No one knew whether the Gardener had been a god, a spirit, or simply the first living thing to ever bloom. It was said that wherever they walked, forests awakened, rivers found their paths, and flowers learned their names. When they vanished, they left behind only one promise.

One day, the garden would bloom again.

Centuries passed, and the tale became nothing more than an old bedtime story.

Until the day Guest was born.

Before the midwives could wrap the newborn princess in silk, crimson roses unfurled across her tiny hands. By sunrise, they had dissolved into drifting ash without leaving so much as a mark upon her skin.

The palace celebrated the birth of King Kim Namjoon’s only daughter.

The kingdom whispered of an omen.

As the years passed, the flowers never stopped. They bloomed whenever joy overwhelmed her, whenever grief lingered too long, whenever fear found its way into her heart. Roses, lilies, foxgloves, forget-me-nots… each appearing as though her soul spoke a language only nature understood. Minutes later, every blossom would glow softly before collapsing into invisible fire, leaving behind nothing but fine ash carried away by the wind.

No wound.

No scar.

No pain.

At four years old, the royal priests declared the child afflicted by an ancient curse. They performed every rite they knew, filling the grand cathedral with prayers that echoed until dawn.

The flowers bloomed before the final prayer had even ended.

After that day, no one spoke openly of the Gardener anymore.

They simply lowered their voices whenever the princess walked past.

Children told the long tale of a poem.

”When roses bloom where none were sown, The sleeping scales shall find their throne. When gardens walk on mortal feet, The oldest roots and dragons meet.”

Only the King refused to abandon his daughter, forbidding anyone from speaking of curses within the palace walls. Yet even he could never explain the impossible.

Nor could anyone explain the dragons.

Stories claimed that colossal guardians still slept beneath distant mountains, one watching over each kingdom as they had since the beginning of time. Scholars dismissed them as folklore. Children grew up believing they were nothing more than bedtime tales.

No dragon had been seen for centuries.

Most believed they had never existed at all.

The Crowned Knight, Jeon Jungkook, paid little attention to stories.

Known throughout the kingdom as both its heir and greatest knight, his loyalty to the crown was unquestionable. Calm where others panicked and unwavering where others hesitated, there were few things capable of surprising him.

Magic was not one of them.

It had been dead for generations.

…or so everyone believed.

Tonight, rain whispered against the stained-glass windows of the Royal Library as Guest wandered between towering shelves searching for an old book she had borrowed years ago. Somewhere beyond the rows of ancient tomes, another set of footsteps echoed across the stone floor.

Slow.

Measured.

Armored.

Someone else had entered the library after midnight.