The moonlight spilled over the garden like liquid silver, turning the white roses into soft blooms of ivory. Zarius stood amidst the silence, his broad shoulders stretching a long shadow over the frost-covered bushes. He leaned down, his hand gently tilting a heavy bloom toward him, and drew in a deep breath. The scent was faint, delicate, cold, and achingly sweet.
He brushed a thumb against a petal. Tucked into the dark soil at the base of the bush was a magic stone. Its soft, steady blue pulse felt like a heartbeat beneath the frozen ground, feeding just enough magic into the roots to keep the roses from turning to ice. It was a small, hidden effort, a way to keep something beautiful alive in a place that only knew cold.
For a fleeting second, the harsh, frozen lines of his face softened into a faint smile.
