Out of the corner of his eye, Kota saw them coming.
Four guards pushing hard through the crowd, weapons rattling, faces locked on him and the space where Wynna had stood seconds earlier.
"Hey, boy!" the lead guard shouted, voice slicing through the noise. "Where the hell did that girl go?!"
They skidded to a stop around him, boots kicking up dust, swords half drawn. The leader breathed hard, eyes wide with alarm.
"The purple haired one! She was right here talking to you!"
Kota stood motionless. The cold from Wynna's touch still sank deep into his chest like a shard of ice lodged under his ribs.
She called me Master.
"I don't know," Kota said quietly.
Another guard stepped closer, scanning the ground. "She vanished into thin air! Who is she?"
The lead guard's gaze sharpened on Kota. Recognition, then fear.
"You're the boy from the crystal ceremony," he said, voice low. Sweat rolled down his temple. His partner gripped his sword tighter.
Do they fear me?
The lead guard swallowed. His sword lowered slightly. "You know her?"
Kota shook his head. "Never seen her before today."
The guards exchanged a nervous glance. No one touched him. Fear had won.
The leader wiped his brow and forced a weak smile. "Right. It's Solstia. Go enjoy the festival."
He motioned to the others. "If you see her again, find us immediately. Understood?"
Kota nodded once.
"Good. Have fun, kid."
They backed away quickly and disappeared into the crowd.
Leiya let out a shaky breath and grabbed his sleeve. "Kota…"
"I'm fine," he murmured.
The festival noise swallowed them again.
The drums hit him low in the chest before he even reached the square. Heavy. Urgent. Like the city itself was trying to shake something loose inside him.
Festival Row was alive and overflowing. Stalls pressed in tight, smoke curling from open flames, fat spitting over coals. Honey bubbled dark in iron pans while barley cakes hissed on hot stones.
Children ran screaming with painted faces and slipping straw hats. High above, a man on ten foot stilts roared with laughter as he tossed roasted chestnuts into the reaching crowd.
Jaeger walked ahead. People parted for him without thinking. Thorne followed in silence, arms crossed, eyes scanning the rooftops. Mira stayed close to him, head down.
Leiya pressed tight against Kota's left side, her shoulder brushing his with every push from the crowd. She didn't move away. Her fingers stayed twisted in the hem of her sleeve.
"They're staring," she whispered.
Kota felt the eyes. The whispers. The boy from the crystals.
But Solstia was too loud and too drunk to stay afraid for long. A ribbon seller shouted overhead. A child darted between his legs.
Wood cracked sharply up ahead.
A circle had formed near the fountain. Dust swirled in the center as two boys fought with chipped wooden swords. The crowd stomped and cheered.
Leiya's arm pressed tighter against him.
The smaller boy went down hard, then kicked the taller one's knee out from under him. Both collapsed laughing, helped each other up, and limped out of the ring.
"Next!" a broad woman with thick forearms called, stepping forward with two fresh swords. "Festival rules! Wood only! No magic! No blood! No crying to your mama!"
Leiya nudged him hard. "Go."
Kota looked at her.
"You look like you're about to crawl out of your skin," she said. "Go."
The woman met his eyes and tossed a sword.
He caught it one handed.
The circle fell quiet, then roared. Leiya stepped back.
Kota walked into the dust.
The heat was stronger here. The sword felt light and alive in his grip, worn smooth by countless hands.
His opponent stepped forward.
She was seventeen or so, hair tied back, freckles across her nose, a thin scar through her left eyebrow. She held her blade low, eyes steady.
She nodded once.
Kota nodded back.
"Go!" the crowd thundered.
She attacked without warning.
Her first strike whistled for his head. He parried. The crack rang through his arm. She pivoted fast and swept low. He jumped, hanging in the air longer than he should have.
I feel lighter.
She came again, faster. High. High. Shoulder dip. Her blade slammed into his ribs, right where the cold still lived. Pain exploded through him. Air tore from his lungs.
"You're holding back!" she snarled. "I saw the crystal ceremony. Don't you dare!"
Kota tightened his grip.
"You're paying attention," he said.
Breath in. Breath out.
The old drills came back. His father's voice. The stick correcting his wrist when he was seven. The sword suddenly felt right.
The girl feinted left and exploded right. Kota stepped inside her guard and struck her wrist with sharp control.
Her sword spun away, flashing twice before landing at Thorne's boots.
The crowd was silent then erupted.
Thorne grinned, picked up the sword with both hands, and offered it back like a knight with a real blade. "You fight dirty," he said. "I like you."
She laughed, breathless, and snatched it. "Thanks."
Kota tossed his sword back to the broad woman. His ribs throbbed with clean pain. It felt good. Real.
He stepped out of the ring. The drums rushed back into his chest.
Leiya was waiting. She stood close, shoulder pressed to his, eyes scanning him. Ribs. Hands. Face.
"You good?"
"Yeah," he whispered.
He wiped his mouth. The cold in his chest remained, but it no longer felt like it owned him.
Mira moved in beside them. "Look around."
No fear in the faces now. Only curiosity. Interest. Respect. Like he was finally becoming something closer to just a boy.
A vendor pushed through with honey cakes, syrup dripping down his wrists. "Free for the duelists! Solstia's blessing!"
Thorne snatched three before Mira could stop him.
Leiya bumped his shoulder. "You feel that?"
He nodded. Dust on his boots. Throb in his ribs. Sun on his neck. Drums in his chest.
For a moment, he simply breathed.
That was fun.
Thorne sprawled on the fountain edge, already reaching for another cake. "Alright. We doing this all day? Because I can do this all day."
Mira snorted. "You'll be sick all night."
"Worth it," Thorne said, grinning.
Leiya rolled her eyes but smiled, bright and real. Mira let out a short, surprised laugh.
Kota looked at them, his friends, messy and warm and alive beside him.
"People are looking less scared now," Mira said softly.
"They're looking like they want us to stay."
Twenty floors below, the air burned to breathe.
Xerxus descended. Every guard slammed to one knee.
"My lord," they said.
At the bottom, a door with three locks. He lifted his brother's key and opened it.
Pitch black.
"Syrelle," he said.
Chains scraped in the darkness.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
A wild, broken laugh echoed off the walls. Her bright brown hair swung into the light as she lunged forward.
"I don't know, uncle! I've been chained up here for a very long time!"
The chains jerked her back. She choked.
Xerxus stared down at her.
"Syrelle. Were you trying to hit me?"
She laughed again, sweet and unhinged. "No, uncle. I would never!"
He exhaled.
Some things never change.
He turned to leave. Keys clinked at his belt.
"No! Take me with you! I deserve to be out there! I'm not an abomination anymore!" she screamed.
The door slammed shut. Three locks clicked. One by one.
He walked back up the stairs. The guards stayed on their knees.
"I was never here," Xerxus said.
"Yes, my lord. You were never here."