A few more days had passed. The breeze had grown colder, and the clouds hung low with a grayish hue, as if snow might fall at any moment.
Around Linberg, people were preparing everywhere, hauling decorations through the streets and stocking up for the coming cold.
Everyone was preparing for the Winter Fire Festival, a celebration marking the start of the winter season. Tonight, a giant fire would be lit in front of the church, and lanterns would be hung to light the streets.
Meanwhile, Belle was dragging Lucian down the cobbled path toward Lulu's School. Roswell followed behind them, carrying a sack of supplies for the school, looking equally exhausted from the drama in front of him.
"I'm tired and cold," Lucian groaned, dragging his feet. "I want to go home."
"Shut up! The school is just ten blocks away, so stop whining. You promised Mother," Belle snapped, not even looking back.
Every morning, they trained without fail, and over the past few days, Lucian had come to the realization that he was terrible with a sword. His body was too fragile, his stance always off, and every swing made his arms feel like they'd fall off.
He eyed the decorations being hauled through the street. Bundles of pine branches. Waxed lantern stalls. Paper stars stacked in neat piles.
"Sir Roswell," he asked as Belle half-dragged him along, "is it true we celebrate the Winter Fire because the Mighty Sovereign plunged a fiery sword into Linberg?"
Roswell kept walking, adjusting the sack over his shoulder.
"Well, that's the story most people know," he said. "But others say it began when creatures from the Dark Continent tried to invade our land. The Mighty Sovereign and the other gods drove them off, and over time the tale turned into a tradition in Southern Valeria."
Lucian didn't know that, but it still felt like a children's story to him.
Roswell added, "In my opinion, the Winter Fire is a symbol of endurance."
Belle tilted her head. "Why?"
"Is it because of the location?" Lucian asked.
Roswell smiled faintly. "You're right. Linberg is surrounded by mountains from the north. They nest all kinds of monsters, so the towns here rely on fishing and sea trade. But when winter comes, the port freezes. Most activity stops."
He shifted the sack on his back and continued, "Back in the day, people couldn't sail, couldn't trade, and sometimes couldn't even leave the town. Supplies ran low. Storms closed the roads. Everyone had to endure the cold months with whatever they'd stored."
Belle's eyes widened a little. "So, the Winter Fire... is like a celebration before things get hard?"
"Yeah. If you read something, you'd know," Lucian said.
"Shut up. It has nothing to do with reading. Walk," she muttered, letting go of his hand.
Shortly after, they finally arrived. Mother was waiting outside the school building, wrapped in a thick coat and smiling warmly.
"There you are," she said. "Come on in, we're going to start."
The building was a cozy two-story structure. Old wooden beams framed the windows, and the stone walls were partly covered in new decorations.
They passed through the front hall where a group of children were busy hanging paper stars. Mother joined them to help, laughing softly as she handed out supplies. Belle and Lucian made their way down the hall and into one of the classrooms.
The room was lively and warm. Kids were chatting and laughing, some gathering near the hearth while others organized their notebooks. Belle took a seat near the front, already talking to a girl about sword training and lectures. Meanwhile, Lucian stayed back near the wall, quietly observing everything as usual.
That's when a thin girl with light brown curls nervously approached him.
"Uhm, good afternoon, Sir... Lord Lucian," she said with a stammer.
"Lucian is fine. And you?"
"Right! My name is Lizzy. You remember?"
He thought for a moment. "Of course. You're that girl from the alley. How are you?"
"I'm fine. T-thank you."
Belle, who had overheard, leaned over and smirked. "Friend of yours, Lucy?"
"Huh? Uh, no. Lord Lucian helped me before," Lizzy said quickly, flustered.
"Really?" Belle leaned in closer, studying Lizzy with interest. "No need to be nervous. I'm glad this weirdo is talking to someone."
"Lord Lucian is not a... um..." Lizzy trailed off, blushing.
"Stop, Belle, you're making her uncomfortable."
"No, I'm not! Am I?" Belle asked, turning her face to Lizzy.
"Of course not," Lizzy said too quickly.
They continued talking until the meal was ready, telling small stories about school and lessons, while Belle threw in the occasional sarcastic comment to keep things lively.
. . .
As the class ended, the children lined up to receive a box of supplies and a meal before they left.
Lucian stood and stretched. "I think I'll walk around town a bit."
Lizzy perked up. "Want a tour of Linberg? I know all the good spots."
He smiled. "Really?"
Lizzy smiled. "Yes, i-if you want."
He told Mother he'd be back soon, while Belle stayed behind. Roswell followed quietly, calm as always, with his hands tucked into his coat pockets.
They stepped outside into the crisp afternoon air. The sky was overcast, but the streets were alive with activity.
People were stringing up lanterns, painting wooden signs, and hanging decorations across windows and doorways. Ropes ran from house to house, and fresh chalk marks sat bright on the stone where someone had redrawn them. The air smelled of damp wood, paint, and the faint bite of smoke drifting in from somewhere ahead.
"So, where are we going?" Lucian asked.
Lizzy's hands tightened around her bag strap. "Um... the port. If that's alright. It's loud, but... it's an interesting place."
"That's fine," he said.
She nodded quickly and turned the corner, keeping to the edge of the street as they walked.
"This is the port," she announced.
It was crowded. Wooden stalls lined the docks, displaying all kinds of things: fresh fish packed on ice, jars of spices and pickled vegetables, dried herbs, old tools, and hand-carved ornaments. The smell was a strong mix of saltwater, fish, and something smoky and fried.
Linberg had two ports. Newtown was the newer and larger of the two, where merchant ships and sailors docked, and it was the one Lucian had visited before on his father's behalf. This was OldVille, used by locals for fishing and trading, and it was his first time here.
"It's always like this?" he asked, stepping to the side of the road.
"Pretty much," Lizzy replied. "But the festival makes it more crowded because everyone comes down early. They want to buy what they need before winter, and before they start lighting the fire."
Lucian slowed near a stall where a small iron grill hissed over coals. Fish crackled as fat dripped and flared. The smell hit him clean. Smoke, salt, and hot oil.
He stopped and stepped closer. "How much for one?"
Lizzy's eyes widened a little, and she spoke hesitantly. "I-is that alright? To buy that?"
He looked at her. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Then he understood what she meant.
"Oh," he said, quieter. "It's alright. Besides, I like it." He glanced at Roswell. He nodded once.
"A dozen of these," Lucian said.
The vendor wrapped the fish in paper and handed it over. Heat soaked through to his fingers. He took a bite.
For a moment, the smell and taste of the fish pulled up a memory from his past life.
It was like a kid spending hard-earned money on hot street food on a cold night. Simple, but it felt like the best thing in the world.
He chuckled, lost in thought.
Lizzy watched him. "Is it... good?"
"It is," he said. "Better than it looks."
Lizzy blushed and smiled. "I told you the port has good things."
They didn't stay on the docks long after that. Lizzy guided them through the crowd. After a while, she led them away from the noise and up through narrow streets. The air sharpened as they climbed, the sounds of the port fading behind them.
They went into an old tower, its stone dark and worn by time. The steps spiraled upward, narrow and uneven, the walls close enough to brush their shoulders. By the time they reached the top, Lucian's legs burned slightly from the climb.
"Careful, you both," Roswell said from behind them.
From the top, the city spread out below. People moved like scattered ants along the streets, their voices blending into a distant murmur. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys and rooftops, and lanterns began to glow one by one across Linberg, warm points of light pushing back the dusk.
Lizzy rested her hands on the rail. "You can see everything from here."
"Yes," Lucian said. "And it's a pretty view."
She nodded. "I come here when things get loud," she said softly. "It's quiet. Makes you feel like the town can't touch you."
They stayed for a while, walking slowly around the tower, pointing out familiar streets and landmarks below. Lizzy talked about which alleys led to the best food, where merchants liked to cheat, and which roofs kids climbed when guards weren't looking. Lucian listened, smiling more than he realized.
As the hour passed, the sky dimmed, and the sunstone lanterns flickered fully to life.
"We should head back, young master," Roswell said.
"Huh. I didn't notice," Lucian replied, blinking.
He looked at Lizzy. "Thank you. I really enjoyed the tour."
She hesitated, then gave a quick nod, like she wasn't used to being thanked. "You're welcome."
He added, softer, "Alright, we're going now. I'll see you later."
Her eyes lit up. "Yes, young lo-lord."
Roswell looked and bowed slightly to Lizzy without saying a word.
She waved once before turning away.
Lizzy walked back toward the port, cheerful as ever, humming a tune under her breath. But as she turned into a narrow alley near the fish stalls, something felt off.
The noise of the market faded too quickly, swallowed by an unnatural silence. From the shadows between two stacked crates, a hooded figure stepped forward.
. . .
At dawn, they waited outside the carriage as Mother and Roswell wrapped up their work inside.
The air was colder than earlier, the kind that numb the tip of your fingers and turned your breath into mist. The streets were quieter now. Most people had already gathered near the church for the start of the festival. In the distance, faint music and the crackle of torches being lit drifted through the air.
"You know they're going to light the fire soon," Isabelle said eagerly, bouncing on her feet.
"I know," Lucian replied, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "We just need to wait a little longer."
He took another bite of the leftover grilled fish wrapped in paper. The oil had soaked through, but it was still warm. He glanced at her.
"Want some?"
She wrinkled her nose. "It stinks."
"It tastes better than it smells."
She hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Just eat it."
He shrugged and finished chewing.
"Come on, the church is only a few blocks away. We'll miss it!"
"I said wait. They'll be done soon."
She frowned. "Stop acting like you're the older child."
I am much older than you.
He sighed as she stormed off toward a side alley.
The town, once vibrant with festival colors and movement, felt strangely silent as more people walked toward the church square. Lights flickered overhead, and soft snow had begun to fall, blanketing rooftops and drifting down in slow, swirling patterns.
If Mother found out Belle wandered off alone, she would fuss at them all night. Lucian sighed and pushed off the door.
He hesitated but followed the path Isabelle had taken, turning down the narrow alley between two buildings.
That's when he saw them.
Three hooded men stood around her. One lay unconscious on the other side, blood staining the cobblestones. Isabelle was frozen in place, her back against the wall, her cheek red from being struck. Her eyes were wide with fear.
The men didn't look right. Their skin was pale, almost gray. Their eyes twitched and flickered, unfocused yet locked on Isabelle. One of them sniffed the air, like a predator catching a scent.
"Shit, someone saw us," one of them growled. "Grab him!"
Lucian didn't think. He just moved.
His hand slipped into his coat and closed around the small pocketknife Mother had given him. The metal was cold. Light. Then he flipped it open as he ran.
"Stop!" the first man shouted, lunging for him with his left arm.
Before the man could touch him, Lucian slashed across his wrist, then up into the crook of his arm, and drove the blade through his armpit. The man jerked back, but Lucian jumped and spun, landing a high kick to the side of his neck to knock him out.
The second one lunged in. Lucian ducked low and stabbed his thigh. He tried to slash again, but the man caught him with a hard kick, and he went crashing toward Belle.
"Argh!" He blocked with his other arm, trying to hide the pain, but it still hurt like hell.
"Belle!" he shouted. "Snap out of it! Run! Go to the other side!"
She didn't move.
Damn it. Why now?
He looked around quickly. They were stuck in the middle of the alley. Belle was behind him, terrified. The only way out was the other end, but there was no chance they could outrun them like this. He needed a distraction.
His eyes landed on the man he'd knocked out. Still breathing.
'Should I kill him? Or-'
"Argh! You little bastard!" the second man roared, charging at him, limping.
Lucian grabbed a nearby trash bag and hurled it into his face. While the man flinched, Lucian leapt forward and stabbed at his eye. Just as he was about to finish him, the third man grabbed his wrist and flung him back like a rag doll.
He slammed into the wall. Pain burst through him, and he coughed hard. Something wet filled his mouth.
Blood.
Dizzy. His hand trembled. Heart pounding too fast.
"Lucy!" Belle screamed, terrified.
He looked up.
The two he'd cut were already back on their feet. Flesh pulling itself together in ways it shouldn't. Wounds sealing.
'Awakened?'
"Stop playing and get them," the third man growled.
Lucian grabbed Isabelle's wrist and yanked her toward him. "Run!"
They sprinted.
"HELP!" he screamed until his throat burned. "HELP!"
"Fuck! Move!" one of them yelled behind them.
"Lu-Lucian... I'm s-sorry—" she tried to say, her voice shaking, with watery eyes.
"It's alright," he said, breath ragged. He shoved her forward and pushed her hard between the shoulders, sending her stumbling out of the alley toward the lit road while he was pushed backward.
"RUN! SCREAM!"
He turned back just as they reached him.
"Die! You fuc-" He slashed and grabbed. One of them let out a sharp curse and yanked back. Anything to slow them down.
One man ran past him, but Lucian threw the pocketknife and caught his leg, making him trip.
"Come back! You little bitch." Lucian crawled after him, grabbing his ankle, rage flaring hot in his body. "You're not walking away from me."
His hand was numb and bloody. Everything felt too heavy. But he stayed on his knees, clinging to his leg with all he had, dragging him back. With his other hand, he swung blindly at the second man as he closed in.
"Ha. That kid is crazy," the first man muttered.
Through blurred vision, Lucian saw Belle in the distance. People had started to slow down, drawn by the commotion.
"Damn it! We need that girl!" one of them barked.
Suddenly a hand grabbed him. Yanked him upright.
A third man pulled something from his coat, a ball-sized object, and slammed it into the ground.
With a sharp hiss, black smoke burst upward, swallowing everything.
The last thing he heard was Belle shouting his name before the darkness consumed him.