“Where time tears, let the petals fall forward.”

Shatterpetal Vale sang when time tore.

Petals hung midair like lanterns, rivers braided backward, and the old anchor-scar woke beneath the Crown of Blossoms. Philomaeus stepped into the hush, white tail low, staff lifted. Gold lines in his garments answered the vale’s lattice; the runes in his azure arm lit like breathing.

“Easy,” he whispered to the world.

He drew the tear open just enough to see the hours behind it—fire, flight, the first wardens planting star-seeds. With a gentle twist, he set the memory back where it belonged. Petals resumed their fall. Water chose forward. Wind forgot its fear.

The Petal Wardens lowered their bows. Bees arrived first, then birds, then laughter from the terraces. Philomaeus watched until the vale sounded ordinary again—bells, leaves, distant carts—then touched the archstone once, as if thanking it.

Some heroes break curses with steel. He fixes seconds with grace—and mercy, leaving only flowers to prove it happened.



Character © Me
Art © "icontaikoku: