January 26, 1522 — Holland Residence, Noble Heights
The morning sun broke through the scattered clouds, casting golden streaks over the rooftops of Carynthos. The cold wind carried the scent of chimney smoke and baked bread. Snow clung stubbornly to the edges of buildings and trees, but the city was slowly waking to life.
Kite stood outside the Holland residence, hands tucked in his coat pockets, breath visible in the crisp air. The wrought-iron gate creaked open, and Ryenne stepped out.
She wore a thick black coat over her usual skirt and leggings, a red scarf looped tightly around her neck, hiding half her face. Her hair was loosely tied—hastily, imperfectly. Like she hadn't decided whether today mattered enough to make it tidy.
"You're late," she muttered, folding her arms.
"I've been standing here for ten minutes," Kite replied, dry as ever.
She scoffed and brushed past him. "Whatever. Let's just go. And remember—this isn't a date."
"I never said it was."
She stopped, turned slightly, eyeing him over her shoulder. "Good."
From a second-story window, Audrey watched them leave, a faint, wistful smile tugging at her lips. Behind her, Harley was trying to wrestle Chu-Chu into a scarf. Neither of them noticed.
—
Town Square — Carynthos Clock Tower
The town square opened like a breath of fresh air—broad, bustling, and brimming with life. Age-worn buildings flanked the streets, horse-drawn trams rattled past, and at the center stood the Carynthos Clock Tower. A marvel of bronze and marble, it reached skyward with solemn pride, its golden hands moving with quiet precision.
Children ran through the snow chasing hoops, their laughter echoing. Street musicians played violins and flutes near the fountain, their music weaving through the crisp winter air like thread through fabric.
Ryenne stood still for a moment, looking up.
"...It's bigger than I thought," she murmured.
Kite stood beside her, watching the tower. "You can hear it chime from Ashenreach on clear nights."
She hummed, almost thoughtfully, and looked away. "Let's keep walking."
—
Crimson Bazaar
The Crimson Bazaar was chaos and charm spun into one.
Banners fluttered overhead, vivid against the grey skyline. Merchants called out with thick accents, peddling silks, spices, and silver trinkets. The scent of citrus and fire-grilled meat hung heavy in the air.
Ryenne paused in front of a glass stall. Inside was a sculpture of a bird mid-flight—its wings shaped from prismatic crystal, catching sunlight like trapped rainbows.
"You want it?" Kite asked.
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't be stupid. I'm just looking."
He shrugged and moved along. She followed, lingering a second longer than she meant to.
They shared a pouch of roasted chestnuts. Kite chewed on dried fruit. Ryenne kept brushing snow from her scarf with a scowl.
"I hate winter," she said.
"You said that already."
"I'll keep saying it."
—
Old Wall Ruins — Sunset
By late afternoon, the snow had begun to thin, revealing patches of frozen earth beneath. The Old Wall ruins loomed in silence—stone battlements half-swallowed by moss and time, watchtowers leaning with the weight of centuries. Here, the city's noise fell away.
They stood side by side at the overlook, watching the sun spill its final light over Carynthos. The wind whispered through broken arches and bare branches.
Neither of them spoke.
Then, softly, Ryenne broke the quiet.
"...Thanks. For today."
Kite turned slightly. "You're welcome."
She didn't look at him. Just stood there. Then, with one small step forward, she rose on her toes, placed her hand on his lips and kissed the back of her hand.
Kite blinked, frozen in place.
She pulled away, hiding quickly behind her scarf, cheeks red not just from the cold.
"That was payment," she muttered. "For wasting your time."
Kite said nothing. But the warmth in his eyes said enough.
Ryenne turned and began walking back toward the city's glow. "Hurry up, or I'm leaving you behind."
He smiled faintly and followed.
—
From the trees just beyond the ruins, a figure watched them—unmoving, face hidden beneath a hood, pale hands gloved in white. The wind did not touch him.
"Well, well, well…" the voice was amused, faintly echoing. "Lovebirds, are we?"
But the trees gave no answer.
And the firelight in the ruins had long gone out.