_____ MI'KAEL SERAPHANE _____

The wind in Vel’Serah always smelled like spring—like the air itself remembered something gentle. It wound through the high trees and stone courtyards of our clan's mountain home, carrying with it whispers of incense, dew, and laughter from places just out of sight. I used to think the breeze was alive—that it knew when something was about to change.

Today, it smelled like her.

Aeris.

It had been nearly a year since her last visit, but my heart beat like it was yesterday. The butterflies in my chest stirred the moment Grandfather told me her family was coming. He’d said it like it didn’t matter, as if it was just another diplomatic meeting. But the way he looked at me afterward, waiting for my reaction… I think he already knew what she meant to me.

I couldn’t eat breakfast. I tried. The rice was too dry, and my tea too bitter. My fingers trembled, and I spilled a bit of it on my sleeve. I didn't even notice until one of the servants chuckled softly and wiped it with her cloth.

“You’re nervous,” she teased. “Your ears are turning red.”

I pulled my sleeve over them and muttered something about the weather. Then I left—quickly.

The gardens were quiet, mist curling between the trimmed hedges and pebbled paths. My feet carried me toward the southern gate before I even realized. The gate she always came through.

Funny how easily your body remembers joy.

Her perfume reached me before the memory did—sweet, bright, and exactly how she smelled the first time I saw her. A golden blur stepping from her family’s hovercar. Her sandals barely touched the ground before she ran straight into our courtyard, arms stretched like wings.

I was hiding behind the training dummy, curious and shy. Her hair shimmered like sunlight, tied in a ribbon that danced behind her.

“You must be Mi’kael!” she said brightly.

I blinked at her. “How do you know my name?”

“Your uncle talks about you. He said you’re strong and serious.” She tilted her head, grinning. “But you look more like a scared rabbit.”

I flushed red. “I’m not scared!”

“Good! Then fight me!” She held out a practice sword—two sizes too big for her—and nearly toppled over.

I laughed. She laughed too. We didn’t fight that day. We played hide-and-seek instead. She always cheated by climbing onto the roof.

By the time the sun set, we were holding hands without realizing it.

The gates creaked open. A line of suits stepped forward. And then she appeared.

Aeris.

She wasn’t a blur anymore. She moved with the grace of a dancer now—measured, deliberate, refined. Her blue eyes scanned the courtyard once before they locked on mine.

For a second, the wind stopped.

“Mi’kael!” she called.

I almost forgot how to walk. But I remembered how to smile.

“Welcome back,” I said.

She reached me in two quick steps and—without hesitation—pulled me into a tight hug. Her scent hadn’t changed. Still that same faint vanilla and sakura blend from her mother’s perfume.

“You’re taller,” she said.

“You’re shinier,” I replied.

She laughed, pulling back to examine me. “Still blushes too easily.”

“I do not—” I started, then realized my face was burning.

She smirked. “Still predictable.”

The morning passed like it always did when she visited. We ditched the formality of the guest tour and went off on our own.

First stop: the Chamber of Blades.

“Bet you still like Katanas,” she teased.

“They’re elegant,” I argued, running my hand along the polished hilt of a blade.

“They’re flashy.”

“Says the girl who picked a saber with embedded plasma channels at age ten.”

“That was Ravyn’s fault.”

“Sure it was.”

We laughed again.

In the Armory Nexus, she impressed the blacksmith by disassembling and reassembling a modular hilt without a single wasted motion.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” I admitted.

“Ravyn says I’m stubborn.”

“He says that about everyone.”

Then came the Common Quarter—my favorite place. Vendors called out greetings to me like I was any other teenager, not the Heir. Some kids waved from a rooftop. Aeris watched me chat with a group of boys who passed me a peach bun without bowing, without ceremony.

“Is this how you spend your time?” she asked.

I nodded. “They don’t care about titles. That’s why I come here.”

She tilted her head. “I didn’t know… you were like this.”

“Like what?”

“Kind of… normal.”

I shrugged. “I try.”

A boy around our age walked by, smirking. “Hey Mi’kael! That your girlfriend?”

I opened my mouth—then closed it. My cheeks flared up again.

Aeris rolled her eyes, grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward the food stall.

“Guess you’ll never outgrow that blushing,” she whispered.

That evening, we sat on the temple roof, watching the stars flicker into view. The world had quieted. Only the wind whispered.

“I missed this place,” she said, voice soft.

“I missed you,” I said without thinking.

She didn’t reply right away. Then she turned to me, smiling—not her usual playful grin, but something gentler.

“I don’t get to be like this back home,” she said. “They expect too much.”

“Same,” I said. “But here… with you… it’s different.”

Silence again. Comfortable. Our shoulders touched. So did our fingers.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did I.

Her fingers brushed mine. The stars above seemed to hold their breath.

And just before our hands intertwined—I woke up.

The ceiling of my room greeted me, dull and pale. The wind outside wasn’t sweet. It howled faintly against the sliding doors.

I blinked the sleep from my eyes, but the ache in my chest stayed. The kind of ache only distance can create.