the sun just enough to give him that cowboy-bronzed look. His hair was styled in that effortless, nonchalant way — brushed forward, tousled over topaz eyes that always looked like they were hiding something. He stared at me for a moment, framed against the window's moonlight, then flopped himself onto my bed without invitation. The springs groaned under his weight, and he bounced once, almost theatrically. "What do you want?" I snapped, not even trying to hide my irritation. He grinned in the dark — that same cocky, infuriating grin he always wore when he was about to push my buttons. "I couldn't sleep," he said casually, propping himself up on his elbows. "Thought I'd have a little chat. You know... like normal families do. Lil' sis." **Great.** The 'lil' sis' thing again. He knew exactly how to get under my skin. I moved away from the window, silent, then glided to the bed and sat beside him. Without a word, he took my hand and pulled me gently to lie down next to him. It wasn't unusual — Ryan and I had always had this strange closeness. But I stiffened the moment I noticed his eyes drift downward. He was staring at my chest. My hand shot to his ribs, pinching hard. He winced and laughed. "Ow! Okay, okay! Chill, Lassiter." "Is that why you came in here?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes. "I was just thinking..." he said, smirking again. "About how you've, you know, *suddenly developed—*" I sat up, disgusted, and made to leave, but he caught my hand again, holding firm. "No, no," he said, laughing as he pulled me back. "Alright, alright. I surrender." His voice softened as he resumed stroking my hair — long, thick, and pale as frost, an unnatural white I'd inherited from our ancestors. He was the only one who ever touched it without fear. His next words weren't playful. "The Kruegers are coming over this Saturday. Mom and Dad invited them." "What?" I snapped, almost leaping from the bed. He nodded grimly. "They're coming to celebrate your ascension," he said, voice low. "The other clans won't be present, so it's just us and them. You know how important this is." My stomach twisted. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not when I'd just gotten back. Not now. "I can't stay here. I *won't* be here when he arrives." Ryan raised a single finger, his expression turning serious. He stood slowly, walking to the window I had just left. His eyes studied the horizon as if looking for ghosts in the trees. "Don't forget, Lassiter," he said quietly. "You're not just some girl anymore. You're the Primordial Princess now. You have duties. This isn't about your feelings." His voice dropped even lower. "Princess Jackline will be attending too. So for the sake of our house, I need you to restrain yourself." He turned to face me again, and for the first time that night, I saw something cold in his gaze — a flicker of disdain, maybe even disappointment. But I just chuckled bitterly. "You forgave him, didn't you?" I didn't answer right away. "I can't," I said, wrapping the cover over my head like a shroud. "I never will." He muttered something under his breath — a curse, I think — and slammed the door behind him. Silence returned. And once again, I was alone. My thoughts churned in the dark, thick and heavy. I remembered it all too clearly. What he did. How it broke me. How it twisted my view of the world, of people. Of love. I had trained. I had rebuilt myself. I had buried the past in steel and silence. But now that I was back... fate didn't seem interested in letting me be. Maybe I could run. I was strong enough — trained in every martial art they offered, fast, agile. But even so, the Luminaria mansion was deep in the mountains, far from the city, and only partially guarded. Escape would be difficult... but not impossible. Still, I laid back, sinking into the mattress, and closed my eyes. I couldn't stop thinking of him. The way he used to smile. The sound of his voice in the dark. I wondered what he slept in now. Pajama pants, like Ryan? Or... did he sleep naked? **Damn it.** I cursed myself, but the thought followed me into my dreams. --- The morning sun slammed through the open window, a golden beam striking me full in the face. I groaned, shielding my eyes, then sat up slowly. I must have forgotten to close the shutters last night. After stretching out the tension in my limbs, I climbed out of bed and freshened up. A splash of cold water brought me back to reality. New day. Same storm brewing. I made my way downstairs to the dining hall, drawn by the scent of freshly baked gingerbread and roasted meat. The long mahogany table was already set. Mom, Dad, and Ryan sat around it, chatting quietly. There was couscous, beef roast with vegetables, and tall mugs of chilled watermelon juice. Home food. Comfort food. A distraction. "Good morning, dear," Mom called out brightly as I entered. I offered a tired wave and took my seat opposite Ryan, right beside her. He didn't even glance at me. So, we were back to this again. Fine. Let the games begin. I stabbed at my food with a fork and began eating mechanically — anything my utensil touched, I devoured like it might distract me from the knot forming in my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mom lean toward Dad, whispering something beneath her breath. I couldn't hear the words, but her expression gave her away — nervous, uncertain. Dad cleared his throat, the sound sharp and deliberate. "Lassiter," he said, and I looked up at him. He always used my full first name when he wanted to make something sound formal — or when he was testing my patience. "I and your mother have decided to host the Kruegers this Saturday. Dinner will be here, at the estate." He watched me closely for a reaction. I didn't give him one. Instead, I returned to my meal, chewing even though the food had turned to sawdust in my mouth. The flavors were gone, drowned out by the chaos in my head. The silence I offered in response was louder than a scream. From across the table, I caught a flicker of confusion on Ryan's face. Mom's eyebrows furrowed, and Dad tilted his head slightly — all three of them clearly surprised by my quiet defiance. Maybe they expected me to lash out. Maybe they thought I'd cry or storm out of the room. But I wasn't about to give them the satisfaction. Was I really that stubborn? My gaze drifted to Dad again. His jet-black hair — tousled and greying slightly at the sides — matched Mom's perfectly. Both of them looked like elegant obsidian statues sculpted from tradition and restraint. So where did I come from? White as snow. Pale as ash. An anomaly. **My ancestors have a lot to explain.** Dad spoke again, attempting to shift the mood. "Your sister will be arriving next week." I opened my mouth to protest — but one sharp look from Ryan shut me up immediately. The air in the dining room felt tighter now, like the walls were closing in. Dad rose from his chair, brushing invisible lint off his pressed linen shirt. He reached for the newspaper resting on one of the cushions nearby and glanced back at me. "You've really changed for the better," he said simply. He wore a smile Then he left. His words lingered long after he disappeared down the hallway. --- After breakfast, I made my way down the stone path that led to the back of the mansion. The air was crisp, heavy with pine and dew. Our estate was massive — too massive. Most of it sat unused, like a museum built for ghosts and memories no one wanted to dust off. Hidden just behind the old storeroom was a small, high-tech outbuilding — my private lab. My sanctuary. I typed in my encrypted password on the steel keypad, scanned my biometric ID, and waited for the doors to unlock with a soft hiss. Inside, my latest project sat under sterile white lights: a pair of highly illegal, partially disassembled **Heckler-Ray stinger guns**, nestled in a foam-padded gray crate. Beside them lay a custom **.45 auto-loader** I'd been trying to retrofit with smart-targeting software. Not exactly weekend crafts. If anyone — even Ryan — found out what I was working on, I'd be toast. Or a corpse. Whichever came first. But I needed this. Something to keep my hands busy. Something to keep my mind away from him. Just as I was making progress with the ray gun's internal power core, my phone began to vibrate violently against the desk. **Unknown number.** I hesitated, then answered. A voice, soft and uncertain, came through. "Hi... Lassie?" I froze. Only one person called me *Lassie* and made it sound like a lullaby. "Jackline," I breathed. Jackline — the only daughter of Artemis's reigning sovereign. A fellow princess once. My friend before the world twisted us in opposite directions. Before the title *Primordial* separated me from every path I once thought I'd walk. Her voice lifted, cheerful at first. "How are you? How's home? How's life treating you?" I fired the answers in rapid succession, like bullets I hoped would kill the awkwardness. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. I've been busy—" She cut me off with a laugh — light and musical, the kind that made your heart ache from the memory of better days. "I wrongly assumed you'd forgotten about me," she said, teasing. I felt the shame bloom instantly. My throat tightened. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "After what happened... with your brother, I didn't think you'd want anything to do with me. I changed my line. I figured you moved on." There was a pause. Then, softly, she said, "I got this number from Ryan." Of course. "I just didn't want to remember," I admitted, the words cracking at the edges. "I thought forgetting would make it easier." Tears welled in my eyes, blurring everything in front of me. I blinked rapidly, but it was no use — the lab, the guns, the tools — all of it swam before me in waves of grief I hadn't let surface in years. "I understand," Jackline murmured. "But maybe... it's time we talk. Really talk. This Saturday. Okay? I'll be there." I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Yeah. Okay." "Save my number," she added gently, and then the call ended with a soft beep. The silence that followed was different this time. Not peaceful — but not painful either. Just quiet. I gathered myself, secured the weapons, and left the lab behind. --- When I entered my room again, I stopped in my tracks. Color. Everywhere. A dazzling display of dresses — flowing, intricate, regal — were arranged across my room in rows like some absurd royal exhibition. Chiffon, lace, velvet. Pastels, midnight blues, golden reds. It was overwhelming. My head spun. **Too much coffee.** That's what I told myself. But deep down, I knew it wasn't the caffeine. It was the creeping reminder: The world was moving. The reckoning was coming. And no one was waiting for me to be ready.