The town didn't ease into view.
It arrived.
Sound came first—layered, overlapping, alive. Voices rose and fell without order, laughter cutting through music, something rhythmic pulsing beneath it all like a heartbeat that didn't belong to any one person. Then color—red, everywhere. Not uniform, but shifting from cloth to cloth, lantern to banner, sleeve to ribbon.
It was a lot.
The carriage slowed as it entered.
Wheels rolled over stone now instead of dirt. The texture changed beneath us, motion tightening, less forgiving. Each turn carried a faint echo, bouncing off nearby walls and returning just slightly delayed.
The scent followed.
Food—spiced, roasted, sweetened—thick enough to linger on the tongue before tasting anything directly. It mixed with something else: oil, fabric dye, the faint metallic trace of too many people in one place.
Too many people.
"What time is it?" I asked, leaning slightly toward the opening.
I looked up.
The moon had changed again.
No longer soft. No longer hesitant.
It burned.
A vivid red, edged faintly with orange, like heat sitting just beneath the surface. And still the sun held the sky—dominant, unyielding, its light cutting through without dimming.
Two presences.
Neither yielding.
That felt wrong.
"15:20," Noi said. "We missed the opening part."
The carriage slowed to a stop.
Not abruptly—just easing down until movement became stillness.
"Is this where we'd be staying?" I asked as I stepped down.
My boots met stone. Solid. Steady. The ground didn't shift beneath me anymore. It held.
That helped.
The inn stood just ahead.
It didn't compete with the noise outside. It didn't need to. There was a quietness to it—not absence, but restraint. Like it had already decided what it was and saw no reason to prove it.
Red lanterns hung along the exterior.
Unlit.
Waiting.
The wood carried age in its grain, edges worn smooth where hands had passed too many times to count. It looked like it had stories.
I wasn't sure I trusted stories right now.
"Yes," Yoru said, stepping past me. "My men already got us rooms."
We moved inside.
The shift was immediate.
The noise dulled—not gone, just filtered through walls that knew how to hold it back. The air felt cooler, touched with something faintly floral that didn't insist on itself.
I exhaled.
Didn't realize I'd been holding that.
Staff moved quietly.
Even here, red remained—but controlled. Dresses of deep crimson, layered fabric moving with intention. Gold accents caught the light in small flashes—earrings, hairpins, clasps. Nothing excessive. Just enough.
After a brief exchange at the front, we moved again.
Upstairs.
Down a short corridor.
Then split.
I checked on Bao first.
He sat on the edge of the bed in the room he shared with Yoru, jacket removed, bandages still in place beneath. The briefcase rested beside him, positioned exactly where his hand could reach it without looking.
Too close.
He nodded once when I entered.
Still steady.
Still present.
Nothing more needed.
Or maybe too much left unsaid.
I left.
Noi was already waiting outside.
We moved to our room without speaking.
That silence felt… easier than before.
—
The door opened into something softer.
Light didn't fall sharply—it settled. Reflected off pale surfaces, caught in fabric, diffused through thin curtains that shifted slightly with the air.
The balcony doors were open.
Beyond them—a pond.
Still water, broken only by the occasional ripple that didn't seem tied to anything visible. The surface reflected the sky unevenly, red and gold shifting with the smallest disturbance.
It looked calm.
I didn't trust it.
"I just want to take a bath," Noi said, stepping in and setting her bag down with a quiet thud. "And then a long nap."
She didn't wait for agreement.
Of course she didn't.
"Aren't we going to attend the festival?" I asked.
Even as I said it, my body disagreed.
Sleep pressed in from the edges again—heavier now, more insistent.
Too fast.
"Huuh," she exhaled lightly, already moving toward the inner room. "If you want to. We still have time. It's for a whole day."
She paused at the doorway and glanced back.
"You know."
I followed.
—
The bath was already prepared.
Steam hovered just above the surface—not thick enough to obscure, just enough to soften edges. The scent was different here. Clean. Faintly herbal. Something meant to settle rather than stimulate.
I stepped in slowly.
The heat hit first.
Sharp against skin that hadn't realized how cold it had been. It spread upward, sinking into muscle, loosening tension I hadn't consciously noticed.
I exhaled.
Longer this time.
That felt better.
We sat without speaking at first.
Water shifted with small movements—arms adjusting, shoulders lowering, legs finding position. The surface lapped gently against the sides, a quiet, repetitive rhythm.
"On our way here," I said after a moment, watching the ripples settle, "I noticed… everyone wearing accessories—earrings, hairpins—it was all gold."
Noi let out a small chuckle.
"Oh, the gold jewellery."
She leaned back slightly, letting the water carry part of her weight.
"It represents the major sun."
She lifted a hand briefly, as if indicating something above us.
"But when the silver sun appears, everyone switches to silver."
She paused—not searching for words, but remembering.
"You really see certain things in upper-class celebrations."
"Hmm," I murmured.
I shifted deeper into the water. The heat had settled into something comfortable—no longer sharp, just present.
For a second—
It felt normal.
Too normal.
Time passed.
Quietly.
The water cooled slowly—almost unnoticeable at first, then just enough to register.
"Let's get out," she said, already moving.
She rose, water trailing from her in thin streams before falling back into the bath with soft, uneven sounds.
"The elite class usually change their clothing to match the color of the moon," she continued, reaching for a towel, "and their jewellery to match the two suns."
We moved back into the main room.
The air felt cooler against damp skin. Fabric brushed differently—lighter, more noticeable.
"So they would change clothing every three hours?" I asked.
The idea felt excessive.
Or precise.
I wasn't sure which.
A quiet laugh answered me.
Not Noi's.
I turned.
A server stood near the table, placing dishes down with careful, practiced movement. Her expression held that polite neutrality that wasn't quite blank.
I hadn't heard her come in.
Didn't like that.
"Yup," she said lightly. "The way the color of the wardrobe deepens with time… it's quite the sight."
She adjusted one of the plates so it aligned with the others.
Even her uniform carried that same red—clean, deliberate. Gold at the edges.
"It's the same around the world?" I asked, taking a seat.
"Well," she said, straightening, "there might be differences. But the gold, silver, and shades of red… those are common."
She stepped back.
Noi had already started eating.
I followed.
The first bite hit with flavor.
Layered. Spiced in a way that built rather than struck. Heat followed—not immediate, but creeping, settling at the back of the throat.
I paused.
Then kept eating.
I reached for the wine.
Red.
It cut through the spice just enough, smoothing it without dulling it.
Still—there was a trace of regret.
Too rich.
Not enough to stop.
"We could rent some outfits," Noi said between bites. "Still take part in the rest of the celebration when we wake."
"16:23," I murmured, glancing briefly at the time.
A yawn interrupted the rest.
Wide. Unavoidable.
I stood.
The bed waited.
Already prepared—sheets pulled back slightly, pillows set just enough to invite rather than demand.
That felt intentional.
I didn't hesitate.
I lay down. The fabric felt cool at first, then warmed quickly under my weight. My body sank without resistance, muscles releasing one by one as if they had been waiting.
Too ready.
The sounds of the town filtered in faintly.
Muted music.
Distant voices.
A rhythm that never fully resolved.
The sun still held the sky.
I could feel it without looking.
But the moon—
The moon carried the color now.
That red pressed at the edges of my thoughts, mixing with the warmth in my head, making everything slightly heavier.
A faint headache began to form.
Not sharp.
Just there.
I didn't like that.
I let it sit.
Didn't push it away.
Didn't follow it.
Sleep came the same way everything else had today.
Gradually.
Then all at once.
And I let it take me.