The morning of their departure came too soon.
There was, in the air, that quiet reluctance that often follows joy,the unspoken wish that time might linger just a little longer. Yet, as always, the world did not wait.
The children prepared to leave.
The twins moved about with their usual liveliness, though there was a faint trace of something softer beneath it,a reluctance they would not name. Felian, for his part, was quieter than usual, his sharp eyes lingering on the smallholding, on the trees, on the house that had, for a brief time, felt like something close to belonging.
Eiran and Sion stood by the doorway as they finished gathering their things.
"We told you," Eiran said for what must have been the third time, arms crossed though his tone was gentle, "you should take some of the profit. You earned it."
Rhen shook his head at once. "We didn't come for that."
Riven nodded in agreement, his voice calm but firm. "We only helped."
Sion watched them, his gaze thoughtful, unreadable.
For a moment, it seemed he might insist.
But then...just as quietly..he relented.
"Then take these instead."
He stepped forward, handing them carefully wrapped bundles. Inside were homemade treats:sweet preserves, dried fruits, small loaves of bread,along with portions of their harvested produce and a few processed goods prepared with care.
It was not payment.
It was something else.
Gratitude, perhaps.
The twins accepted them eagerly, their earlier restraint forgotten in the face of such offerings.
"We'll come again next year!" Rhen declared with bright certainty.
"And we'll help sell everything again," Riven added, a faint smile touching his lips.
Sion let out a soft breath, something almost like amusement flickering in his eyes. "We'll see."
But there was no refusal in his voice.
Felian inclined his head slightly..a quieter promise, but no less certain.
And then they were gone.
The smallholding felt… emptier, somehow.
That same day, Sion and Eiran made their way toward the guild.
The building stood firm in the heart of the town, its stone walls a symbol of order amid the lively chaos of trade. Merchants came and went, voices rising and falling in steady rhythm.
The moment they stepped inside
"Sion~!"
Cassian appeared as if summoned by the mere thought of him.
His energy was immediate, overwhelming in its warmth, his expression bright in a way that seemed almost excessive for the setting. If Sion was shadow and quiet calculation, then Cassian was sunlight without restraint.
"You're here again!" he continued, already stepping closer, his attention fixed almost entirely on Sion despite Eiran's presence.
Sion gave a slight nod. "We've come to deliver."
"Of course you have," Cassian said, though his grin suggested he hardly cared about the goods at all.
Still, business was business.
Under the guidance of Arch, the deliveries were inspected. The processed foods were checked for quality, quantities recorded, and the transaction carefully logged. Arch worked with efficient precision, his demeanor steady and unyielding, ensuring that nothing was overlooked.
Sion stood quietly through it all, answering only when necessary, his presence calm, controlled.
When at last everything was complete, they turned to leave.
"Wait!"
Cassian's voice stopped them.
Sion glanced back.
Cassian hesitated for the briefest moment,an unusual break in his usual confidence,before speaking again.
"The festival," he said. "Tomorrow. The main celebration." His expression brightened once more. "Come celebrate with me."
It was an earnest invitation.
Sion regarded him for a moment, then inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."
A pause.
"But I already have plans."
Cassian blinked. "With Eiran again?"
Eiran raised his hands lightly. "Ah, no. I'll be away tomorrow."
Cassian's gaze shifted back to Sion, curiosity sharpening. "Then… who?"
There was a brief silence.
Then Cassian's eyes widened, realization dawning. "Don't tell me—"
"Sir Darius?" he asked.
Sion did not deny it.
That, in itself, was answer enough.
Cassian let out a low whistle, somewhere between impressed and amused. "I see."
There was something almost teasing in his expression now—but also something else, something unreadable.
"Well," he said lightly, stepping back, "don't keep him waiting."
Sion said nothing.
And with that, they left.
Far away, in the capital, another conversation unfolded beneath high stone arches.
Darius stood before Alaric, posture straight, expression composed.
"I would like to request leave," he said.
Alaric raised a brow. "On the day of the main festival?"
"It will not interfere with my duties," Darius replied. "I will station my most capable knights across the capital. Security will not be compromised."
Alaric studied him.
It was rare for Darius to ask for anything.
"…Very well," he said at last. "But if something happens—"
"I will return immediately."
A faint smirk tugged at Alaric's lips. "I'll send a flare if needed. Until then…" He waved a hand dismissively. "Go. Enjoy yourself. It's not often you allow it."
Darius inclined his head. "Thank you."
When Sion and Eiran returned home, the light had already begun to soften.
It was then, as they settled, that Sion spoke.
"What are you doing tomorrow?"
Eiran paused, then answered simply, "I'll be visiting my family. I may not return for two days."
Sion nodded. "I see."
A brief pause.
"Send them my regards."
Eiran smiled faintly. "I will."
Time, as it often did, passed more quickly than one expected.
And soon, the day of the main celebration arrived.
The Harvest Festival had already been underway for two days—a tradition as old as the kingdom itself.
It was a celebration not merely of abundance, but of gratitude.
Of survival.
Of the fragile balance between humanity and the unseen forces that governed the land.
The people believed that the harvest was not theirs alone.
It was a gift.
A blessing granted by the old gods—guardians of earth and sky, of rain and sun, of growth and decay. Among them, it was said, were Aureth, the Keeper of Fields, who watched over crops and soil, and Velmira, the Veiled One, who walked unseen among mortals during the festival's final night.
And so, on the third day - the grand culmination—people wore masks.
Not merely for festivity, but for reverence.
For it was believed that on this night, the gods themselves walked among them.
To wear a mask was to become equal—no rank, no title, no identity.
Only a soul among many.
Some wore full masks, elaborate and ornate, hiding every trace of their faces. Others chose lighter loup masks, revealing just enough to remain themselves while still honoring tradition.
The streets were alive.
Music echoed through the air, laughter rising in waves. Lanterns glowed like fallen stars, and the scent of food and wine drifted freely.
Every town celebrated.
But the capital…
The capital was something else entirely.
Its great plaza had transformed into a sea of color and movement. Performers dazzled the crowds, merchants called out their wares, and dancers moved in intricate patterns beneath the growing dusk.
Eiran had already left at dawn, after ensuring everything at the smallholding was in order.
Sion prepared alone.
Before the mirror, he lifted a small vial.
A liquid shimmered within...subtle, but potent.
With practiced ease, he applied it, watching as his red hair slowly shifted in color, the transformation gradual yet complete. A simple disguise, but effective.
He donned his mask next—one that concealed more than it revealed.
And finally, he took the suppressants.
Just in case.
Precaution was second nature to him.
By the time he reached the town, the celebration was in full bloom.
The streets pulsed with life.
Music. Light. Voices.
Strangers brushed past one another, identities hidden, barriers dissolved.
Sion moved through it all with quiet ease, his presence slipping between the crowd like a shadow among flames.
They had agreed to meet before sunset.
At the town square.
But as time passed…
There was no sign of him.
Sion remained where he was, outwardly calm, though his thoughts moved swiftly beneath the surface.
Was he delayed?
Called away by duty?
Or—
Had he changed his mind?
A more practical thought followed.
Perhaps he simply couldn't recognize him.
After all, everyone wore masks.
Even Sion himself was no longer easily identifiable.
At length, he exhaled softly and rose.
If waiting accomplished nothing, then there was no reason to remain idle.
He turned, intending to purchase something from a nearby stall....
When suddenly...
A hand caught his arm.
Firm.
Unyielding.
And unmistakably familiar.