The train rumbled gently over the tracks as I stared out the window, watching fields roll by—endless stretches of green shimmering under the morning sun. It smelled like summer, even though I could only sense it through the glass. The closer we got to the small town where my grandfather lived, the wider and more open the land became. My gaze drifted down to the bag on my lap. The zipper was slightly open, just enough to reveal the worn leather strap and wide brim of the cowboy hat I could never let go of. I carefully pulled it out. Faded, frayed—but still magical. My fingers traced the rough fabric, and suddenly I was back in that moment. It was a scorching afternoon. I was in my early twenties, loud and laughing with two of my best friends at a local rodeo. Most of the cowboys were too busy showing off to notice us. Except for him. He was tall, lean but muscular, his white flannel shirt clinging to broad shoulders and strong arms. The sleeves were rolled up, sun-tanned forearms on display. His blond hair fell into his face, messy and wind-blown. His skin was kissed by the sun, freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. But his eyes stayed with me—brown, warm, deep. Like earth after rain. When he looked at me, it felt like something inside me stilled. He smiled, crooked and easy, walked over without a word, took off his hat, and placed it on my head. No name. No explanation. Just that single, perfect moment. Since then, the hat had been with me. Not always visible, but always near when I needed comfort. The memory of him was like a forgotten song—soft, persistent. Now, over ten years later, I was returning. Grandpa needed help, and I… I needed space—from the city, from myself. I placed the hat back in the bag, resting my hand over it like a secret. Back then, I thought I'd never see him again. I didn’t know fate had other plans—plans that would bring him back into my life and stir up everything I thought I’d left behind.

The smell of varnish and aged wood hung heavy and familiar in the air. The warm light of an antique desk lamp flickered softly over canvases, brushes, and small bowls of pigments. Outside, rain tapped quietly against the window, the sound blending with gentle music from an old radio. I was alone—as so often before—deeply absorbed in the careful brushstrokes on a nearly faded oil painting I was tasked to restore as a conservator. It was late. Too late. Yet I couldn’t pull myself away. Before me was the portrait of the royal guard’s knight—tall, with a strong jawline, softly wavy reddish-brown hair that shimmered with gold, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to look through centuries straight at me. A thin scar ran beneath his right eye. The artist had captured him with such detail that I held my breath. “He was her vow, her love, her downfall,” I murmured quietly. In old archives, I had read about the princess—young, beautiful, tragic—a forbidden love story from the past that had found no happy ending. A strange pang gripped my heart every time I looked at the princess’s face. It was as if I were staring at myself—same delicate features, same eyes. Coincidence? The brush slipped from my hand. Suddenly, a cool breeze swept through the room, though no window was open. My hair lifted, the candle flickered. Then I heard waves—soft yet close, like an echo from another place. Confused, I sat up as a golden light began to glow from the painting. Not a reflection. Not a trick of the eye. It was real. Before I could stand, everything brightened, as if sunlight poured through my skin. Warmth, light—and then darkness. A distant birdcall. Cool blades of grass beneath my hands. And rushing water—not a memory, but real, near, alive. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Above me stretched a sky in colors I’d never seen. I lay before a tall, roaring waterfall, dressed in heavy fabric that felt strange yet familiar. I lifted my hands—and did not recognize them.

I stood at the edge of the garden, watching the two girls as they laughed and wandered among the flowers, the warm spring light gently illuminating their faces. My new role as their chaperone felt like an endless cycle of matchmaking—helping them navigate their way through a world of suitors, teaching them the rules of society and decorum. It was a job I had taken on out of duty, hoping to believe in the power of love and connection. But love was a tricky thing, wasn’t it? I believed in it, in its purest form, the kind that could overcome anything. The kind that made life worth living. At first, I didn’t hear him approach. It was only when I caught the movement in the corner of my eye that I felt a shift in the air. My heart skipped a beat, and I almost involuntarily turned to face him. He was tall, muscular, his dark brown hair slightly tousled by the wind, and his green eyes held an intensity that sent a strange shiver down my spine. I could almost feel the weight of his presence as he moved toward me, walking with purpose, his brown coat swirling around his legs. He had an effortless confidence that made it impossible to ignore him. I swallowed hard, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. I tried to focus again on his younger sisters, but my gaze couldn’t pull away from him. He was everything I had been warned to avoid—the type of man who believed in status and obligation rather than love. The kind of man who wouldn’t understand why I believed in fairytale endings. But there was something in the way he looked at me, something that made me wonder if I could convince him to see things differently. To see love the way I saw it.

I never expected to see him again. Not after that one night, years ago. I was young, naive, and he was a shadow—tall, muscular, covered in tattoos, his body a map of dangerous encounters. The scar above his eyebrow, how it sharpened his gaze… He didn’t belong in my world. He never spoke his name, and neither did I. It was just that one night, no strings attached. But nothing stays simple. Now, I'm an FBI agent. I’ve spent years solving cases, following leads, collecting clues that always circle back to him. I never told anyone about that night. It wasn’t relevant. But the case I’m working on now brings me back to him, the man who should have stayed in my past. I didn’t expect him to find me, to ask for my help. But here he is, standing before me again, his dark eyes intense, holding the weight of the world. He’s not the same man—more danger, more secrets. But beneath it all, I recognize something: the man who held me, who made me forget everything. “You owe me nothing,” he says, his voice rough. “But I need you. I need your help.” The lines blur. I know who he is, what he’s connected to. But there’s something about him that makes me question everything I thought I knew. He was a stranger, and now he’s still a stranger, but with a name, a story that intertwines with mine. He steps closer, and my heart races. I should walk away, follow the law. But there’s this pull between us. I’m not sure who I am anymore—FBI agent, woman, or just the girl he once knew. I look at him, my mind screaming to resist, but my heart knows I won’t. Not this time.

I arrived at my grandfather’s village late in the evening, the air thick with the scent of wet earth. The small, secluded village was surrounded by dense forests and silent hills. It was peaceful, yet something felt wrong. The villagers whispered when they thought no one was listening, their eyes flicking nervously whenever the old cemetery was mentioned. No one dared go near it after dark. The winds there were colder, the ground thick with overgrown tombstones bearing names long worn away. People had been vanishing for months—always near the cemetery, always after dusk. Fear gripped the village, and my mission was clear: uncover the truth and stop whatever was causing the disappearances. As I walked to my grandfather's house, I saw him—the new gardener. He stood by the cemetery’s edge, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed entirely in black. His presence felt heavy, the air thickening around him. His dark, unruly hair framed a pale, sharp face, and his eyes glowed faintly red in the fading light. A chill ran down my spine. I had spent years hunting vampires—I knew one when I saw one. But something about him felt darker, more dangerous. My instincts screamed at me to turn away, but I couldn’t. Later that night, driven by a mix of fear and curiosity, I followed him. Hidden in the cemetery’s shadows, I watched him disappear into the dark. What I discovered shattered everything I believed. He wasn’t just a vampire—he was behind the disappearances. But the truth was more complex. There was something else at play, something older and far more sinister. As the mystery unraveled, the line between enemy and ally began to blur. I was forced to question everything—my duty, my beliefs, even my heart. One thing was certain: the village’s fate would be decided in the darkness. And sometimes, to defeat a greater evil, you must stand beside the very thing you were taught to destroy.

The Angel Academy was a place of discipline, where the sky seemed to watch over the golden columns. Today, however, was different. The trainees stood in rows, their wings flawless, hearts filled with hope and nerves. The mission they would receive today would decide their future. “Before you lies the trial that will determine your place in the Order,” began the teacher, a tall angel with silver wings. “Each of you will be sent to Earth, where you will either protect or lead a human astray. Succeed, and you will rise as a Guardian or a Fallen Angel.” You stood in line, your white wings slightly spread, your dream clear: to become a Guardian Angel, the light for the lost. But when the teacher’s gaze fell on one angel, your breath caught. It was him. Cassian. His black wings were spread, dark and imposing, his amber eyes piercing. His blonde hair fell in soft waves, and tattoos snaked around his neck, reminders of a past filled with darkness. A Fallen Angel, never fully freed from the shadows. Yet despite the darkness around him, there was something magnetic about him. His mischievous smile dared anyone to challenge him, his gaze unapologetically confident and alluring. Even though he was your enemy, you couldn’t help but feel your heart race every time his eyes lingered on you. The teacher called your name. “You will protect the girl and prevent chaos. Your mission is clear.” But your gaze stayed on Cassian. His mission was to corrupt her; yours, to shield her. The weight of your role made your chest tighten, but you couldn’t show weakness. “And you,” the teacher turned to Cassian, “will seduce the girl and lead her astray.” His smile, cold and defiant, made your resolve falter for a moment. You would stop him. Somehow you knew this mission was going to be harder than you ever imagined.

I was just a child when my world began to crack—quietly at first, almost imperceptibly, like hairline fractures in glass. I lived with my parents in a small cottage on the edge of the Ashbourne estate. My father worked for them, and I spent many afternoons with Nate, the son of the house. We were friends. Best friends. Maybe even more than that, though we never said it aloud. It was a silent understanding that grew between us—in glances, in smiles, in long summers filled with secrets. Then my mother died. And my father—sometime later, in an accident. The time between is a blur in my memory, but everything after stands painfully clear. A new woman moved into our home. My stepmother. With her daughter. And suddenly, nothing was the same. I became the quiet helper in my own house. All contact with Nate and his family faded. He left—studied, traveled, became someone in the world. I stayed behind, caught beneath the cold gaze of my stepmother and the silent expectation to simply endure. Years passed. I only heard his name in newspapers or in conversations I was never meant to be part of. “Nathaniel Ashbourne—young entrepreneur, unmarried, back in town.” That was enough to spark new schemes in my stepmother’s mind. She wanted her daughter to marry him. And me? She sent me to his estate—as a housemaid. “Find out what he thinks, what he wants,” she told me. I hadn’t planned to remember our past. But it came rushing back—the moment I saw him again, in every look, every gesture. What she didn’t know: I already knew him. Knew the boy who once looked at me like I was a promise. And now? Now I stand at a crossroads: to fulfill my duty—or follow my heart.

🌬 Part 3 🌪 For countless years, the cycle of the seasons had held: Spring bloomed, Summer burned, Autumn faded, and Winter froze—each in balance, each in turn. After the ancient darkness was vanquished, peace returned to the world, and the Guardians stood united once more. The world thrived under their care. But balance is fragile. And sometimes, even unity cannot hold back what lies forgotten. It began with a vision. Vale saw her first—a woman cloaked in mist, standing alone on a windswept hill beneath the silver light of the moon. Her long black hair swirled in the wind, and her gray eyes shimmered with sorrow as she stared over the restless sea. She did not speak. She simply waited. Vale said nothing at first. Dreams were not uncommon among the Guardians, especially after great shifts in the world. But these dreams were different—night after night, the vision returned, unyielding. Deep within, Vale felt a name rising: Nyra. She was not one of the four Guardians, and yet not apart from them. Nyra—the forgotten. The Guardian of the Fifth Season. A time between time. Not light, not dark. Not life, not death. A stillness where all things paused and breathed. The Shadow Season. Her presence stirred something long buried within Vale. The others dismissed it. But Vale knew better. As the seasons began to blur, and time stuttered, the signs grew impossible to ignore. Something ancient, something lost, was awakening. The Guardians had buried Nyra’s memory, fearing what they did not understand. But the cycle had never been whole without her. She was not a threat; she was the balance between extremes—the pause between endings and beginnings. Now, as winds stir with an unnatural chill, Nyra waits beneath the moonlight, forgotten but awakening. The Fifth Season has returned.

🌹Part 2 🥀 After you and Kryo returned the stolen golden Egg and restored the balance of the seasons, you found unity—not just in duty, but in love. Yet peace was short-lived. An ancient force, once banished by all four Guardians, begins to stir once more. Known as the Shadowtime, it rises from the void between seasons, threatening to plunge the world into eternal dusk—a state where no season rules, no life breaths, no death comes. Only stillness. The signs are clear: rain that burns or freezes mid-air, animals slipping into endless sleep, plants blooming and withering in seconds. You and Kryo know—this is no natural imbalance. Something older and darker is awakening. To uncover how the ancient force was freed, you and Kryo must journey through the blazing lands of Summer and the mist-shrouded realm of Autumn—territories untouched by Guardians for centuries. There, long-buried truths and trials await, testing each of you beyond limits. For the first time in generations, the Guardians of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter must unite. But the alliance is fragile. Emberlyn, the Summer Guardian, is passionate, free-spirited, and fiercely independent. Her sun-like nature clashes with Kryo’s calm, icy demeanor, and tensions rise. Though once your close friend, a quiet unease grows in her as she senses how deeply your bond with him has changed you. Vale, the Autumn Guardian, is quiet and introspective. With brown hair and amber eyes, he carries the sorrow of fading things. Living in solitude among bare trees and whispering winds, he has long kept his distance. But as darkness spreads, even he must return and face what was left behind. Because true balance lies not only in nature’s rhythm—but within the hearts of those chosen to protect it. And in the twilight between light and shadow, truth will be revealed.

✨️Part 1 ✨️ In a world where the changing of the seasons maintains balance, the golden egg is the key. Every year, it is passed from the Winter Realm to the Spring Realm in a sacred ceremony, signaling the shift from cold to warmth, from death to rebirth. But this year, the golden egg is missing, and without it, the transition is in jeopardy. 🪷 From her perspective 🪷 The first light of dawn filtered through her treehouse, casting patterns on the floor. She smiled, gazing outside at the snow-covered flowers, knowing spring was near. Today was the day the golden egg would be passed from Winter to Spring, and she had been chosen as the Guardian of the Egg. She stepped outside, feeling the cool morning air. The snow lingered, but the world was already waking up. Animals stirred, and fireflies danced in the early light. Everything was ready for the transition. ❄️ From his perspective ❄️ Kryo awoke to the cold, gray light of the Winter Realm. The pressure of the day settled on him as he prepared for the sacred ceremony. This year, however, something felt off. Tension hung in the air, making it hard to breathe. Dressed in his ceremonial cloak, Kryo walked through the Winter Palace, where guards hurried by with grim faces. He reached the Elder’s room, but when the door opened, the stone pedestal was empty. “The egg is missing,” the Elder said gravely. Kryo’s heart sank. “What do you mean, missing?” “Someone has taken it,” the Elder replied. “Without it, the ceremony cannot proceed. The seasons are out of balance.” Panic surged through Kryo. “Who took it? Where is it?” The Elder’s eyes darkened. “There are forces at work here, forces we don’t fully understand. You must find the egg—before it’s too late.” With a heavy heart, Kryo set off for the Spring Realm. Time was running out.

✨️Backstory ✨️ Centuries ago, the woman in Midnight Manor was the daughter of a powerful ruler, whose kingdom was threatened by dark forces. During this time, she met Kieran, a loyal guardian who vowed to protect her. A deep, forbidden love grew between them, one that defied law and fate. But the dark forces could not allow it. A curse, born from hatred and envy, was cast: she would fall into an eternal sleep, untouched by time, while Kieran was condemned to find her in every lifetime—only to lose her again. In their final encounter, Kieran swore he would break the curse, but the price was too high. The curse demanded his death, and so he fell, unable to fulfill his vow. Since then, their fates have played out in an endless cycle, with Kieran drawn to her each life, yet unaware of their past. The woman remains trapped between worlds, her memories of their love fragmented. Midnight Manor stands as a silent witness to their endless struggle, where their destinies converge again and again. 🥀 Present The woman lies trapped in an eternal sleep, bound by the curse. Fragments of memories—a flash of sunlight, a moment of joy—drift through her dreams, but they are fleeting. Silence dominates her world, until tonight. Kieran Grayson, an officer investigating strange occurrences at Midnight Manor, is drawn to the place by an unexplainable pull. As he approaches the manor, a fox appears, its amber eyes locking onto his. The fox leads him through the darkened halls of the manor to a grand bedroom where the woman sleeps, untouched by time. Her peaceful yet sorrowful expression pulls at Kieran’s heart, and as he gazes upon her, he feels a deep, inexplicable connection. The fox, ever-watchful, remains at the foot of the bed, guarding the secret of her endless slumber.

✨️The future, the past, and every plot twist are in your hands✨️ In a valley hidden between the raging sea, surrounded by towering cliffs and dense forests, lies the village of Fyrgath—a place where humans and dragons have lived together for centuries. The daughter of the village chief, you have a unique bond with the dragons, able to understand them without words. As the leader of the dragon riders, it’s your duty to protect them. For weeks, dragons have been disappearing, and your father sent you on a search. This wasn’t just a mission but a test—if you fail to find the dragons, you won’t take your role as Guardian. You’ve traced the dragons’ fading presence across the cliffs and forests, reaching the edge of Fyrgath’s lands, where the air grows heavy with tension. You have no answers, no clue where the dragons have gone, or if they’re even alive. As the sun begins to set, the world bathes in a golden glow. The wind plays with your hair as you sit on the cliff, gazing out at the sea. Waves crash below, but your focus is on the dragons flying in the distance. Then, you spot him—a figure standing at the edge of the forest. Your heart skips. It’s Kaedrick. His presence is undeniable, a silhouette against the fading light. The rivalry between your villages runs deep—Fyrgath, a peaceful place where dragons are revered, and Ohran, where dragons are hunted and enslaved. Kaedrick, the son of Ohran’s chief, is the embodiment of that bitter feud. As he steps closer, the last rays of sunlight catch his features. His red hair, tousled by the wind, falls over his sharp cheekbones, casting shadows on his face. There’s a ruggedness to him that makes him look untouchable, dangerous. His piercing green eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, the weight of your shared history hangs between you both. The rivalry is still there, but there's something else—something in his gaze that makes you question everything you thought you knew about him.

As children, they spent a magical summer by a hidden lake—a sanctuary where they dreamed and talked, never exchanging names. One day, the boy left to join the military, severing their connection. Years passed, and the boy became a man, hardened by war and loss. Memories of that enchanted summer faded, replaced by discipline and survival. He convinced himself it had been nothing more than childish infatuation—feelings had no place in war. After his service, he returned fractured, bearing scars deeper than the visible wounds. Taking a job as a bodyguard seemed simple—security, clear rules, and distance from the past. His new assignment: protecting the daughter of a famous director. She, too, had changed. The dreamy girl had grown into a young woman, still visiting the lake alone, longing for the boy who never returned. Tonight, the mansion buzzes with preparations for your birthday party—an event you dread. Tired of fake smiles and empty compliments, you plan to escape to a club with friends, just a few hours of freedom before resuming the perfect-daughter act. Your father mentioned a new bodyguard, but you haven’t met him yet. Sliding on your leather jacket, you sneak down the grand staircase, careful not to make a sound. The garden door creaks as you step outside, breathing in the cool night air. Just as you move further into the garden, a shiver runs down your spine—a feeling of being watched. You glance over your shoulder and spot him—a figure in the shadows near the house. The moonlight catches his face, highlighting sharp cheekbones and a crooked smile. He straightens, arms crossed, eyes glinting with amusement.

On a rainy afternoon, when you helped an elderly woman carry her heavy shopping bags, you had no idea that this small act of kindness would change your life forever. The woman—elegant yet warm—introduced herself as Margarete, a sharp-minded entrepreneur. Impressed by your kindness, she offered you a job as an assistant in her family business. A generous offer you accepted without hesitation. But before your first day even began, an invitation arrived—an exclusive masquerade ball, a glimpse into a world that felt as distant as a fairy tale. You didn’t know you would meet a man there who would captivate you with a single look. You didn’t know he would soon be your boss. And you certainly didn’t know that one dance would turn your world upside down. ✨ Present ✨ You stand at the top of the grand marble staircase, breath hitching. Before you, the ballroom unfolds—golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over polished floors, elegant guests move like whispers, their faces hidden behind intricate masks. The air hums with mystery, laced with the soft melodies of an orchestra. Your heart pounds. The faint clinking of champagne glasses, hushed conversations, and occasional laughter blur into the surreal. It feels like stepping into a story that was never meant to be yours. Your fingers tighten around the railing. You force a breath. Slowly, you descend, fingertips grazing the cool gold of the banister. With each step, you become someone else—someone with a secret, veiled behind a silver mask. At the foot of the stairs, you pause. No familiar faces. Just the intoxicating freedom of anonymity. Then, as you take your final step, you feel it—a gaze, steady and unwavering. A soft shiver races down your spine. A deep voice makes you stop. You turn—and meet his eyes. Tall. Refined. Midnight-blue suit, dark mask, black hair falling into his face. A face partly hidden, but his ice-blue eyes… they glimmer with curiosity. With challenge.

London, Spring 1813 Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand ballroom, where the scent of roses and perfume lingers in the air. Gentlemen bow to their partners, silk gowns whisper against polished floors, and crystal glasses clink in harmony with the orchestra. Beneath lavish floral arrangements, ladies whisper behind their fans, eyes scanning for the most promising matches. A glance, a touch—each moment brims with unspoken possibilities, for in one evening, fates may be secured or shattered. Couples glide across the parquet, some with effortless grace, others stiff and restrained by duty. The air hums with expectation, longing, and the relentless pressure of the season. Yet, while others bask in admiration, you stand at the room’s edge—present, but unseen. A wallflower, a mere spectator in society’s grand performance. Your dance card is nearly empty, a single waltz granted out of courtesy rather than true interest. The sting is subtle but unshakable, as tight as the corset you wear. You tell yourself it does not matter. Yet, deep within, a quiet yearning stirs—not for polite admiration or a marriage dictated by duty, but for something real. A love that defies expectation, that sees beyond appearances and social standing. A love that lasts beyond candlelit ballrooms and whispered gossip. But such things belong in fairy tales, not London’s ballrooms. Here, names matter more than hearts, practicality more than passion. And so, your longing remains a quiet ache, hidden behind a polite smile and an almost-empty dance card. If you couldn’t attract a suitor alone, who better to guide you than Cedric—your childhood friend? He had never struggled with society’s expectations and could charm a room with ease. If anyone could make you desirable in the eyes of London’s eligible bachelors, it was him.

✨️Is Damian—a supernatural detective—truly the key to the secrets surrounding your sister? Will the fate of your family, foretold in ancient legends, repeat itself through you?✨️ You once dismissed the villagers' stories about your grandparents—until their fate began to echo in your own. The past had carved itself into your present, tangled in your dreams, in the signs you could no longer ignore. A book in the local library, marked with symbols that seemed to move. The whispers of the wind, forming almost—words when you walked alone at night. The same recurring dream every night—one that led you here. To this place no one entered, no one spoke of. The rain fell in heavy drops onto the cobblestones as you hurried through the dark streets. Two weeks ago, your sister vanished without a trace. The village whispered of misfortune, but fear lingered in their eyes. You remember the night before she vanished. The way she spoke in hushed tones, as if she knew something she shouldn’t. The way she clutched the old silver locket, which once belonged to your grandmother, hanging around her neck—the one she had found in the old chest in the attic. The rain soaks through your clothes, but you can’t stop. Each step echoes against the wet pavement as you rush through the narrow alleys of the village. You stand in the middle of the street when you suddenly notice a flicker of light. Turning the corner, you see a man in a long black coat, his silhouette shifting in the wind, stepping through a portal. Your breath catches as you watch him, and for a moment, you swear he turns—his eyes locking onto yours from within the darkness. A strange connection stirs in your chest, as if you’ve met him before. But before you can be certain, he is gone. The portal is already beginning to fade. A choice must be made now. Your heart pounds against your ribs, your hands are cold, but your mind is clear. Your sister is missing—and this could be the key to finding her.

He was gone, and with him, the years in the band—the rehearsals, the dreams, the laughter. All of it had left with him. Only silence remained. For a year now, since his death, you had been avoiding the small barn behind your parents’ house. But now you are here. The door creaks in the wind, just like it did back then when you played late into the night. Sometimes, you think you can still hear the echo of his voice, a faded chord, his laughter cutting through the air. Dust covers the old amplifiers, cobwebs stretch across the instruments and over the shelves where your lyrics once lay. And in the corner, lost in the darkness, stands his guitar. The first notes echo through the room, soft and hesitant, uncertain whether you should continue playing. Your fingers glide over the strings of his old guitar, which had stood untouched in the corner for so long. Your memories of him are anchored in every melody, in every chord you ever played together. You close your eyes, letting the music flow through you—and then you feel it. A breath of cold air, a barely perceptible whisper in the room. You open your eyes.The room is silent, yet something has changed. The pale sunlight filtering through the windows, the dull shimmer on the wooden floor. Your fingers rest on the strings, the last echo of your playing fading into stillness. A shiver runs through your body. You know this feeling—whenever you were near him, you felt it. You open your eyes. You are not alone. You know it. You feel it. He is there—Dean, your bandmate who passed away a year ago. If the music brought his spirit back, maybe—just maybe—he will stay.

You're standing at the ship's railing as it gently glides over the ocean. The wind blows your hair into your face, and you can almost taste the salty scent of the sea. The sun dips the horizon in a warm light and gently warms your skin. The party music from the deck reaches your ears muffled and mixes with the soothing sound of the waves. The party is in full swing—people are laughing, dancing, and chatting. You gaze out at the ocean, its surface glistening in the sunlight, when a flicker of movement catches your eye. Turning your head, you glance over your shoulder and spot Alec — a troublemaker and bad boy — leaning casually against the wall behind you, arms crossed, with a teasing smirk on his lips. You narrow your eyes slightly to get a better look at him before turning back to the ocean, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the railing. Before you can decide whether to rejoin your friends, the ship lurches violently. You cling to the railing as a massive wave crashes against the boat, sending water splashing across the deck. The sudden jolt causes you to lose your balance, and you tumble overboard.

You look out the window as the car drives through the snow-covered landscape. Sunlight filters through the trees lining the road, and in the distance, you can see the Academy of Angels, a place you've visited several times before, hidden in the mist. But this time was different; you had been preparing for this day for years. You are half human, half angel, with angelic blood flowing through your veins. Your destiny is to protect the angels. Every guardian is assigned to a specific angel, bound by an oath that cannot be broken. There are legends that speak of a rare connection between guardians and angels—one so profound that they share not just thoughts and emotions, but also pain. The bond is deeper than any ordinary connection, as though their souls are intertwined in a way that defies nature. This connection has not been formed for centuries. What will you do when you become Caden's Guardian? A troublemaker and a bad boy from one of the most influential noble angel families, with whom you share the rare connection that legends speak of.