Maki narrowed her eyes.
The pink mist coiled around her ankles like velvet fog. It danced in the air with the weightlessness of a dream—soft, warm, cloyingly sweet. The smell was—
Too pleasant.
It scraped at her mind.
She scoffed, then sneered.
"Hmph. Scent tricks?"
With a sharp breath, she shut off her olfactory senses—cutting the connection completely. It dulled her perception, but that was fine.
She wasn't here to sniff flowers.
Her gaze lifted back to Dara with derision.
The princess stood calmly, arms still folded behind her back, the mist swirling like a gentle tide beneath her.
Was that it?
Maki tilted her head, mockery etched into every movement. Her lips curled into a smile that said: That's all you've got?
Then—
Dara's eyes flicked downward.
A single vine rose before her, slow and elegant, like a hand offering tribute.
At its tip bloomed a delicate pink flower—no larger than a child's palm.
Not rose. Not lily. Not lotus.
Something ancient. Alien.
