It was approaching evening in Ildor. Edin's arm swayed a little as he carried a picnic basket. He and Arden had done a little shopping for their nighttime picnic, and like the sales assistant at the jewelry boutique and the maître d'hôtel at the restaurant, the people at the establishments they visited knew her by name.

"It seems like everybody knows you," Edin commented.

Arden shrugged. "Most of them know of me, but only a few of them know me."

"What's the difference?"

"The former may know my name, but only the latter knows who I really am."

Edin did not quite get her but decided to not make her elaborate further. He simply bopped his head from side to side, swaying to the rhythm of the song that was playing at the plaza they were passing by.

They arrived at the salon. Though the place appeared to be buzzing, the queue was not as lengthy as Arden expected. In no more than five minutes was she led to a station to begin her session. As for Edin, he waited for her at a bench near the entrance, flipping through whatever magazines were provided for patrons.

The hairdresser greeted Arden when she arrived at the station. "Good evening, Miss Mægenstern."

"Good evening."

Arden reclined into her seat. A cape was then placed around her neck.

"What hairstyle would you like today?" her hairdresser inquired. "I've seen some trends involving short and straight hair you might like."

"I just want a trim, please," Arden said. Her right hand rose a short height above her shoulders. "A few centimeters off the ends, and that's it."

"Gotcha. A little off the bangs as well?"

"No please. Don't touch those." Arden was not aware, but her tone firmed at the last sentence.

Her stylist nodded in understanding. Arden really ought to have her bangs cut, though; they covered most of the upper half of her face. Before the hairstylist snipped a strand of Arden's hair, she gathered parts of it in bunches and clipped them. She then began cutting. "Would you like a drink?"

"No thank you."

She snipped away. Chatter echoed off the walls of the salon as stylists gossiped with their patrons—and each other, occasionally. However, no gossip passed between Arden and her hairdresser. Not that Arden had no stories to share; she had more tales to tell than all others in the room combined. Unlike them, though, she was not eager in the slightest to divulge them. And the hairdresser knew that.

"Did you come here with anyone?" the stylist asked.

"I did. He's waiting for me near the front desk."

He. Arden Mægenstern came with a man? "Oh, nice"—she turned her head briefly—"what does he look like?"

"He has blond hair, blue eyes, and he's wearing a white shirt with a blue blazer."

"Ah." The hairdresser's eyes darted around in search of him, eventually landing on a man who fit Arden's description.

Her mouth nearly fell into an open frown.

Arden caught the stylist's expression in the mirror. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh, no. Nothing," she denied, forcing a smile. The hairstylist continued her work, dividing her attention between her client and the man in blue. "Who's this man you came with, by the way?"

"Just a guardian I'm looking after."

"A guardian?"

"Yes. I don't mean to brag on his behalf, but he saved Beor from the shadow onslaught singlehandedly the other night."

"Oh wow! That's very phenomenal of him."

Arden let pride slip through a smile. "He's indeed a remarkable person."

"What's his name, by the way?"

"Edin."

"Edin. And how did you two meet?"

Arden bit her lip. "It's a long story."

The hairdresser knew better than to prod. Pity. There was no doubt that whatever tale Arden had was dripping with juicy details. The stylist stole a glance at Edin. There was something about him that she could not put her finger on—part of her did not want to believe the innocence his presence oozed.

The last clumps of hair fell to the floor. The hairdresser lifted a mirror to show a back view. "How does it look?"

"Looks great. Thank you."

"My pleasure," she said. In one smooth motion, she removed the cape off Arden's body.

Arden got up and sauntered to the front desk to pay. Though Arden Mægenstern was the VIP in the room, it was not her that the hairstylist was staring at. Her eyes trained on Arden's mysterious companion; they scrutinized him even as the rest of her body was readying the station for the next patron. Just who was this man, and why did Arden seek his company? They could not be lovers, could they? Oh, but Arden had mentioned that their first meeting was "complicated." Hmm. There must be something about him that Arden did not want to let out—

"This is for you, by the way."

The stylist snapped out of her musings. Arden had presented a tip, hiding the wad of cash under her palm.

"Oh, thank you," she said, receiving the tip.

Arden replied with a soft smile. A moment later, she and Edin walked out the salon doors.

***

Nightfall had plunged the world into a cool darkness. To Edin and Arden's luck, there was hardly any wind when they arrived at the hilltop. The glistening dew mimicked the stars sparkling overhead, but despite all the light around them, it was still too dark for a picnic, and so Edin lit a lamp and set it on the grass. Meanwhile, Arden used magic to prepare their outdoor feast.

"This is a nice spot," Edin commented, turning his head to drink in his surroundings. "No wonder you used to come here all the time."

Arden nodded. "It's not too far from school, either. In fact you can see it from here."

"Really?"

"Yes. Right there," she said, pointing at a campus some distance away. It appeared too near to warrant a journey by car, but it did not seem like a short walk either.

The two sat side by side on the picnic blanket. One might say a normal picnic would include foods that were more transportable—bread, spread, and bottled beverages, among other things. Not in Arden's case. Their first course was steaming hot soup made from mushrooms procured from an Ildorian market. The perks of possessing magic like hers.

Edin sipped slowly, careful to not burn his tongue. "You've never really told me about your days at school, by the way."

"I just never thought to bring it up when it's not relevant."

"Do you mind if I asked you what it was like?"

Arden paused to swallow. She then said, "I didn't want to go at first, but I had to.

"Both of my parents were ordinaries, and I was nearly five when we found out I was a gifted. My magic at the time was getting out of control, and though my parents tried their best, they couldn't contain me. I was forced to start school early. I still remember overhearing my mom arguing with my dad, saying I was too young, but he insisted there was no choice. I'd hurt someone if I didn't leave. I needed to be with people who could stop me before I lost control.

"I was sent to an academy at age five, two years earlier than most other gifteds."

Arden gazed at Edin, expecting a response. He simply continued slurping soup. His eyes told her that he was paying attention despite the lack of feedback.

She went on, "I didn't really fit in. I was younger and smaller than everybody else, and quieter too, so naturally some started picking on me. Early in the year some thought it was a good idea to corner me—it wasn't. I used a spell to defend myself that turned out to be far more powerful than I intended, and well, it seemed to scare them enough that nobody dared to tease me anymore. They mostly avoided me.

"I ended up skipping a couple years too. Apparently my teachers thought I was progressing too quickly for my year, so they moved me up. I went from being two years younger than everyone else to four years younger. I know, it's strange; it did feel that way at first. Funnily enough, I ended up liking the older kids more. A few of them became my closest friends."

"Like Fallon?" Edin asked.

"Oh no, Morgan," Arden corrected. "Fallon's her younger sister."

"Oh."

"I still ended up getting close to her. Morgan and I visited each other's houses a lot back then, so that's how I first met Fallon, and she ended up going to the same academy as us so we grew closer after that. I'm glad we got to meet up earlier today; it would be a shame if our entire friendship went down the drain."

Edin paused eating. "That would be a shame indeed."

Arden nodded. She finished the rest of her soup in silence, needing a break from talking; afterward, they moved on to their second course, which was a platter of hot and cold sandwiches.

Edin returned his gaze to the school up ahead. "Your school looks pretty big."

"It was rather big for its student body," Arden said. "There were only a few hundred of us at most."

"A few hundred? That's a lot of people!"

"If you think that's big, you should see an ordinary school, especially the state-run ones. They go into the thousands."

"Thousands!" he exclaimed.

Arden giggled at Edin's surprise. What was he expecting, a school of dozens? Arden could not fault him; he was, after all, a sheltered amnesiac.

Arden continued recounting her academy days, from the drama that brewed between pupils to her activities beyond class walls, and Edin listened with intense curiosity as she did. His reactions were a form of entertainment—she could not help but laugh at his wide eyes and all the assumptions he had in mind. So gifteds were taught more than just magic? Why were they forbidden to use their powers during athletics? And why were the boys' dorms separate from the girls' dorms? Edin and Arden were living together and they were not of the same sex.

The night was drawing to an end. Arden cast a spell to put everything back into the basket. Once the blanket had been cleared, she lay down, hands behind her head, and looked up at the stars.

Edin lay down by her side and stargazed with her. He then said, "I'm glad I didn't go to school."

"Why?" she asked, amused.

"Because it sounds scary. Lots of people, and so many rules."

"It was pretty scary at first, but it was necessary. It helped me become the person I am today."

Arden felt her heart sink deeper within her chest. She permitted a small frown; if Edin were looking at her, she would have held her lips straight.

Moments ambled past. The air was full, not with city noise, but with a rare tranquility that was punctuated only by their breathing. This was what Arden had missed so deeply from her youth—saying nothing, hearing nothing, doing nothing. Up to that day her adult life had been packed to the brim with busyness, and it was gratifying to be still for once. Her breaths deepened to savor the crisp night air.

Arden turned her head to face Edin. "Do you mind if I ask you something, by the way?"

"Sure."

"Did you get me a present?"

"I did. Can you guess what it is?"

Arden drew a blank. He could not have put it inside the picnic basket; she had prepared it herself, and there was nothing inside it other than their food and drink for tonight. Her eye scanned her surroundings in search of a box of some sort, or a place where one could hide a box, but there were none. Perhaps his gift was small enough to be slipped into his pocket? Even then, his pockets did not look full.

Then it hit her.

"You asked them to give me a day off, didn't you?"

He did not answer—verbally, at least. Instead, he flashed a sly smile, the kind that a child would give after committing his first act of mischief.

"Edin," she said, tilting her head, "you shouldn't have."

"No, you deserve it."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps? Arden, I've seen you work—I mean, I didn't see you work, but you've been so busy. You deserve a break."

"Well, I guess I have been working rather hard." Arden smiled. She then checked her watch. "I think it's time we head home."

***

It was rather late when they reached Arden's castle. The two had spent a whole day outside in rather formal dress and were now itching to change into nightwear. They hurried inside as soon as the doors opened.

"Arden?"

"Yes?"

"So, do you like my present?"

Arden smiled. "It's the best present I've had in a while."

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it."

"I more than liked it," she beamed. Her eye cast a glance at the upcoming split in their paths. "Good night, Edin."

"Good night."

Edin made a short wave that Arden returned. The two turned their backs and ambled down the hallway; Edin to the right, and Arden to the left. Edin headed upstairs to his bedroom.

Arden descended to the basement.

At the far end of the basement, as one might remember, were three doors that each led to a vault. For most of the year, they would remain untouched, and their doors locked. But not tonight.

With a password only she knew, Arden commanded the vault to open.

Locks rolled and clicked audibly. The door to the vault drew back, and unlike whatever rumors were floating about, it was not overflowing with gold—in fact, there appeared to be barely anything inside it at all.

Arden marched into the chamber, shutting the door behind her with magic. A small sphere of light lit in her hand, and she suspended it in the air, imbuing her surroundings with light. White rays exposed the room's secret contents: a grand piano, which wore a chipped coat of onyx; an oval wall mirror, whose metal frame was carved in the shape of forget-me-nots; and a painting, which hung on the wall opposite the door.

Arden paced towards the painting. It was a portrait of a couple. Two familiar-looking figures smiled gently back at Arden as she edged closer to the portrait, their faces sweet and serene. Both were clothed in dark, dapper attire—the man was dressed in a charcoal-black, military-style suit, its stiff and straight collar hiding most of his long neck; the woman wore a tailored dress as dark as onyx, mirroring the glossy black of her short hair and sharp eyes. While the woman remained unchanged throughout, the man's face appeared to morph over time. One moment he had raven hair and eyes; the next moment he wore locks of chestnut brown, and his once-narrow eyes had grown larger, rounder, and lighter. No matter the mask, Arden knew that he was the same person.

Arden halted just in front of the painting, her somber expression contrasting the soft smiles of the painted faces. She outstretched her right hand toward the painting, and her fingertip brushed the man's cheek with a gentle stroke.

Arden spoke softly, "This could've been our day."

The man only twinkled in response.

Arden brought down her right hand to wipe away a tear, then sighed. She lifted her other hand. Her gaze lingered on the platinum ring on her finger; though there was not much light, the diamonds that lined the band sparkled like a belt of stars.

She clenched her left fist.

Arden looked back at the portrait in front of her. The man was still there, smiling as always.

"Why did you leave me?" Her voice began to break. "It should've been me. It almost was."

Again, not a word.

The three of them remained still for a while.

After minutes of suffocating stillness, Arden paced to where the oval mirror was. Years' worth of dust had gathered on its once-shiny surface.

Arden bowed her head. Vines of magic crept up her arm, and she slammed her hand against the mirror, diffusing shadows within it. "Show me what I've lost."

Golden forget-me-nots bloomed into full pulchritude. Wisps of darkness clouded the image on the mirror and snaked down the wall it hung from, slithering across the floor to the piano. Her magic possessed the instrument, and soon a haunting tune reverberated from it as it played itself. Arden lifted her chin to gaze at the mirror.

The man from the painting sat behind her reflection, playing the piano.

Her eye stared longingly at the man in the mirror. With one hand over her heart, she began rendering a melody:

"I dreamed a beautiful dream,
you were there as well as I,
it doesn't seem like a dream,
even if it's over;
I miss you caressing my hand as you watch me while I sleep
your melody still remains in this room and it rings..."

Soon after, the man joined her in singing. Their voices wove flawlessly with the piano, creating a harmony so strong it shook the walls and everything within them. How she wished he was still alive, still breathing, and not a creation of her incantations! How she wished she never had to grieve. Her heart threatened to burst from all the emotions pouring out of her body. All these years she had hidden her suffering behind a façade of aloofness. She had pretended to move on and acted with great success. Every day, every waking hour, every passing minute... except for one night, every year, for the last three years.

Song morphed into silence, and silence drifted into sobbing. The guardian the world knew as Arden Mægenstern lay numb against a cold, dark wall.