The Lantern Festival of Seiena transformed the Azure River into a living constellation.
Thousands of paper lanterns—crimson, sapphire, gold, and pure white—floated downstream in a slow, glowing procession, their reflections dancing on the dark water like fallen stars. Along the terraced banks, musicians played soft reed flutes and stringed harps, while vendors sold sweet rice cakes and spiced wine. The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, river mist, and warm sugar.
Seraphina stood beside Ash on a private viewing pavilion overlooking the river, her flame-red hair catching the golden lantern light. She wore a flowing gown of deep sunset orange and cream that complemented her scales, and her golden eyes were wide with pure wonder.
"Asher… it's like the sky decided to swim with us," she breathed, tail curling happily behind her. One hand rested lightly on the carved railing; the other held a small, unlit lantern they had been given to release together.
Ash smiled, the expression coming easier tonight than it had in days. "This is one of our oldest traditions. Every lantern carries a wish or a message. Some people write letters to loved ones who have passed. Others send hopes for the future." He glanced at her. "Would you like to write something?"
Seraphina nodded eagerly. They stepped to a small table where brushes and ink had been prepared. She thought for a moment, then wrote in elegant, looping script: May the two people I know grow together in peace and happiness. She hesitated, then added a smaller line beneath it: And may Father smile more.
Ash's chest tightened.
He picked up his own brush. For a long moment, his mind went blank. What could he possibly write that wasn't a lie? In the end, he settled for something simple and safe: May the alliance endure and bring prosperity to all. His hand almost added another line—Tell me what you're thinking when you read my letters—but he stopped himself and set the brush down.
They lit their lanterns together. Seraphina's hands were warm, slightly scaled, and steady. When the small flame caught, her face glowed with soft delight. They carried the lanterns to the edge of the pavilion and released them. The two lights joined the glittering river of wishes, drifting slowly away into the night.
The lanterns had barely drifted around the first bend when it happened.
A merchant vessel—carrying a late delivery of festival goods—came sweeping downstream too fast, its captain misjudging the current. The boat clipped the main lantern bridge where the largest crowd had gathered to release their lights. The wooden structure groaned, tilted, and then with a tremendous crack, the center section gave way.
People screamed. A cascade of bodies and lanterns hit the dark river together.
Ash was already moving before the bridge had finished falling.
"Stay here," he ordered Seraphina, grabbing a coil of rope hanging decoratively from the pavilion posts. He didn't wait to see if she listened.
He ran.
The bank was steep and slick with river mist. He threw himself down it anyway, hitting the water chest-deep and gasping at the cold.
The river was colder and stronger than it looked from above. Ash gasped as the water closed around his chest, the current tugging at his legs like greedy hands. Lanterns bobbed everywhere, some still lit, casting flickering golden light across the chaos.
Screams echoed off the terraced banks.
He pushed forward, adrenaline burning away the shock of the cold. A small child was closest—flailing, coughing, her festival dress billowing around her like a broken sail. Ash lunged, grabbed her under the arms, and hauled her toward the nearest guard wading in from the bank.
"Take her!" he shouted. The guard seized the girl, and Ash turned back without waiting.
An elderly woman was next. Her head kept slipping under. Ash reached her in three hard strokes, hooked an arm around her waist, and kicked toward shore. She clung to him, gasping thanks between coughs. His muscles burned, but the sight of more people struggling kept him moving.
Then the current shifted.
A large piece of the collapsed bridge—thick timber tangled with ropes and torn lanterns—came spinning downstream. Ash saw it too late. He shoved the elderly woman toward outstretched hands on the bank and tried to dodge, but the debris clipped his side and slammed into his left leg with brutal force.
Pain exploded below his knee.
A sharp, sickening twist tore through his ankle and calf as his foot caught between two submerged rocks. He cried out, swallowing a mouthful of river water. The world tilted. For a terrifying second, the current dragged him under. Lanterns swirled above like dying stars.
Not now, he thought fiercely. People still need help.
Gritting his teeth, Ash fought back to the surface, gasping. His left leg throbbed viciously, refusing to bear weight properly. Every kick sent white-hot agony up his shin. Still, he grabbed a young man who was panicking and flailing, towing him clumsily toward safety with powerful arms and one good leg.
Seraphina did not stay on the pavilion.
She had never been one to watch from safety when people were in danger. With a flash of crimson and gold, she leapt from the railing, powerful draconic strength carrying her down the bank in a single graceful bound. Her tail lashed for balance as she waded into the river, water steaming slightly where it touched her warmer scales.
"Asher!" she cried, voice cutting through the noise.
She reached him just as he was trying to push a final struggling merchant toward the bank. Ash's face was pale, jaw locked against the pain. When he tried to put weight on his left leg, it buckled.
"I'm fine—" he started.
"You are not fine," Seraphina snapped. She wrapped a strong arm around his waist, supporting him effortlessly. Her golden eyes blazed with worry and determination. Together, they dragged the last visible victim to shore before the city guards and volunteers could fully organize.
Only when the immediate danger passed did the pain truly hit Ash.
He collapsed on the muddy bank, breathing hard. His left leg was already swelling inside his soaked boot. The ankle felt hot and wrong—twisted badly, perhaps sprained, maybe worse. Every heartbeat sent a dull, nauseating throb through it.
Seraphina knelt beside him, her sunset-orange gown ruined with river mud and water. She gently touched his leg, and Ash hissed sharply.
"You idiot," she whispered, but her voice shook with relief and affection. "You jumped in without thinking. You could have drowned."
"People were drowning," he rasped, managing a weak, crooked smile. "Couldn't just stand there and watch."
Around them, cheers and grateful cries rose from the crowd. Someone shouted "The Prince saved them!" and the words spread like wildfire along the riverbank. Lanterns still drifted downstream, beautiful and indifferent to the small disaster they had witnessed.
Seraphina's tail curled protectively around Ash's uninjured side. She brushed wet butter-blonde hair from his forehead with surprising tenderness. For a moment, under the flickering lantern light, she looked so much like her father—those golden eyes fierce with worry—that Ash's chest ached with something far more complicated than pain.
"Let's get you back to the palace," she said softly. "Healers. Now."
Ash nodded, biting back a groan as two guards helped him stand. He leaned heavily on Seraphina's shoulder, limping badly. The sprain was ugly—sharp pain lanced up his leg with every step—but nothing felt broken. Still, it would slow him down for weeks.
As they made their way up the bank amid murmurs of awe and concern, nobody realized a masked silhouette disappearing among the shadow.
Ash glanced back at the river. The last of the lanterns disappeared around the bend, carrying their wishes into the night.
He wondered what Ignis would think when word of this reached the Draconic Palace. The human prince who had risked himself to save Seraphina's people… and who now limped home injured at her side.
Ash closed his eyes for a second, the river's cold still clinging to his skin.
Tell me what you're thinking, he had almost written on that lantern.
He still didn't know the answer himself.