Into the Rose Garden

Earning coins through labor or selling goods was a privilege reserved for only a select few. Even the limited opportunities for work were offered to those who could advertise their skills and sell themselves effectively. For most, the days of hunger vastly outnumbered the days of eating. A simple task that might earn two coins was never given to someone whose body was nothing but bones wrapped in scarred skin. And yet, some survived, thanks to those willing to pay for even a decayed, rotten body.

Aeroc hid in the deepest, darkest part of the alley to protect his half-eaten bread. He crouched, folding his legs under him, and began to chew on the still-warm loaf. But suddenly, a sharp, searing pain tore through his abdomen, as if his insides were being ripped apart. He collapsed to the floor, his vision darkening, struggling to remain conscious. It was the third time this had happened.

The first time, the pain was so intense that he had passed out, his nails scratching the floor until they broke. By the second time, he had learned to endure it, though his heart still pounded uncontrollably. It was a grim consequence of selling his body on the streets—a familiar torment. But it didn’t lessen the agony.

Dragging himself deeper into the alley, Aeroc felt the sharp pain intensify, stabbing at his insides like a knife. His already filthy pants were now soaked with a foul-smelling yellow fluid mixed with the red life-blood flowing from him. His trembling hands lowered his pants, and he sat on the cold stone floor. Bread still clutched between his teeth, he grimaced and let out a silent scream.

After a while, a lump of red flesh swelled and pushed through the gap, followed by black blood. It was a tiny human form, no bigger than the palm of a hand, covered in a sticky, shiny film.

At some point, he must have lost consciousness. When he came to, the sky was painted a soft pink. With unsteady arms, he lifted his upper body.

Again.

The piece of bread, now hard and barely recognizable, had rolled away. Aeroc lay back on the cold stone, pulling his stiff legs up toward his chest. With numb hands, he reached for the tiny form that had fallen between his legs. No matter how many times it happened, the sensation of something foreign leaving his body never felt less horrifying. Unconsciously, a cry escaped him, but his blown-out throat produced only a hollow sound, like air passing through a broken flute.

Taking that empty cry as a funeral dirge, Aeroc gathered the fragile, unformed body in his hands. Red tears welled up beneath his eyelids, but they did not fall. No tears, no blood—only emptiness.

With trembling legs, he pulled his clothes back up, his body wracked with soundless sobs.

Barely able to control his trembling legs, Aeroc pulled up his clothes and walked, carrying the weight of grief like a corpse—grief for a man who once knew how to cry. He walked toward the place where the sky’s tears gathered and flowed. *Next time, don’t be born like this.* His lips moved soundlessly, uttering a goodbye he could barely manage. He tossed the tiny red bundle into the river, like casting rose petals onto the water.

The journey back was a blur, a kaleidoscope of shifting images—the flower-streaked sky, cool patches of shade, the dark stone streets, and the calm river flowing alongside. Everything twisted and spun together in a dizzying swirl. His dry eyes felt stiff, unable to follow the chaotic dance of the world around him.

He couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t tell where he was going, or if he was even headed in the right direction. A constant murmur buzzed in his ears, full of incomprehensible curses and profanity. He couldn’t discern whether it was a real human voice or just a figment of his unraveling mind. His body, once capable of creating life, had been reduced to something lighter than a leaf, easily pushed by even the gentlest wind. Devoid of all moisture, he was like a dried leaf rolling and tumbling aimlessly until he reached a street corner.

The sound of horses’ hooves echoed loudly on the stone road, accompanied by the swift rolling of carriage wheels. Aeroc lifted his head just in time to see several black carriages pass by. He was in the square now, at the end of the labyrinthine streets that had led him up from the bottom. This vast plaza connected directly to the riverside, a bustling hub for carriages coming and going.

The area was always lively, but today it was especially chaotic. Aeroc stood there, staring blankly at the colorful crests on the passing carriages. Many of them were familiar. Barons, viscounts, dukes, and counts—sometimes even royalty—rode through, all caught up in their own worlds. To them, Aeroc was nothing, just filth, less than garbage.

For these noble families, with their long histories, the fall of a man like him was insignificant, barely a fleeting thought. Nothing had changed for them. The only thing that had changed was Aeroc himself, and the only thing lost was the family he had destroyed with his own foolishness. For the rest of the world, today was just another unremarkable day.

No matter how long he stared, Aeroc knew he would never again reach that world of light. If he tried to grasp it, his withered soul would be ground down even further, disintegrating with terrifying speed. He needed to turn away. The reason he hadn’t already done so wasn’t due to any lingering regret—it was simply that his body wouldn’t respond. His feet felt like lead. Slowly, he managed to lift one foot, turning his hunched back to the plaza. His shrunken shoulders followed, and eventually, his head, still dazed, began to turn.

At that moment, a black carriage sped toward him from a distance.

There was nothing outwardly different about it. The four horses had glossy manes, the carriage was sturdy and solemn, much like the others. Yet somehow, it seemed to shine. Aeroc’s head, which had just begun to turn, froze in place, locking onto the sight. The carriage tore through the wind, rushing past him with a narrow miss, leaving Aeroc standing in its wake, frozen in the remnants of what little light it had cast.

He saw it then—among the blurred figures, a clear silhouette emerged.

Through the translucent window of the pristine carriage, without a single handprint marring its surface, there sat a figure Aeroc could never forget. His dark auburn hair was slicked back tightly, and on his lap rested a blond child, smiling with joy. The child’s bright blue eyes, full of innocence, locked onto Aeroc’s sorrowful gaze.

*Ah.*

Aeroc recognized that child—that lovely, angelic boy. And the man holding him with such tenderness. They were both etched deeply in his memory, figures of beauty and light that he could never reach, no matter how hard he struggled in the dirt beneath them.

* * *

Aeroc was in a foul mood. The grand hall of the count’s mansion, where a lavish banquet was being held, was filled with people laughing and mingling, but none of the cheerful faces held what he was searching for. He was looking for a particular man—someone with deep furrows between his brows, a distant gaze, and an expression of anger mixed with indifference.

“Aeroc, you look especially stunning tonight.”
“Excuse me.”

A man, whose face Aeroc vaguely recognized, approached him with a feigned friendliness. The thick, cloying stench of the man’s body odor hit Aeroc’s nose even from several steps away. The man grinned at Aeroc with a sly, suggestive look, making his intentions obvious. He didn’t care that they were both alphas, or both men—roles that had once been considered sacred, bestowed by the gods. Such things had lost their meaning in the world they lived in now.

In fact, this man represented the lowest sort—a vulgar type who followed the reckless trend of casually engaging with both alphas and omegas without any sense of responsibility. When Aeroc pushed him away with a cold, disdainful smile, it didn’t affect the man’s pride in the slightest. Instead, the man seemed amused, immediately turning his attention to an omega nearby, casting the same lecherous gaze and speaking the same flirtatious words.

Disgusted by the mere thought of breathing the same air as him, Aeroc walked away, feeling as though he might vomit. Even so, his eyes continued scanning the room.

*Where are you?*

His hands, clasped behind his back, clenched around the invitation he had written with a pounding heart just days ago. The special handwritten note had been retrieved at the entrance, so he knew the man had come to the mansion. Yet, hours had passed, and there was no sign of him. Aeroc’s anxiety gnawed at him, the possibility that he might not show up after all tightening its grip around his chest.

Aeroc couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. The banquet was nothing more than an elaborate excuse he had concocted just to see him again.

Eventually, the footmen were sent to search for the man. They quietly roamed the banquet hall, fulfilling their master’s orders. Not long after, one of them returned from the garden and reported that the man was walking along the cedar path. Aeroc’s face, which had been as cold and expressionless as a marble statue moments before, lit up with joy, like ink spreading through water. He nearly rushed toward the cedar road, his excitement barely contained.

The path was bathed in the soft blue glow of the moonlight, with orange lanterns hanging under each tree, casting a subtle, atmospheric light. The path hadn’t been meant for decoration, but Aeroc had ordered the lanterns to be hung because he knew the man favored the cedar road. To ensure privacy, he had also arranged for the footmen to cleverly divert other guests from entering the area. As Aeroc walked, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the wild beating of his heart.

His pride wouldn’t allow him to openly show his emotions or act like an excited child meeting someone they longed for. He knew he was losing control of his feelings, that his excitement might be misplaced. He was aware of how humiliating it could be to get carried away when the other person hadn’t offered anything in return. Yet, a sense of frustration toward the man also lingered. Couldn’t he at least pretend to be friendly sometimes?

While everyone else showered Aeroc with praise for his wealth, status, and power, this man had shown no interest—or at least pretended not to. But if he truly wasn’t interested, why had he accepted the invitation? Surely, there must be some favor returned.

Aeroc had taken hold of the invitation, thinking of making light of it to ease any awkwardness. Perhaps he could joke about how he had written it by hand—would that make it more special? He had even considered gifting the man an elegant pen and ink set for his upcoming birthday.

He knew how to find a reasonably priced set, considering the man’s modest means. The butler, as sharp as ever, would certainly suggest the right gift. Aeroc imagined sitting next to him at the birthday dinner, a month away.

As he neared the end of the path, flickering light filtered through the walls of cypress trees, separating the cedar path from the rose garden. He saw a figure in the distance. Slowing his steps deliberately, Aeroc worked to smooth out the signs of excitement on his face. He didn’t want the man to notice his approach just yet. He wanted to witness his natural, unguarded expression.

In the past, Aeroc had once asked why the man kept such distance. The response had been vague, leaving more questions than answers.

As Aeroc had once asked, *Why do you always look so serious? Why do your brows stay furrowed, even when no one is watching?* Seeing Kloff now, with his broad shoulders and stern expression, standing alone in such a serious manner, was oddly amusing.

Aeroc smiled lightly as he felt the pebbles shift beneath his soft leather shoes.

Kloff’s tall figure was visible in the dim light, standing just beyond a single tree with countless small leaves. The distance between them closed quickly. Aeroc could see that Kloff was muttering to himself. Imagining him talking so seriously when no one was around made Aeroc laugh quietly to himself. He couldn’t wait any longer and hurried around the tree, revealing his presence.

“Fancy meeting you here, Kloff.”

Startled by Aeroc’s sudden appearance, Kloff’s eyes widened slightly as he turned to face him. But when their eyes met, Aeroc couldn’t believe what he saw. Kloff, whose deep-set eyes had always held a sharp, guarded look, and whose mouth rarely offered more than curt words, was smiling. It wasn’t just a polite smile—it was genuine. Kloff was actually smiling.

Aeroc felt his usual defenses crumble in an instant. His face, which was often pale and composed, flushed with a soft pink. *That serious man, smiling because of me?*

It took all of Aeroc’s willpower to resist the urge to run to Kloff’s side immediately. His heart swelled. It wasn’t one-sided. It couldn’t be one-sided. There was no way Kloff—this low-ranking nobleman with no background aside from his brilliant mind and towering stature—would reject someone like him. With a wide smile, Aeroc approached Kloff, overjoyed at the idea of finally winning him over.

“Kloff,” Kloff greeted him with a nod.

“I sent you such a personal invitation, and when you didn’t show up, I had to come find you. Do I really have to handwrite invitations just to get your attention? You may not have a title, but you sure act like you’ve got one,” Aeroc teased.

But as soon as he finished, Kloff’s smile faded, his expression returning to its usual seriousness. Aeroc briefly wondered if there was some hidden illness troubling Kloff. Still, having seen that smile, Aeroc convinced himself that Kloff’s cold exterior was just a mask. He was sure he could peel it away, little by little, over time.

Stepping closer, Aeroc moved into Kloff’s personal space, testing the boundaries of propriety. He had planned to ask Kloff if he’d be interested in seeing the rare first edition of the *Interpretation of the Bill of Rights* that Aeroc had recently purchased.

But something stopped him before he could say a word.

But it didn’t. Aeroc realized too late that he wasn’t alone, just as he was about to reach for Kloff’s arm, still holding onto his smile.

Behind Kloff’s imposing frame stood a smaller man with blond hair and blue eyes, strikingly similar to Aeroc’s own. The man seemed momentarily surprised upon seeing him, but greeted Aeroc with a polite smile.

“Hello, Count Taywind. Thank you for inviting me to the party.”

Aeroc knew him. He was the eldest son of Viscount Westport, a distant relative whom Aeroc had only seen once—at his father’s funeral. His name was likely Rafiel. Aeroc didn’t recall inviting him specifically, but it seemed Rafiel had been added to the standard invitation list ever since that day.

As an omega, Rafiel leaned back slightly, placing his hand on Kloff’s waist. Kloff’s sturdy Alpha arm was wrapped protectively around the smaller man’s shoulders. It was only after taking in the scene that Aeroc realized the truth. Kloff’s smile was meant for Rafiel, not him. And the seriousness he saw in Kloff’s frown was not an act, but sincere affection.

A wave of shame and humiliation crashed over Aeroc. He looked between the two of them, muttering under his breath, before turning away. Though he was the master of the mansion, he fled, desperate to escape the scene and the guests.

* * *

His head filled with unreachable fantasies. They were remnants of a life he had once forgotten, long ago when he lay on the cold stone floor. The fantasy was as beautiful as it was fleeting, so captivating it made him lose track of time. He crouched down on his knees, placing his hands neatly in front of him, resting his cheek against the back of his hand.

He tried to mimic the joyous smile of the man who had left such an unforgettable mark on his heart, and of the child who carried that man’s blood. Even in the depths of such misery, an overwhelming feeling escaped him. Could life still be a blessing? Could he guide himself—or perhaps that man—back into the light?

Underneath the cedar road, he wondered: Will I see him again someday?

Someday, again, okay. And with that thought, he resolved.

Let’s live.