Rosy's eyes widened, and the reaction, though brief, was impossible to miss. It vanished almost immediately, replaced by her usual composed expression, but Arthur had spent centuries with people trying very hard not to reveal what they were really thinking. He knew surprise when he saw it.
Interesting.
Beside him, Cheshire noticed it too.
The cat's ears twitched. "Aha."
Rosy immediately frowned. "Aha what?"
"You made the face."
"I did not make a face."
"You absolutely made a face."
The fairy folded her arms. "I'm making a face now."
"A different face."
Arthur wisely remained silent. Centuries of experience had taught him that interrupting an argument between Cheshire and anyone else only encouraged the cat.
Rosy exhaled dramatically before turning her attention back to Arthur. "You do realise that most people would ask for power?"
"Most people are exhausting."
The answer arrived so quickly that even Rosy blinked.
"Wealth, then."
"I own a kingdom."
"Immortality?"
Arthur considered it.
Cheshire groaned.
The cat's despair was immediate and heartfelt.
"Oh no."
Arthur glanced at him. "What?"
"That's the look."
"What look?"
"The look you get before making a terrible decision."
Arthur looked thoughtful. "I've made many terrible decisions."
"Yes."
"I'll need you to be more specific."
Rosy laughed.
The sound surprised all three of them.
For just a moment she didn't look like an ancient being tied to celestial powers and forgotten mysteries. She looked young. Amused.
Arthur found the observation unsettling.
Rosy recovered first.
"The blessing isn't a reward, Arthur."
"I gathered as much."
"It's not a prize for collecting enough magical artifacts."
"I don't collect magical artifacts."
"You have an entire vault full of them."
"They followed me home."
Cheshire nodded seriously. "This is true. A sword once broke into the palace and refused to leave."
"It was cursed."
"It was lonely."
Arthur was beginning to suspect the cat sympathised with cursed objects.
The thought was less absurd than it should have been.
The Blue Moon continued its ascent, filling the garden with pale sapphire light. The roses seemed brighter now, their petals shimmering softly beneath the glow. Beyond the palace walls, the celebration in Reinstle continued, though the sounds felt strangely distant. Music drifted across the night air. Laughter followed. Fireworks painted brief streaks of silver above the city skyline before fading into darkness.
Arthur watched them for a moment.
From here, the city looked peaceful.
It always did.
Distance had a habit of making things beautiful.
From afar he could pretend none of the people below carried fears, regrets, ambitions, or grief. He could almost ignore the countless futures brushing against the edge of his awareness.
Almost.
His gaze drifted toward a family gathered beside one of the main squares.
Immediately the future unfolded.
A father.
A mother.
Two children.
The younger daughter would eventually become a talented healer. The son would spend six terrible years at war before returning home with white hair and haunted eyes. Their mother would outlive them both.
Arthur looked away.
The vision vanished.
Three centuries later, he still hated how easily it happened.
Rosy's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You're doing it again."
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Doing what?"
"Looking at tomorrow instead of today."
"Tomorrow is often more informative."
"It is also significantly less useful."
"Debatable."
Rosy sighed.
"You've spent so long staring into the future that you've forgotten how to stand still."
Arthur almost responded.
Then stopped.
Because she wasn't entirely wrong.
That annoyed him.
He changed the subject immediately.
"You know what my mother said to me."
Rosy's expression froze.
There.
That tiny hesitation again.
The same one from earlier.
Arthur straightened slightly.
For years he'd suspected people knew more about his mother than they admitted. Most became uncomfortable whenever he asked questions. Rosy wasn't usually one of them.
Tonight was proving unusual.
The fairy looked toward the statue at the centre of the garden before answering.
"It wasn't my memory to keep."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"So you do know."
Rosy didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
For a long moment nobody spoke.
Even Cheshire wisely remained silent.
Arthur remembered fragments.
A room filled with the scent of roses.
His mother's pale smile.
A bracelet being fastened around his wrist.
A voice telling him something important.
Then nothing.
No matter how hard he tried, the memory dissolved whenever he reached for it.
Three centuries.
Three centuries and he still couldn't remember.
"I hate mysteries," Arthur muttered.
Cheshire looked horrified.
"No you don't."
"I do."
"You collect them."
Arthur frowned.
"I do not collect mysteries."
"You absolutely do."
The cat pointed a paw toward the palace.
"There's an unexplained magical door in the eastern tower."
"It appeared first."
"There's a dragon sleeping beneath the northern cliffs."
"It refuses to answer questions."
"You adopted a sword because it wouldn't tell you where it came from."
Arthur paused.
"In hindsight that was questionable."
Rosy laughed again.
The sound felt lighter this time.
"He's right."
Arthur looked betrayed.
"You too?"
"Especially me."
For the first time since arriving, Rosy seemed genuinely relaxed.
Then her expression slowly became serious.
The mood shifted.
Not abruptly.
Not dramatically.
Simply enough that Arthur knew the conversation had reached its end.
"The blessing is ready."
The words settled over the garden.
Arthur looked upward.
The moon had grown larger again.
Impossible.
Magnificent.
The blue light seemed deeper now, as though the night itself had become part of it.
Rosy stepped forward and extended her hand.
The fountain began to glow.
The roses stirred.
Ancient symbols appeared across the pathways, shining faintly beneath the grass.
Even Cheshire stopped joking.
That alone conveyed the significance of the moment.
Arthur looked at the fairy.
Then at his mother's statue.
Then at the bracelet around his wrist.
Three hundred and twelve years.
That was how long he had lived.
Long enough to witness empires rise.
Long enough to watch friends fade into memory.
Long enough to convince himself that attachment only led to suffering.
Perhaps he even believed it.
Most days.
But standing beneath the Blue Moon, with uncertainty waiting beyond the next moment, he found himself wondering what life might look like without knowing every ending beforehand.
The thought was terrifying.
It was also exhilarating.
Rosy's voice echoed softly through the stillness.
"Arthur Evans."
The garden seemed to listen.
"Do you accept the Blue Moon's Blessing?"
Arthur smiled.
Not the smile nobles feared.
Not the smile enemies misunderstood.
A real one.
Small.
Quiet.
Hopeful.
And perhaps a little reckless.
"Let's find out."