Nania’s POV

When I awoke the next morning, it was to a growling stomach and weak limbs. Right, I didn’t eat very much last night. Breakfast sounded divine but I was in no mood at all to bother with the guard outside my room, the temple servants, or worse, the Crown-Son. Dealing with the still-sleeping Candidates I shared a dorm with felt like hassle enough. The Harvest Festival was a day off for many of them, which they took full advantage of in sleeping in—I was the strange one, rousing so early. But despite waking up, I wanted to go as long as I could before needing to enter the bustle of the temple and festival’s height. I needed an alternate escape, until I built up my energy and my nerve again. Instinct led me to my usual route, outside the dorm and down the hall until I reached a window. But then, perched upon the sill, I froze, ice creeping up my haunches as my ankle throbbed.

I turned away from the window, impatiently drumming my fingers upon my thigh. I hadn’t changed clothes since last night. Now they stank slightly of sweat, and my hair was a mess. First, I would bathe and dress myself in new, clean clothes. The ordained priestesses would leave and return early each day, and the other Candidates were still sleeping, so odds were low that I would actually encounter them. I could clean myself up in a nice, private bath, before I snuck out to find breakfast outside the temple. A rare opportunity for me to look forward to, before officially beginning the day.

No such luck.

For a short period of time, though, my bath was quite relaxing. Perhaps that was where I went wrong; I relaxed my guard too much and lost track of time. After I convinced the guard it wasn’t necessary to inform anyone else of my waking up, he agreed to gather up some clean clothes for me and escort me to the bathing area, before going on his way. There was no whisper of wind or birdsong in the temple baths, nor the gentle tugging of currents, but the water was scented with sweet perfumes, and was much warmer than the cold forest streams. It was still a quite pleasant experience, and I nearly dozed off. But all too soon, I was roused by the echoing of laughter and chatter.

My heartbeat sped up. I quickly yanked a linen dress over my body, not bothering to properly dry myself off. Caught off guard like this, I wasn’t ready to encounter others yet. Not this early. I hastily tried to scurry out of the baths, but my foot slipped on a wet patch of floor. My rear and ankle both stung as I fell on the floor.

Titters of laughter sounded around me, the girls had been close enough to see me make a fool of myself. These girls I recognized; they were Candidates I had shared multiple classes with. One of the more ambitious girls, Dennia, and a few Candidates who were content to flatter her and flock around her. Or maybe they actually got along? They certainly didn’t care so much for me, that was a certainty. “What, her highness actually deigned to stick around this morning?” one Candidate laughed. “She isn’t off entertaining the Crown-Son? Or did she embarrass him already?”

I bit down on my lip. If I opened my mouth even a little, I’d just make it worse. There was a reason why our mentors looked upon them more fondly than I. Wit and word were meant to be a Priestess’ weapons, not fists or flame.

But, a little voice seemed to speak in my mind, it would be so, so satisfying to shut them up. All it would take was one swift kick to the stomach, and I would dominate them from there. None of them would expect my attack, none of them would know how to respond. Even the ones I couldn’t quickly strike would be left stunned. Their expressions would be priceless, it would be so easy.

One of them shrieked with laughter. “What’s she smiling about, Dennia? What could she know that’s so funny?”

The girl I knew to be Dennia responded. With her olive-green eyes and dark hair, she was the picture of beauty. Her dress seemed to sit perfectly on her frame, while mine hung awkwardly and half-wet off my thin body. “Perhaps how she thinks the Crown-Son has some special affection for her,” Dennia purred, “Or...perhaps some secret lover?”

The other girls gasped at tittered at the scandal, begging for more details. My brain stopped as I tried to figure out how she even came to that conclusion. Not from shock, simply from confusion. I could guess why they thought the Crown-Son cared for me, but...what? “What?” My eyebrows knit together. “Why the Hells would you think--?”

“Because it’s obvious,” Dennia cut me off. “The Priestesses hold no affection for you. You have no friends among us. And you spend so much time skipping lectures and lessons. What else could you possibly be doing but seeking affections elsewhere?” She leaned in close, her eyes alight with sadistic glee. “But you’re no Onaiga, Nania. He doesn’t really love you, just the idea of a Priestess lover, and when you finally fail your—”

“But weren’t you just talking about me entertaining the Crown-Son? That would mean someone of much higher status favors me over you, wouldn’t it?” I wondered out loud. It was strange, how these girls assumed the most scandalous option was the truth. Perhaps they spent too much time on the old stories?

“I-- what!? O-of course he doesn’t favor you, you...unfaithful little slut!” Dennia stammered, her face suddenly reddening. “You’re just mooching off the temple, using your status to get all the attention you want! But soon the Priestesses are gonna realize how pathetic you are and kick you out! You’re so selfish and greedy!”

I stared at Dennia, processing what she was saying. Was she...envious? Did she expect me to burst into tears, begging her not to tell? Did she genuinely believe that this concocted fiction was real…?

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. To even my own surprise, I choked out a laugh. This whole situation was ridiculous. Was this something they believed, and not some bizarre, twisted joke? Where had they even gotten these wild stories from?

“Have you gone mad?” Dennia only grew more flustered at my apparent breakdown. The other girls glanced among themselves, concerned. One took a few steps back down the hall, as if debating internally if it was wiser to find a guard than deal with me themselves.

If only Dennia knew the truth. What colors would her ruby-red face turn then? Grinning, I shook my head. “No, just realizing something. What use would I have for a secret romance?”

“Then why are you always sneaking out!”

“Obviously I’m plotting with my handsome Angran lover to murder you all in your sleep.”

Dennia’s expression began to resemble a dead fish. All bulging eyes and gasping mouth. “D-don’t even joke about something like that! I’ll tell the Head Priestess! I really will!”

“‘Tell’? Is that your best threat, after pushing me out a window?” I scoffed. “Are we five year olds?”

They reacted with shock. I wasn’t certain if it was surprise over my bold words, or if I’d actually guessed right that they were the ones to push me. With the girls sufficiently flabbergasted, I quickly left. Only when I was far enough away did I realize my heart was still pounding, and my palms had grown sweaty.

Oh. Oh, Crowns. Oh, fuck. What the fuck had I done. If they believed me, if they really did tell the Head Priestess that I had a ‘handsome Angran lover,’ that I was plotting against the temple, they wouldn’t just exile me. They might actually execute me! For all my bravado about petty drama and tattling, letting the right rumor reach the wrong person’s ears was legitimately dangerous. A spoiled runaway priestess was one thing; treason was quite another.

Fuck. Fuck, what should I do, should I run away? Ask Elian to help me leave for good, and just live out there in the Deep Woods? I certainly couldn’t remain within the temple.

Urgh… I couldn’t enter the Deep Woods without Elian, but fortunately for me, during a festival, there were plenty of places to forget this encounter on my own.

Talon’s POV

“So, what does one do for fun at these...festivals,” I asked, observing the scene before me.

It wasn’t entirely accurate to say that, before this moment, I had thought ‘I don’t know what I was expecting to encounter within Gresha’s walls.’ While I had my own assumptions, based off of Angran beliefs about Gresha and my own experiences in raids and battles, interacting with Elian and Nania had also given me more information that helped whet my expectations. As I had always thought, it was noisy and crowded. People talked or danced or ate without a care in the world, the complete opposite of the more restrained Angra-Fyr Village.

“Well, food’s a big draw, of course,” Elian said, pointing over towards some stalls passing out streetfood, and some hungry people devouring the offerings a few paces away. To just give away food in the streets, the city and the village were like night and day. “There’s dancing, or sightseeing and performances. There’s also a bunch of stalls foreign merchants set up. They give their wares away for cheap today, so you’ll buy again next year, or if they can get a stall up at a time outside the festival. They even sell some magical items.”

“Sell?”

“Ah… Angrans don’t use money, do they.”

“They don’t,” I said.

“Uh…” Elian scratched at his cheek, briefly thinking of his words. “It’s kinda weird to explain. Don’t worry about it, just tell me if you see something you want, they’ll get mad if you just walk away with it.”

We spent a little while browsing the stalls, observing their offerings. It was disappointing to hear that I wasn’t allowed to take any and really test them out for fear of damaging them, but I supposed I could understand that they feared thieves. Most of them weren’t weapons anyways, but were instead jewelry and other ornaments, made from the beautified remnants of monster bodies. One particularly pretty accessory was a necklace made of beetle shells, which could store and then radiate a multicolored light. Not very useful, except perhaps as a distraction or for sending signals and flares, but it was pretty. I wondered if Nania might like it.

Most of the items that stored more offensive magic weren’t very useful to me, my skills being what they were. Disappointing. The majority were inferior variants of Elian’s armor, intended to make it easier for the item’s owner to protect themselves without really learning how. Apparently such things were very popular gifts for men to give their wives and children, and a specialty of the local temple. Such a concept was rather foreign to me. If you were going to arm your beloved with something, it should be a weapon they could learn to use, rather than a paltry trinket. Even the few interesting weapons I found weren’t all that impressive, and seemed mostly for show. I sighed, palming a small dagger, regretting that I couldn’t just challenge Elian in the marketplace to see how well-made it was. Supposedly it had paralyzing effects, being made from a sandwurm’s venomous fang, but these merchants were practically con artists, with how fragile the weapon felt! It would break the first time I used it!

“Didn’t you mention something about fighting?” I asked Elian.

“Is that all you think about, Tal?” Elian pouted. “It’s ceremonial combat, meant to recreate old legends, like the Sun Fiend and Sun Falcon’s eternal fight, or how Crown Naruune helped found Gresha. They’re more like rehearsed dances than battles.”

“Well, what’s the point of that then?”

Elian only fixed me with a look, one eyebrow half-raised to show his mild amusement. “If I let you participate in those fights, someone would die. You’d kill someone and we’d have to leave forever.”

I smirked. “And would that be so bad, El? You and Nania already spend a lot of time outside the City.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m gonna become a criminal, I don’t want it to be over something stupid,” Elian said, arms raised in a shrug.

I gave the festival another cursory look, and pointed to a small crowd gathering in one corner. “What’s that?”

Elian squinted, looking closer. “I...actually don’t know? Let’s ask.”

The thing I had spotted was like nothing I’d ever seen before, and only became stranger as we drew closer to it. At first it looked like a man, but then we realized it was all armor devoid of flesh. Tall and brightly colored. Elian quickly pointed out some sort of glaze used in local pottery gave it some of its color, and that it was likely made of clay, but was also quick to confess he’d never seen a construct like this before. I could guess it was a sort of channeling, but it was just as wondrous and alien to me as it was to him. How strange—I needed to get a closer look, somehow.

Elian grabbed the fabric of my cloak as we were caught up in the crowd surrounding the construct and its handler, who was shouting out about the construct, directing volunteers from the crowd to step up and try to best it in arm-wrestling matches. Either it was a very powerful creation, or the Greshan wasn’t particularly strong, because the construct’s winning streak had yet to be broken. After watching it win another round, I approached the handler, Elian trailing behind me.

“You. What is that thing? What style of channeling is this?” I asked. The man looked surprised at my blunt tone, but did answer.

“It’s actually a blend of several different forms of magic, with additional power from several monstrous materials. You see this glaze here, it’s actually a color you can only get by grinding up the feathers of a cerulean phoenix, which allows it to not only animate itself but grants it to absorb force and magic used against it, to be used to power itself. As for the methods used in the channeling…”

I nodded slightly, absorbing the information. Sculpture-channeling...it wasn’t something practiced by any in the Angra-Fyr Village, and never on this huge a scale. The resources to make something as massive as this certainly didn’t exist.

“Who did you say created this again?” Someday I should continue my quest to learn even more about channeling, and see what I could absorb into my own mastery.

“An entire team, but the genius who spearheaded it was the young master Yín Bingwen, of the Yín Kingdom,” the man said. “Would the young sir care to test his strength and see the construct’s power in person?”

“Uh, Tal, is this really a good idea--”

“Yes, I think I will actually,” I said, cutting Elian off with a grin.

With stiff movements, the porcelain man presented its hand to me. I grasped it, and felt the smooth glazed texture. To my surprise, the construct was actually quite warm, though it was difficult to tell if it was from the suns heating it up, or its internal magic. Or perhaps it was more detailed than I had anticipated, with clay muscles and veins within its clay carapace. I smiled, and gripped the construct’s arm, tighter and tighter. Though the handler had described many fancy processes and ingredients that went into this creation, sparring against Elian and his beetle-armor a few times had taught me a few things.

Namely, that while armor could be as strong and durable as it liked, unless one turned themself into an immovable spot, there would always be a weak spot: the joints. Previous combatants had failed to recognize or apply this knowledge, impressed as they were by how the construct could move at all. But when I grasped its hand and didn’t just try to overpower it, but apply leverage, cracks began to spread from the joints, until its arm came off right at the elbow.

“My apologies,” I told the man attending the now-broken porcelain man. He was pale as a Restless as I handed him back the thing’s arm. I didn’t resist at all as Elian tugged me away.

“Let’s-go-get-some-food-okay-I’ll-go-get-us-some-food!” he declared as he dragged me away from the scene of the crime.

“You know, Elian, you’re right. Festivals are quite fun,” I told him, an uncharacteristic grin splitting my face.

“You’re a menace,” Elian replied as he stopped outside a large building, which dozens of people flowed into and out of. “Wait right here, I’m gonna get us some grilled meat sticks. Don’t cause any more chaos!”

“I have no idea what you could be talking about.”

“No chaos!”

I chuckled as Elian backed away, refusing to look away from me and give me a chance to...what? Set a building on fire? Instead I took a deep breath, and flavorful aromas wafted through my nose as my stomach growled. Delicious. Food really was something that this city did right, strange table manners aside. As I waited for Elian to bring some out, I went back to observing the streets.

This city truly did suit Elian. Before I would have called him and the whole place ‘soft,’ but that wasn’t the only word to describe him. There was also ‘warm’ and ‘kind.’ If Elian had been born into Angra-Fyr, either he would have perished like Asha, or he would not be the same Elian that was capable of standing beside me as a rival.

I could never live in a place like this. Despite everything, I would never belong. But...he had been right. Perhaps in small doses, I could enjoy myself here. Today had taught me new things, and had been an interesting experience. If only I could also share it with Nania.

As if Crown Naruune had heard my prayers, I saw a familiar flash of red amidst the crowd. No...surely not? I began to stride through the crowd towards her, and opened my mouth to call out her name.

“Nania!”

But another voice called out before I could say her name. It was then that I saw him for the first time. It was actually quite difficult to miss him, and I swore I would not forget him. The once-chaotic and noisy crowd parted around him, like a herd of deer parted for a wolf. Bedecked in fine clothes and jewelry, an auburn-haired and green-eyed boy strode towards Nania, accompanied by guards and radiating a sense of superiority.

And from the moment I laid eyes upon him, I knew that I wanted to kill him.