There were three days until Haloa, and the city was already buzzing with anticipation. Haloa wasn't just a festival—it was the festival. The one time each year Drachin's streets transformed into something almost magical. Performers and traders from all across the region flooded in, bringing with them strange artifacts, enchanted sweets, glowing incense, and talents that could silence a crowd with awe.
In the small forge-house nestled between crooked alleys and old stones, the air buzzed with a quieter kind of excitement.
Vivian, in particular, was practically vibrating with it.
It would be her first Haloa spent with someone other than her grandfather. Her smile lingered more these days. Arcose noticed. She never talked about her parents—only mentioned once that they'd died in the slum riots. Her grandfather rarely let her out of sight, which made this freedom—this shared moment—feel like something precious.
Arcose didn't know how to feel. Festivals were always the most dangerous time in the slums. Pickpocketing was rampant, guards were on edge, and people were easier to anger. He and his old crew would steal what they could, then vanish into the shadows.
Now he was hanging paper lanterns.
Helping clean soot from the doorway.
Helping—without needing to run.
"Arcose!" Vivian's voice sang from her room. She appeared holding a wicker basket, dressed in a fresh tunic dusted with petals. "Will you come to the market with me?"
He hesitated. "I... don't really like crowds."
She pouted. "Come on. It's Haloa prep week! There's magic performances, street duels, candy that changes your voice—and flamefruit skewers."
Arcose stared at her. "That's... a lot."
"I need you there," she added with a grin, lowering her voice. "I usually go with Grandpa and he just grumbles the whole time. He won't even let me eat roasted scorpion crisps."
Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his wrist and pulled.
"Vivian—!"
"Grandpa! I'm going with Arcose!" she yelled over her shoulder.
A distant clang of metal on metal came from the forge. "Don't stray too far!"
Vivian laughed. "Don't worry, I've got Arcose as my bodyguard."
"I'm the one that needs protection," he muttered.
But he didn't pull away.
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The city was alive.
Street performers danced on glowing chalk circles that sparked with every step. Merchants yelled from stalls draped in vibrant silks. Lanterns floated between rooftops on threads of glowing mana, like spirits watching from above.
Arcose had never seen Drachin like this.
He staggered slightly as they crossed into the plaza. Something hit him like a wave—not physically, but through his senses.
The colors. The lights. The noise. It all surged too sharply into his brain. He blinked against the brightness.
Vivian was talking—laughing, actually—but the edges of her voice blurred. His hearing stretched. He could hear conversations behind them. Footsteps across the square. A glass being set on a counter. Too much.
"Vivian... the light's... too much. Everything's... louder."
She glanced at him, confused. "It's busy, yeah, but not that bad." Then she raised an eyebrow. "Wait, are you trying to ditch me already?"
Before he could answer, she looped her arm through his, locking him beside her with a triumphant grin. "Nice try. If you run, and something happens to me, Grandpa will forge your bones into nails."
That made Arcose snort.
"Oye, who you laughing at?" she shot back, mock-offended.
"No one. Just thinking about how doomed I am."
Vivian grinned, pulling him forward. "Then might as well enjoy the last day of your life."
They walked deeper into the crowd. Arcose tried to focus. To breathe.
But it was getting worse.
His senses weren't just sharp—they were wrong. The colors bled too richly, like paint melting under heat. The smells were thick, layered: sweetbread, sweat, spices, and burnt copper. His skin tingled.
His head throbbed.
"Vivian," he said again, his voice tight. "Something's... off."
She turned—but before she could say anything, she gasped and pointed.
"Look! A crowd's forming—probably some illusionist or a flame-dancer! Come on!"
She didn't give him time to argue.
Dragging him toward the epicenter, she didn't notice the way Arcose's pupils had dilated into rings. Or how, for the briefest second, faint tendrils of gold had shimmered behind his eyes.
He didn't notice either.
But something inside him—deep and ancient—had opened its eyes.