Evelyn shifted slightly, lowering her arm just enough to glance toward the doorway where he stood—half in shadow, the edge of his cloak dusted with dry leaves and the scent of wind.
Evelyn: "Do you not have anything better to do? It's nearly winter. Don't you nobles need to prepare for the Council, or just hope it snows over your responsibilities?"
Edrick: "I did prepare. I even assigned my aide the hard parts. Efficient, no?"
He closed the door behind him and stepped further in. His coat was still damp at the hems, his gloves tucked into his belt. His presence didn't disturb the room—but the air adjusted itself around him, subtly realigning everything.
Evelyn sat up slowly, brushing her hair behind one shoulder, her gaze sharp. Not quite annoyed—but certainly not welcoming.
Evelyn: "So... what? You're that free now?"
Her voice held the careful neutrality of someone long practiced in sounding unaffected.
Edrick: "Just enough to spare a visit."
Evelyn: "How generous."
Edrick (dryly): "I missed your charming hospitality."
He walked over to the fireplace, studying the embers, then glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
Edrick: "You've been keeping warm, I see."
Evelyn: "Unlike some, I don't have to deal with councils or anything."
A silence stretched between them—familiar and uncomfortable.
Edrick: "You're upset."
Evelyn: "Do i sound like it."
Her gaze flicked toward the book lying facedown beside her. She didn't pick it up.
He leaned back against the mantle, arms crossed loosely.
Edrick: "I thought you didn't care if I came or went."
Evelyn: "I don't. But I still get to ask questions. Don't I?"
Edrick (softly): "Always."
She looked away, jaw tight.
Evelyn: "Then answer honestly. Why are you here?"
He didn't speak right away. Just studied the flames, as if looking long enough might melt the answer into something easier.
Then—
Edrick: "I don't know. I just... thought of you today. And I didn't want to be in that place any longer."
Her fingers curled slightly against the velvet cushion. Her expression didn't shift, but the silence that followed felt heavier.
Edrick (quieter): "You always hated winter, didn't you?"
She let out a breath of a laugh. Short. Not kind.
Evelyn: "I hated what came with it."
He didn't ask what that meant. He didn't need to.
She rose without another word, moving toward the tall windows. The light outside was softer now, filtering through coppery leaves that rustled in the breeze. Autumn was still holding on, but only just. The trees were thinning. The air was colder.
She stood there, watching shadows move across the garden path.
Her breath fogged faintly against the glass.
Evelyn (without turning): "Stay if you want. But don't expect warmth just because there's fire."
He didn't reply.
But he didn't leave either.
———
The late-autumn wind bit at her cheeks, but Evelyn didn't flinch.
Wrapped in a heavy cloak lined with fur, she stepped into the overgrown backyard behind the Black Rose Palace. The sun hung low, veiled behind thin clouds, casting a silver hush over the faded grass and brittle branches.
Her boots crunched lightly on the frost-laced earth as she knelt down.
With slow, practiced hands, Evelyn traced a complex circle into the ground—ancient symbols etched into the soil with the tip of a silver dagger. She carved smaller sigils into each quadrant, whispering under her breath as she worked. Lines intersected, spiraled, and knotted together in a language long forgotten.
Then, she reached into the small satchel at her side and took out four glass vials—each containing a different essence.
Red flame flickered inside the first. Clear water shimmered inside the second. Fine golden dust—soil—swirled in the third. And the last held a dancing current of wind, barely contained.
She uncorked each one, pouring them precisely into their designated positions at the center of the circle.
Then she stood.
Evelyn raised her arms slowly, letting her cloak fall open with the motion. The wind picked up, tugging at the hem of her sleeves, rustling the brittle leaves around her.
Her eyes drifted closed.
Her voice, when it came, was low—measured and old. Not a chant. Not quite a prayer.
A summoning.
Evelyn: "I call thee, O Spirits bound by fate and flame, By soil, by storm, I call thy name. From ocean's deep to ember's light, From mountain's root to skyward flight—Come forth, O guardians, old and true, By mark of seal, I summon you!"
The symbols carved into the earth pulsed faintly—then glowed.
A warm, golden light began to rise from the symbols, shimmering like heat haze. The wind stilled, unnaturally quiet.
Evelyn: "Water that flows, calm or wild, Life's bearer, fierce and mild—O Spirit of Water, abide.
Fire that burns, bold and bright, Devourer of dark, bringer of light—O Spirit of Fire, arise.
Earth beneath, strong and deep, Stone's cradle and nature's keep—O Spirit of Earth, stand firm.
Wind that moves, swift and free, Whisper and roar across the sea—O Spirit of Wind, come forth!"
Everything began to stir—fire flaring, water rippling, soil vibrating, and air swirling faster inside its quadrant. Sparks snapped in the wind.
The ground beneath her feet thrummed faintly with power.
Evelyn opened her eyes—cool, unwavering.
Evelyn (softly): "…Come."
A hush fell, deeper than silence.
Then—movement.
The symbols flared with a blinding pulse of golden light—then exploded outward with a soundless force. A hot wind swept through the backyard, scattering leaves in a violent spiral.
Suddenly—a blazing fireball tore through the air, hurling straight toward Evelyn's chest.
In a blink, she sidestepped—graceful, practiced. The fireball missed by inches and struck the ground behind her with a thunderous boom, sending up a cloud of ash and embers.
She didn't flinch. Not even a blink.
Evelyn looked up calmly—and smiled.
Across the glowing circle stood four distinct figures, each radiating an elemental presence so overwhelming that even the air trembled.
Flames coiled like living serpents around the first figure, who stood tall and crackling red, his hair ablaze, eyes glowing molten gold. His presence radiated heat and fury.