Across the ceremonial area, dignitaries exchanged names of prodigies while press drones hovered above the chandeliers, wings like tiny mechanical petals in slow rotation. Adrian Vale sat in the front row reserved for honor students. His mind circled back to the first time her name appeared on his desk at Vermillion, when he had promised himself he should, and would, treat her as nothing more than a stranger. Still, he went to the opening ceremony just to share the same frame, to catch even a glimpse.

  The phone vibrated. He glanced down.

  Her message.

  I got it.

  The only full scholarship to Vermillion.

  I hope you’re still walking your path. Maybe we’ll cross again.

  -M.

  He read it once. And again.

  A tiny shift touched the ice in his expression, frost easing from its hold.

  The more he thought about that day, the more clearly it returned to him, even after all these years, the more he realised how badly he wanted to be stronger. For the people he hadn’t been able to protect then. For the coward part inside him.

  Her New Year messages. He never responded.

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  Not because he didn’t care. But because every word she wrote felt like it was meant for someone he couldn’t become again. That boy, idealistic, impulsive, still untouched by the weight of his own bloodline, wasn’t the Adrian Vale of now.

  What could he say?

  Thank you for remembering me? I’m not him anymore?

  You shouldn’t still care?

  But he read them. Every single year since then.

  The messages arrived on the same date.

  His birthday.

  Though she didn’t know it yet.

  Her name rang through the ceremony.

  “Mira Larkspur.”

  Adrian’s gaze turned toward the aisle she stepped from. Her Vermillion uniform carried clean lines, and her silver hair caught the chandeliers like moon-metal threads, strands shifting with each small movement. Light gathered in her eyes with clear direction, shaped by years of growth. She stood taller now, a silhouette refined through many seasons.

  “Adrian Vale”.

  He walked toward the stage, each step tightening his chest until his breath caught deeper inside as he came to stand beside her.

  A camera flashed.

  Their first picture together, frozen in time.

  His heart lifted with a strange brightness, a rising sense that this shared frame, after those years, carried the first breath of a beginning he never planned, yet had always imagined somewhere in the future.

  ?

  --End of Volume 3--

  Of Mountain Wind and Wildflower.

  I hope this journey meant something to you, and maybe, every scene feels different when seen again. Perhaps the way he looked at her during those small moments, here and there, across their earlier pages, carries a deeper tone now.

  I once tried writing this story at a fast, dramatic pace, magic from the very beginning, but it didn’t feel true.

  In the end, I chose to write the version that felt right to me.

  rate if you enjoy the story so far.

  There’s still a lot more to share, and I can’t wrap them all up in one note.

  I’ll be posting a few bonus scenes next before the new volume begins, hope you’ll love the moments that follow.