For the first time in a long while, there was nothing urgent.

No messengers bearing threats, no rival chiefs making offers laced with poison, and no divine whispers tugging at Jared's every waking moment. Sikone, newly lit by enchanted lanterns and paved with polished stone, breathed with a rare kind of calm. The kind of peace that wasn't waiting to be broken—just quietly celebrated.

It was Lucy's idea.

"Your people need a festival," she said flatly as she sorted through the village's weekly ledgers. "They've worked hard. They need to laugh. Eat. Waste money on lanterns and forget why they ever worry."

Jared had raised a brow. "And I need this because…?"

"Because you're too tense. You make walls crack just by walking past them."

That had earned her a slow blink and a muttered, "...Unlikely."

But the idea had caught on.

And now, Sikone was preparing its first real festival since Jared had taken leadership.

The streets were strung with shimmering light-vines, each blooming with soft, floating petals that pulsed like fireflies. Wooden stands had been pulled out from storage, painted and decorated in a mix of northern patterns and personal flair.

The forge was shut down for the day—James had been dragged out by two soldiers, kicking and cursing with soot still on his face. Even the mechas were cleaned and posed near the gate like towering statues, flowers braided into their arms by excited children.

Jared stood in the central square, arms crossed, watching as lizard men tried—and failed—to hang a banner between two poles without snapping them.

"Left pole first," he said calmly.

One of the lizard men blinked. "But that's the right—"

The pole cracked.

Jared exhaled. "Exactly."

A snort came from behind him. Paimon, lazily perched upside down from a low-hanging sign, twirled a glowing fruit in her hand.

"I like this version of Sikone," she hummed. "Lights, food, awkward music. I might even possess someone and dance."

Jared glanced at her. "Please don't."

"No promises."

The air was filled with the smell of roasting meat, spice-baked bread, and sweet fermented rice drinks. Villagers bustled in cheerful chaos. Even Lucy, usually composed to a fault, had tied her hair up in a festive knot and traded her crisp black uniform for a loose, indigo tunic with gold trimming.

It was rare to see her smile with no edge of sarcasm.

"You should enjoy this," she said, standing beside Jared as he quietly surveyed the crowd. "Just once. Pretend you're not the one responsible for everything."

"I don't pretend," Jared replied.

"Then try being irresponsible for an hour."

"I already allowed dancing. That's enough rebellion."

She smirked and nudged his arm, a bit more playful than usual.

And that's when Kiara arrived.

Not in armor, not with her signature sword, but in a floral red dress that clung to her figure in a way that made several soldiers choke on their meat skewers. She carried a large covered pot, her eyes sparkling with barely-contained mischief.

"Don't you look soft," Lucy commented with a teasing smirk.

Kiara beamed. "Don't get jealous. This is my victory dress."

"Victory for what?" Jared asked, suspicious.

"For capturing your heart, my lord."

Lucy's eye twitched.

Paimon howled from the rooftop.

"Not again," Jared muttered.

Kiara plopped the pot onto the central banquet table with flair, whipping off the lid. A sweet, almost hypnotic aroma poured into the air. It was rich, buttery, and spiced just faintly with something floral—pleasant, but oddly intoxicating.

"I made stew," Kiara announced, smiling as if she hadn't done anything suspicious.

"…What kind of stew?" Lucy asked carefully.

"Oh, just vegetables, meat, and a tiny drop of a love-binding herb I found in the eastern gardens."

"You put WHAT?" Lucy's voice went up an octave.

"It's harmless!" Kiara waved a hand. "It just makes whoever eats it more emotionally… open."

"You tried to drug the lord," Lucy growled, reaching for her broom like it was a weapon.

Kiara raised her hands. "For love!"

"You're dead."

The pot lid went flying as Lucy lunged over the table.

Kiara shrieked and dashed around the bench, laughing. "It's not poison! I promise!"

Paimon floated down and took a long, deliberate sniff of the stew. "Oooh. I smell betrayal and desperation."

"You're not helping!" Kiara yelled.

More voices joined in as the other girls from the training corps joined the fray—one tackling Kiara to the ground, another trying to spoon the stew into her mouth while yelling, "Let's see if it works on you, love chef!"

The square devolved into chaos.

Lizard men watched with wide, confused eyes.

James, from a safe distance, shouted, "Someone save the stew! That smells expensive!"

And Jared… just stood there.

Watching.

Unmoved.

Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He didn't interfere. He didn't scold. He simply walked over to the food stand and grabbed a roasted meat skewer, chewing silently while Kiara flailed under a playful dogpile.

Lucy eventually reclaimed her honor and dignity, standing atop the bench like a conquering general. "No one eats the stew until I purify it."

"With what?" asked one of the girls.

"With vinegar and spite."

Paimon floated to Jared's side, holding a stolen candied fruit. "This is better than war."

Jared didn't respond.

He watched as the children lit sky lanterns and released them into the twilight, each one carrying wishes, promises, or simply the name of someone they missed. The crowd gathered around, faces tilted upward, reflecting the golden lights rising like stars.

The music started soon after.

Soft, stringed instruments and hand drums. An old folk song Jared vaguely remembered from childhood—his father's voice humming it during late winters.

It struck something. But he didn't name it.

Lucy returned with two cups of warm honey-wine. She handed one to him without a word and stood beside him in the glow of the lanterns.

"They're happy," she said softly.

"They should be," Jared replied.

"You never let yourself be."

He sipped the wine. "Someone has to be ready for when it ends."

Lucy looked at him, eyes softer than usual. "Then I'll be happy enough for both of us."

Jared didn't reply.

But he didn't look away either.

Somewhere nearby, Kiara was being dunked in a water barrel by the girls for "crimes against soup." James was arguing with a fruit vendor over the market price of sugar. The mechas had somehow been painted with warpaint and flowers.

And Sikone, just for one night, was not a fortress. It was a home.

The festival rolled deep into the night, laughter echoing between rooftops as if the village itself had learned to breathe again.

Bonfires were lit at the edges of the central square, their golden flames licking the sky while villagers gathered around with drums, wooden flutes, and old songs passed down through generations.

Young ones danced, their feet stumbling in joy.

The older ones watched with quiet smiles and cups full of warm brew. Even the lizard men, often standoffish and firm in discipline, found themselves clumsily mimicking human dances, to the delight of nearby children who clapped and cheered every awkward step.

Jared sat beneath one of the decorative lantern trees, the branches above glowing faintly with suspended magic—tiny floating orbs that blinked in soft colors like the heartbeat of the festival itself. He had a fresh bandage on his hand from catching a falling lantern earlier. Lucy had scolded him for it, of course.

"You can topple warlords, but not paper and fire?" she'd muttered while wrapping his palm.

Now she was beside him again, leaning against the same tree, arms folded, her hair slightly tousled from earlier chaos. Her indigo tunic was no longer immaculate—there was flour on her shoulder, a sauce stain near the hem, and the faint imprint of someone's sandal on her back.

Kiara had kicked her during their stew incident.

They hadn't spoken much since then, but the silence wasn't cold. Just quiet. Easy.

Across the square, James had claimed a barrel and was giving a dramatic retelling of how he single-handedly fought off an "enchanted raccoon" near the forge the week before. Judging by the size of his audience—and the number of people stifling laughter—no one believed him.

Not that it stopped him.

Paimon floated above him like a lazy star, occasionally adding exaggerated sound effects: roars, claws scratching metal, even a dramatic death screech when James mimed his final attack. She wasn't drunk—Paimon couldn't get drunk—but she was clearly feasting on the energy of the night.

Jared took another sip of honey-wine. It was sweet, too sweet, but it helped soften the edges of his thoughts.

"What are you thinking?" Lucy asked suddenly, her voice just above a whisper.

Jared didn't answer right away.

He watched a boy pass by holding a sparkroot stick—its tip glowing like molten silver, casting streaks of light with each swing.

"...How temporary this is," he said.

Lucy blinked, then frowned. "You always say things like that."

"Because it's always true."

She sighed. "Do you ever enjoy a moment without dissecting it?"

He looked at her sideways. "You were the one who warned me about eating questionable stew cooked with love magic."

"I was trying to protect you from assassination via spice."

Jared smirked faintly. "And you think I don't enjoy things."

Lucy scoffed, but didn't argue further.

She leaned her head back against the tree and closed her eyes.

After a moment, she murmured, "...It's okay to want this to last."

Jared's reply came slower this time.

"I do want it to last."

Lucy turned her head slightly toward him. "Then say it."

He didn't. Not in words.

But his hand, the one not holding the cup, reached out and gently tugged the sleeve of her tunic. Just for a second.

Just enough.

She blinked.

And smiled.

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