The Extra's Rise-Chapter 390: Vryndall (4)
The Vryndall Botanical Gardens occupied a sprawling complex near the city's northwestern edge, adjacent to the district that housed the Floralight research facilities. As Rose and I approached, I understood why she had been so eager to visit. Even from outside, the gardens presented a breathtaking sight—crystalline domes illuminated from within by bioluminescent plants, creating a constellation of gentle light against the darkening northern sky.
"They use minimal artificial lighting," Rose explained as we purchased our tickets. "Almost everything you see is produced naturally by the plants themselves."
The attendant recognized Rose's enthusiasm and handed us a specialized guidemap. "The spectral lilies began blooming about an hour ago in the Midnight Pavilion," she informed us. "If you hurry, you'll catch the first phase of their illumination cycle."
Rose's eyes lit up at this news, and she tugged me gently toward the indicated path. Her excitement was contagious, her usual reserved demeanor giving way to an almost childlike wonder that few ever witnessed.
"I've read about these lilies for years," she confided as we walked. "They're incredibly rare—they only grow in three locations worldwide, and their cultivation is notoriously difficult."
We followed a winding path illuminated by phosphorescent moss, passing through sections dedicated to various biomes and plant families. Each dome we entered presented a different atmosphere—some humid and tropical, others arid and stark—but all unified by the absence of harsh artificial light.
Rose moved through the spaces with the confidence of someone who had studied the layout in advance, occasionally stopping to point out particularly interesting specimens. Her knowledge was impressive, extending far beyond what our academy coursework required.
"Botanics isn't just a hobby for you, is it?" I observed as she identified a particularly rare fungus that glowed with subtle purple light.
She glanced up, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "My family's connection to plants goes back generations. The Springshaper name originally came from our role as agricultural innovators." Her expression shifted subtly. "Though of course, now we're better known for Vakrt."
It was an interesting glimpse into her family history. The Springshapers had begun as botanical specialists before making their dramatic pivot to necromancy, eventually founding Vakrt—the largest necromancy company in the Slatemark Empire. Their transition from life to death magic had made them enormously wealthy and powerful, though it had also surrounded the family name with an aura of mysterious transformation that made many uneasy.
"Do you ever think about the contrast?" I asked. "Between your family's origins and what Vakrt represents now?"
Her expression grew thoughtful. "Life and death are more circular than most people realize. The techniques we developed for understanding plant growth cycles transferred surprisingly well to necromantic research." She touched a luminescent flower gently. "I still maintain connections to our botanical roots, though. It gives me... perspective."
Unlike Cecilia, Rachel, and Seraphina, who wore their lineages as visible mantles of power, Rose rarely mentioned her family's significance. The Springshaper transformation from botanical innovators to necromancy moguls had been one of the most dramatic corporate evolutions in recent history.
"Your family found its own path," I said. "There's something admirable in that adaptability."
Her smile returned, warm with appreciation for the understanding. "We go where opportunity and knowledge lead us. It's no different from your own approach, really."
Before I could respond to this unexpected comparison, we arrived at the Midnight Pavilion—the largest dome in the complex, its interior shrouded in near-total darkness save for pinpricks of blue-white light scattered throughout the space.
"The spectral lilies," Rose whispered, her voice hushed with reverence.
We entered quietly, joining a small group of visitors who stood in silent appreciation around the central pond. There, rising from dark water, dozens of lily pads supported exquisite flowers that seemed to be made of living starlight. Each bloom emitted a soft, pulsating glow that shifted gradually through the spectrum—from cool blue to vibrant violet to deep indigo.
"They're responding to each other," Rose explained, her voice barely audible. "Each bloom adjusts its light based on the signals from surrounding flowers. They're communicating."
We found a small bench near the water's edge and sat in companionable silence, watching the hypnotic dance of light. Occasionally, Rose would point out a particular pattern or an unusually vibrant bloom, her whispered observations precise and insightful.
After about twenty minutes, the lilies began their second phase—emitting delicate motes of luminescence that floated upward like earthbound stars. The effect transformed the entire dome into a living galaxy, with visitors now standing amid gently drifting particles of light.
"It's beautiful," I said, genuinely moved by the display.
Rose turned to me, the drifting lights reflecting in her eyes. "Thank you for coming with me. I know this isn't as exciting as hunting beasts or crafting new combat techniques."
"I'm glad to be here," I replied truthfully. In a world filled with constant training, political maneuvering, and preparation for catastrophes both known and unknown, this peaceful moment felt like a rare gift.
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Rose smiled, then hesitantly reached for my hand. Unlike Cecilia's bold advances or Rachel's possessive grip, her touch was gentle, almost tentative—a quiet question rather than a demand.
I interlaced my fingers with hers, answering the unspoken query. Her smile deepened, and we sat there in comfortable silence, surrounded by floating light.
As the second phase reached its peak, Rose suggested we explore the adjacent Northwind Terrace, which offered a panoramic view of both the gardens and the city beyond. We made our way through the complex, still hand in hand, occasionally stopping to examine particularly interesting specimens.
The Northwind Terrace proved to be a semicircular platform extending from the highest point of the garden complex. Glass barriers provided protection from the brisk northern air while offering unobstructed views of Vryndall's illuminated skyline.
"I've always loved how Northern cities look at night," Rose commented as we leaned against the railing. "There's something almost magical about the way they use light against the darkness."
I nodded, appreciating both the view and her perspective. The people of the North had developed a unique relationship with illumination, transforming practical necessity into cultural artistry. Vryndall exemplified this approach, its districts defined by distinctive lighting signatures that created a tapestry of color against the night sky.
"You seem distracted tonight," Rose observed after a moment, her perception as keen as always. "Is everything alright?"
I hesitated, weighing how much to share. Rose was perceptive enough to recognize evasion, but I couldn't burden her with knowledge of what was coming—of what I knew awaited this beautiful city.
"Just thinking about the assignments," I said finally, offering a partial truth. "Mine was surprisingly straightforward. Almost too easy."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Mine as well. I was asked to analyze some experimental necromantic preservation techniques at the agricultural research station—a clear nod to Vakrt's interests, but hardly challenging." She paused, studying my expression. "You think there's more to this field trip than we've been told."
It wasn't a question but an observation. Rose had always been adept at reading between lines, at seeing patterns where others saw only isolated facts.
"I'm not sure," I replied carefully. "But it feels... convenient. Class A students given straightforward tasks that allow plenty of free time in a city so close to contested territory."
Rose frowned slightly, considering this. "You think we're being tested in some way beyond the obvious assignments?"
Before I could respond, a server approached with a tray of delicate crystal flutes containing a luminescent blue beverage—a garden specialty made from the essence of certain bioluminescent fruits.
"Compliments of the establishment for Mythos Academy students," he explained with a formal bow.
We accepted the offered drinks, momentarily distracted from our serious conversation. The beverage tasted of winter berries and mountain herbs, with a subtle tingling sensation that suggested minor magical properties—probably a mild mana stimulant, common in Northern refreshments.
As we sipped our drinks, our conversation shifted to lighter topics—upcoming projects at the academy, speculation about the Sovereign's Tournament, and Rose's ideas for combining traditional Springshaper botanical knowledge with modern necromantic techniques.
"Vakrt's current preservation methods are effective," she explained, warming to her subject, "but they're reactive rather than proactive. I've been developing a hybrid approach that combines living plant principles with necromantic stability."
Her enthusiasm was engaging, her intelligence evident in the way she navigated complex botanical and necromantic concepts with easy confidence. This was the Rose that few people saw—passionate, animated, and brilliantly innovative beneath her quiet exterior.
As the evening progressed, we gradually made our way back through the gardens, stopping occasionally to admire particularly striking displays. Rose continued to hold my hand, her grip becoming more assured as the night went on.
Near the garden's central pavilion, a small ensemble had begun playing traditional Northern string music, the haunting melodies carrying through the illuminated pathways. Without discussion, we paused to listen, Rose leaning slightly against my shoulder as the music washed over us.
"Thank you for tonight," she said softly. "It's been perfect."
I looked down at her, struck by the simple sincerity in her expression. Among all my complicated relationships, Rose's straightforward affection was uniquely refreshing—untainted by political calculation or power games.
"We should do this more often," I replied, meaning it.
Her smile brightened, and she turned to face me fully. For a moment, we stood there in the gentle glow of bioluminescent blossoms, the music creating an intimate atmosphere despite the public setting.
Rose rose slightly on her toes, her intention clear as she leaned toward me. Unlike my experiences with the others, there was no artifice here—just genuine emotion and quiet courage from someone who typically avoided drawing attention to herself.
Our lips had barely touched when the night shattered around us.
