“Kirin.”

Kirin half-knelt on the smooth stone path, his head lowered. In front of him stood a platform of marble awash in layers of fine silk. Silk that made up the robes of the one standing before him. “Your Highness,” he responded politely, lowering his head further, “You summoned me?”

He heard a soft laugh from above him. “Kirin, how many times have I told you, you don’t need to kneel here.”

Kirin raised his head. 

He blinked hard in the dazzling beam of sunlight that pierced through the roiling clouds of Magi Nation’s ever-turbulent skies of midnight-blue and magenta. 

Celestine, the emperor of all things, stood before him admiring one of the many blue roses blooming on the vines curling around the marble columns that made up the gazebo. Even standing in the shade, His Majesty glowed softly with his own light, most of which came from the divine halo shining over his head.

Celestine stepped down from his little platform into the sun, the gold-threaded embroidery glittering in the light, accentuating the tones of his dawn-coloured silks—pale pinks, light golds, whites, muted blues, and lavenders. He reached into his sleeve and withdrew an artifact, offering it to Kirin. “I saw a storm on the horizon. Your next excursion into the divine forest will be a turbulent one.”

“Sire?” Kirin didn’t need to question the emperor’s foresight. He knew something of Celestine’s prognostic abilities—but he also knew the emperor hardly ever interfered in the affairs of the mortals.

“I made this for you. A royal token. Wear it close to your heart, and when in danger, place your hand upon it and it will transport you to the nearest divine tree. The first one you meet will be a trustworthy one.”

Kirin’s lips parted in surprise. “Your Highness, I can’t possibly accept something like this! An artifact made by your hand is a divine object!”

“Kirin,” Celestine spoke in a playful tone. “Are you going to make me beg?”

The joking words sent an incongruously icy feeling down Kirin’s spine. He knew his king would never give him an order, not in private at least—some concessions had to be made in the public court, but in His Highness’ private garden, things were different between them. Kirin glanced over his shoulder to the man standing almost barely out of sight behind a hedge leading into the maze, the center of which was this rose garden and gazebo.

Kirin sighed softly and stood, his height a little more than the emperor’s. After a moment of hesitation, he finally raised his head to meet Celestine’s gaze. Kirin’s rose red eyes met clear blue bluer than Earth Realm’s brightest sky, framed by pale golden bangs that, like the rest of Celestine’s long hair, glowed with its own luminance.

“That’s better,” Celestine smiled softly. He reached out, gently lifting Kirin’s hand to place the royal emblem in his palm.

Kirin looked down at His Majesty’s hands clasping his own. Those slender fingers belonged to a man who looked no more than twenty—but Kirin knew they were beyond time itself. “Your Highness, are you certain about this? Perhaps I should delay my next excursion,” he suggested, his throat tight.

Celestine closed his bright, blossom-shaped eyes and gave a soft shake of his head. “The future is never set in stone. Things will always change. Time is as fluid as the river rapids. Whether you wait or go now, the storm will still come when the conditions are met.”

At this, Kirin frowned.

“Fear not, Rosewind—this adventure, though troublesome at the start, will become a good memory.”