The moonlight spilled softly into Rosalyn's dorm room, silvering her face as she drifted into sleep.

  She found herself standing in a place both ruined and alive. Arches crumbled halfway into the earth, cloaked in ivy, while pearly white roses climbed upward and crowned the broken stone. Mist wove through the air, diffusing the outlines of the world. Her heartbeat quickened for some reason, though she saw no one. She turned slowly, cautious not to disturb the silence that pressed all around her.

  A breeze brushed her auburn hair, carrying with it a few rose petals, which fell soundlessly onto the worn stone.

  Then she felt it. A presence, close behind her. Its warmth seeped into her back. She froze, her pulse racing though not from fear.

  A breath grazed her ear, and a low male voice, clear as light through crystal, murmured:

  "My little one..."

  The words carried both tenderness and gravity, a sorrow that seemed older than the ruins around them. A yearning hit her like a wave. She wanted, needed, to turn and see him, but her body refused.

  Then arms encircled her waist, pale and strong, clothed in long, loose white sleeves embroidered with silver vines and leaves. The embrace was gentle, reverent yet firm. His warmth enveloped her, safety and longing clashing in her chest until it hurt.

  Trembling, she slowly lifted her hand, desperate to feel the face hidden behind her. Her palm met the curve of a cheek. He turned slightly, lips brushing her skin with infinite gentleness as if in answer.

  Rosalyn's eyes flew open, a sharp gasp tore from her chest. Heart hammering in the darkness of her small room, she lay staring at the ceiling.

  ----------------------------------

  That day she wandered through the Academy's corridors, archways, auditoriums, and halls only half present. She could barely recall what the lectures were about, nor did she hear the constant chatter of students around her. Her thoughts and heart were consumed by the yearning for the man from her dream. It was the same piercing ache she had felt for the bloodied figure in white from her first dream, only sharper, more insistent.

  In class, her gaze drifted again and again toward the windows, toward the Abandoned Gardens. It was as if the longing inside her pulsed in rhythm with a call from that direction.

  By midday Rosalyn resolved to go. Against her fear, she followed a path leading northwest, her pulse quickening with every step. But she had barely begun when a voice stopped her.

  "Excuse me!"

  A young, tanned woman stood a few paces ahead, struggling under the weight of an exceedingly large rectangular crate of seedlings. Her long brown hair was gathered into a loose side braid, a pink flower pin tucked above her ear. She wore an elbow-sleeved light pink blouse, a brown crossbody satchel, and a wrap-style skirt patterned with green and pink flowers, slit to reveal earth-toned leggings beneath. Her melodious, warm voice carried easily:

  "Could you help me carry this, please? The seedlings are fragile, and the crate's too large to balance alone."

  "Oh—yes, of course," Rosalyn said, hurrying forward. She caught the other end of the crate, steadying its weight between them.

  "Thank you." The woman smiled with relief. "The greenhouse is just this way. We've been rearranging plants lately. The scientists have taken over the entire Crystal Greenhouse, expanding their laboratories inside. As a result, many specimens and young saplings that once grew there have to be moved into the smaller greenhouses. It's a bit saddening, really—like they were being exiled from the place they were born."

  Rosalyn said nothing, letting the woman's words fill the air.

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  Together they reached a greenhouse that looked halfway between chaos and order. Tools, pots, and crates were scattered across the entrance, while inside, a handful of alumni circled through the narrow aisles, making space and sorting greenery into some kind of system.

  The young woman gestured toward a large wooden pallet on raised legs where other saplings waited in their crates, temporarily crowded together.

  As they settled the crate, she thanked Rosalyn once again. Rosalyn gave a small, polite smile in return but did not make a move to leave. Instead, she stood still, letting her gaze wander and her lungs absorb the air of the greenhouse. She rarely came to these glass palaces scattered across the Academy grounds, and she wasn't used to their vastness. Light filtered softly through the high panes above, casting a watery glow across leaves and soil. The air was moist and calm, fragrant with earth and greenery.

  Towering rainbow eucalyptus, jacarandas, and floss silk trees stretched toward the glass ceiling, while jade vines and teardrop flowers spilled over trellises. Shrubs and rare blossoms filled the lower canopy, every corner humming with quiet, thriving life.

  The woman, now busy repotting seedlings, glanced at Rosalyn and smiled.

  "Feel free to come by anytime. Plants like the company of contemplative souls. They can sense a kindred spirit."

  "Thank you," Rosalyn said softly. "I'll keep that in mind. It's... very beautiful here."

  "Ah, well, that beauty is none other than the blessing of these grounds," the woman replied with gentle pride. "They are generous, tender — unlike anywhere else in Arctar. We are merely caretakers prolonging a legacy."

  "A legacy?" Rosalyn echoed.

  "Yes." The woman set down her tools, voice thoughtful. "The legacy of these lands, and of whoever caused this miracle of life amid Arctar's decay. The mysticism only deepens when you realize how little we know. The Academy's main building has been dated to over a thousand years old, but the lush grounds surrounding it... only about five hundred."

  "That's a stark difference in time."

  "Exactly! And if you add the Four Great Trees to the equation, it becomes an even greater tangle of miracles."

  "I heard they shouldn't even be able to survive in Arctar's dead soil," Rosalyn murmured.

  The woman hummed, pausing with her eyes fixed on some unseen point. "The Great Trees don't seem to belong outside the Academy gates. Their place feels like it should be here, thriving inside. Yet there they stand, like guardians, outside. And... they're dying, slowly. Three of them are in critical condition. Only one endures relatively well."

  "I never noticed..."

  "The decay is gradual, almost invisible," the woman said. "But I know, I wrote my PhD thesis on them. I've always been fascinated, and I had the rare authorization to tend to them closely." She turned to Rosalyn with a warm smile. "I'm Lana, by the way. Botany alumna here at the Academy."

  "Rosalyn."

  "That's a lovely name," Lana said, eyes crinkling, "gentle, like a rose."

  "I'm not really knowledgeable in etymology..."

  Lana laughed, her voice like sunlight. "Ah, forgive me! It's just funny! That's exactly what a good friend of mine once said when I tried to explain the meaning of his name to him." Her smile softened for a fleeting second, almost wistful, before she laughed again. "But truly, Rosalyn isn't exactly a tricky case."

  Despite herself, Rosalyn smiled at Lana's warmth. There was something soothing in her presence, making the ache in Rosalyn's chest ease. For the first time all day, the longing quieted. She promised herself she would come back here again.

  ----------------------------------

  The Academy's library was calm and vast, a quiet refuge from the storm outside. Rosalyn spent the rest of the day among hovering platforms stacked with books, green-shaded lamps casting soft pools of light on the desks below. Modern technology blended with the ancient architecture, giving the space a hybrid, serene atmosphere.

  She sat near the window, her fingers absentmindedly turning pages of volumes on architecture. Around her, students studied diligently, yet, as always, the space closest to her remained empty the longest.

  She let herself sink into solitude, her thoughts circling back to Lana's warmth in the greenhouse, and then to the man from her dream. Her hand twitched as she remembered the gentle strength of his arms, the ache of longing that lingered even after waking. Never had she felt so safe and cherished, and yet the memory left her restless. She shook her head; it was only a dream. Only a dream... and yet, her heart pined again, filling with the same unbearable yearning.

  Eventually, she rose to leave. Outside, the rain had grown heavier, pattering against the glass. Rosalyn didn't mind; loneliness and rain had a way of fitting together. She opened her umbrella and stepped out, choosing to take a small detour through the empty streets. The scent of rain and ozone filled her lungs as she wandered.

  Soon, she reached the canal bridge, an Arctar landmark. Twenty meters above the water, the neon-lit suspension cables shimmered like veins of light, reflected in the restless canal below. Tiles, wet from rain, amplified the glow, giving the bridge a cinematic, almost surreal quality.

  Rosalyn walked calmly, one hand holding her umbrella, the other tucked into her skirt pocket. Her eyes caught a figure standing at the railing in the distance, head bent toward the turbulent waters. Tall, with black hair plastered by rain and an ankle-length coat billowing in the wind, the man seemed unnervingly still, gaze fixed downward. A stylized dark hawk was emblazoned on the back of the coat, right wing intact and powerful, the left one cracked and dragging.

  A sickening dread clawed at Rosalyn's chest as she instinctively glanced down at the stormy waters twenty meters below, then back to the man. Her pace quickened, heart hammering, chased by a sense of helpless urgency.

  He climbed onto the railing with unnatural fluidity, balancing with ease despite the slick surface. The roar of the rain and the canal below filled her ears.

  Her boots slipped on the wet tiles as she ran, umbrella forgotten.

  And then he fell into the abyss. She screamed, rain blurring her vision.