Yuki grabbed both of them by the sleeves before either mage or healer could scatter back into the celebration chaos.

  “Okay-we-have-to-go-now-come-on!” she chirped in one breath, dragging Tramar and Phèdre toward the edge of the square like a determined lanternfly.

  Around them, the festival was still in full swing; players dancing with freed workers, merchants haggling cheerfully, someone juggling flaming fruit because fire mages should never be left unsupervised. Someone else shouted, “FREE DRINKS FOR ANYONE WHO CAN SPELL ‘ALTANDAI’ BACKWARDS!”

  Yuki ignored all.

  Mostly.

  She kept humming nervously and calling, “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” as she wove past people. “We need to ride there!” she repeated, eyes wide and urgent.

  Tramar blinked at her, confused, his picky hat slightly crooked from being dragged. “Ride… where? Now? Yuki—it’s evening in Rimelion. I’m tired. I used like—” he waved vaguely, “so much energy taking over this city.”

  Phèdre adjusted her scarf, the gesture fluid as a cat stretching. “He means he is très cranky,” she said, voice low and amused.

  “I AM NOT CRANKY,” Tramar lied.

  Yuki planted her feet, bouncing anxiously. “We need to be there at sunrise! The labyrinth opens then. Only then. It’s a spirit trial, so timing is super-duper precise, and if we’re late, I’ll—”

  Her throat made a panicked squeak.

  Phèdre brushed a calming hand down her shoulder. “Respire, mon c?ur. You will not explode.”

  “So,” Yuki continued rapidly, “we’ll ride there now, then log out, sleep in the real world, wake up in seven hours, log back in, and go straight in!”

  Tramar stared at her.

  Then blinked slowly.

  Then groaned. “Seven hours? Yuki. That’s not sleep; that’s a nap.” He crossed his arms. “I require full cycles. My brain is delicate.”

  “Your brain is loud,” Phèdre murmured.

  Tramar ignored her. “If I don’t get enough sleep, my fire magic fizzles. I need to focus! The last time that happened, I burned my own boots.”

  Phèdre smiled with wicked sweetness, tilting her head. “If you cannot fall asleep, chéri, I can keep you company. I am remarkably soothing.”

  Yuki nearly choked on her own saliva.

  Tramar pretended he didn’t hear it with the desperation of a man who absolutely did. “ANYWAY. Horses. We need horses.”

  “Yes!” Yuki exclaimed, clutching her map. “I marked where to find cheap ones—wait—where is—hang on—no—this is the bakery—oh no—why did I draw so many little fox doodles—where’s the horse icon—why did I put it next to the pastry sketch—”

  Her map looked like a sugar-high child had attempted cartography.

  Phèdre stepped close, her hand grazing Yuki’s cheek as she leaned past. Then she reached out and stopped the first passerby: a young woman balancing two baskets of fruit.

  “Bonsoir,” Phèdre purred. “We seek horses. Where might we find some at this hour?”

  The woman blinked, then laughed. “Best ones? Down near the port, if the invaders didn’t destroy it. Cheaper ones are closer, though. Just around that corner.” She pointed toward a narrow alley lit by lanterns.

  “Thank you—um—thank you VERY MUCH!” Yuki babbled.

  The woman bowed lightly and continued on.

  Yuki shoved the map into her satchel (incorrectly, future-Yuki would definitely panic about that), then beamed at her two companions.

  “Okay! Cheap horses are that way! Let’s go!”

  Tramar sighed loudly, muttering something about “sacrificing sleep for fox spirits,” but followed.

  Phèdre slipped into step beside them, scarf fluttering, expression soft with mischief. “Allez, mes chers. Let us chase the sunrise.”

  The stables sat at the end of the narrow road, lanterns strung above like soft amber beads. Inside, a young man, sixteen, maybe seventeen, was brushing down a caramel mare with trained motions, humming the way people hum when they’re bored but pretending they aren’t.

  He didn’t look up.

  Yuki was about to wave, politely, maybe too enthusiastically, when something on the stable wall caught her eye.

  She froze mid-step.

  “Wait—WAIT—hold on!”

  Phèdre stopped, looked at Yuki, looked at the wall, then sighed into the night air with all the theatrical suffering of a saint punished for someone else’s enthusiasm. “évidemment.”

  Tramar blinked. “What. What is she—oh, dear Saevrin? Paint.”

  “It’s not just paint,” Yuki whispered, dropping into a crouch like a detective discovering ancient ruins. She pressed a hand to the wood. “Look. The mustard isn’t original.”

  Indeed, beneath the uneven yellow coat was a much older layer poking through: cracked lines, faded color, shapes; shapes that absolutely weren’t random.

  “Oh, for the love of moonlight,” Phèdre muttered. “Yuki, mon c?ur… trouve ton cheval, before you start dating the wall.”

  “I’ll go with her,” Tramar said, already wandering toward an equipment shop across the path. “Maybe they sell energy potions.”

  “Or earplugs,” Phèdre murmured sweetly, steering him by the elbow. “For both of us.”

  “Well… plugs, yeah, but potions… do they work through the capsule? If Charlie can be an elf, maybe I can get caffeine. You know…”

  Yuki barely noticed. She leaned closer, breath fogging the old paint as she created a small light to inspect it.

  This was fascinating.

  Under the peeling mustard was a full mural: tiny stylized images of plates, mugs, pastries, skewers… an entire lineup of dishes and drinks. The shapes were simple but distinct: a lattice pie, a pitcher, something that looked aggressively like soup.

  “Oh-ho-ho-ho,” Yuki whispered. “Food art. That’s an old tradition here!”

  That buzzing historian warmth lit up in her chest.

  She brushed one fingertip lightly along a surviving curve. “I saw something like this in the Altandai civic chronicles yesterday… when I was… totally not procrastinating.”

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  She squinted. “There was that merchant—uh… R-something? Rallien? Rakev? R… Rrrrr… something.”

  She clicked her tongue.

  Anyway, she remembered the entry.

  A wealthy man. Bought an entire row of houses. Repainted them with food murals to mark his signature enterprise.

  And—yes! He turned the entire space into a walk-in kitchen where he hired the province’s greatest chef. Nobles traveled across the Altandai-controlled region just to eat here.

  Yuki lifted her head, gaze sweeping the road. There… tiny punctures in the stone. Several dozen. Perfectly spaced. “Oh wow,” she breathed. “Those are table marks! They bolted them to the ground!”

  She straightened, happy sparks fluttering under her ribs. “His chef wrote a recipe book… very rare… even a Grandmaster wanted a copy… oh wow oh wow oh wow…”

  Her thoughts jumped again.

  Charlie had mentioned a man joining Rimebreak, a pancake-maker, or a baking enthusiast, who would absolutely combust if he found out about a lost provincial recipe collection.

  Secret baking lore. Hidden culinary treasure. Possibly spices older than entire cities.

  Yuki’s pulse sped up happily.

  She switched to full archivist mode: snapped screenshots from several angles, scribbled notes in her small notebook… her handwriting increasingly chaotic as her excitement climbed.

  The stable boy, brushing his horse, glanced at her with the slow, confused look of someone watching a magical butterfly examine their wall with reverence.

  He said nothing.

  Yuki almost didn’t notice.

  Phèdre returned first, sweeping back in with her usual effortless glide; Tramar followed, carrying a bag that jangled suspiciously.

  Phèdre folded her arms, expression warm with mischief. “Mon encyclopédie. Are we ready? Or will you be restoring this entire district by dawn?”

  Yuki hugged her notebook to her chest. “I found a lost food mural.”

  “Bien s?r que oui,” Phèdre said with amused resignation, “you would discover gastronomy secrets at a horse stable.”

  Tramar sighed. “Only Yuki could.”

  Phèdre’s smile curled, patient and predatory at once. “Très bien. Now that History Class is concluded… shall we obtain the horses?” She asked with a lazy smile that said she already knew the answer.

  Yuki nodded eagerly and led them toward the stable entrance. She kept glancing sideways at Phèdre, waiting, hoping, the healer would take over the scary part: talking to strangers.

  Instead, Phèdre grinned. “Try it first.”

  Yuki’s soul made a tiny squeak.

  Still, she squared her shoulders, stepped forward, and bowed. “Hello! We would like to borrow horses for a few days. We need—”

  “Thousand,” the stable boy cut in without looking up. “For three Ramzi horses.”

  Yuki blinked. “Th-thousand what?”

  He finally lifted his gaze, brows raised. “Gold. Each. Good luck finding another stable open at this hour, after the Queen freed half the workforce.”

  Yuki’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then trembled. She turned back to Phèdre and Tramar, eyes shiny with betrayal. “The… the price went up by a hundred times.”

  She looked genuinely devastated.

  Phèdre made a gentle “hmm” noise. “We robbed the Grandmasters today, mon c?ur. You have the coin.”

  “We weren’t supposed to keep it!” Yuki whispered fiercely. “Scamantha said they’re not real for players!”

  “They aren’t,” Phèdre agreed calmly. “You can’t melt them down. And anyone trained can tell they’re fake in two seconds.”

  Yuki frowned. “…So?”

  Phèdre’s smile sharpened. “Watch.”

  She stepped forward with the grace of a woman approaching a stage she owned. The stable boy looked up again, then kept looking, eyes widening just a fraction as Phèdre approached like a drifting ribbon of night silk.

  “Bonsoir,” she purred.

  His hand froze mid-brush. “Uh—hello, miss?”

  Phèdre walked in a slow, unhurried arc around him, her scarf trailing just enough to brush his shoulder. “You work very hard,” she murmured, voice warm as cocoa. “So late. So dedicated. Quel dévouement.”

  He swallowed visibly, straightening. “S-someone has to. People need horses.”

  “Mmm, oui, and brave boys like you provide.” Her fingers grazed his sleeve; barely a touch, but enough to tilt his breath. “Tell me… that price you gave my friend. Was that truly for us… or for anyone foolish enough to walk in tonight?”

  He flushed. “Well—uh—I mean—”

  Phèdre leaned in, lips near his ear, voice slipping into a whisper. “Because surely a gentleman like you would not overcharge tired travelers…”

  His ears turned scarlet.

  “…especially,” she continued, sliding a small gem from her sleeve, “when shown proper appreciation.”

  She caught his hand lightly and placed the gem in his palm. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she lifted his hand and brushed a kiss over his knuckles. Not suggestive. Not blatant.

  Just devastating.

  The boy forgot how to breathe.

  Phèdre stepped back, smiling with perfect softness. “The normale price,” she said. “And we will be very grateful.”

  He nodded so hard the mare startled. “Y-yes. Yes. Normal price. Of course. Right away. Anything you need.”

  Moments later, three horses were waiting at the road’s edge. Tramar stared at Phèdre. “How—how do you do that?”

  Phèdre swung into her saddle as lightly as slipping into a warm bath. “I speak to people,” she said simply. “Kindly. Persuasively. Attractively. Pick whatever verb helps you sleep, chéri.”

  Yuki mounted her horse, still pink with awe. “…I could never do that.”

  Phèdre leaned over, tapped her nose, and winked. “Don’t worry, mon c?ur. You charm the world with fox puzzles. I charm it with other things.”

  With the horses secured and the path ahead dimly lit by lanterns and moonlight, the three rode out of the stables.

  The horses were gentle, well-fed, and slightly confused by the volume of festival noise drifting out of Altandai’s gates.

  Yuki led hers by the reins, because everyone else was doing it… rows upon rows of people leaving the city on foot with horses beside them. Riding through a crowd this dense would be rude and dangerous, and Yuki would rather swallow a Gatei’s spoon than hurt someone accidentally.

  Besides, the line of torches along the main road made everything feel warm and safe. The unguarded gate felt strange, but freeing an entire city apparently came with certain chaos. People streamed in and out like a living river, laughing, chattering, juggling food.

  Once they passed the last cluster of people, the road opened, quieting into countryside darkness.

  Tramar glanced at his horse.

  Then at Yuki.

  Then back at his horse.

  “I didn’t… when do I get riding skill?” he asked, genuinely alarmed.

  Yuki hopped lightly onto her saddle with practiced ease. “You get it when you learn it,” she said cheerfully, patting her mount’s neck. “It’s not that hard! I got mine after spending two weeks in an old castle on the western coast. I was searching for a battle—”

  Tramar groaned. “Please, please, Yuki—before you tell me about a skirmish during a hundred-year war or a regional dispute over pudding… This is Rimelion. Rimelion is supposed to auto-learn this stuff!”

  He crossed his arms irritably.

  They both turned to look at Phèdre.

  She returned their stares with a serene, perfectly composed smile, then placed one elegant foot in the stirrup and glided onto her horse as if gravity respected her. “My family owns a farm,” she said lightly. “I have been riding various animals since I was a charming little terror.”

  “Of course you were…” Tramar muttered.

  He attempted to mount.

  And missed.

  Completely.

  He fell backwards into the dirt with a thud that made Yuki wince.

  “Oh! Oh no—Tramar, are you—”

  “I’M FINE,” he groaned, refusing to move.

  Phèdre exhaled, not annoyed; just resigned in that affectionate way she reserved for people she liked despite themselves. She dismounted with gentle ease and crouched beside him.

  “Come,” she said, offering her hand. “Up you go. The ground is not your destiny.”

  He grabbed her hand; she braced, and up he went.

  Yuki watched as Phèdre shifted into full competent farm girl mode, a mode she clearly tried not to advertise but was very good at.

  She guided Tramar step-by-step:

  She tapped his foot lightly. “Here. This metal bit? Yes, put your weight there. Not on the horse’s flank unless you wish to be launched.”

  She nudged his posture. “Back straight. You are riding, not attempting a fire mage pose.”

  She adjusted his grip. “Hold the reins like they are something alive, not a spell you’re strangling.”

  Tramar muttered, “I’m not—strangling—”

  “You are absolutely strangling,” she breathed. “Relax your hands.”

  He tried. Failed. Tried again.

  Phèdre nodded. “Better.”

  She stepped back, hands on her hips, evaluating him like a very patient instructor. “Now breathe. The horse can feel when you are panicking.”

  “I’m NOT panicking.”

  “Of course. That is why your shoulders are in your ears.”

  He lowered them with a grumpy noise.

  Meanwhile, Yuki drifted to the city wall, running her fingers over a set of deep dents; old impact marks, circular. She created a small light and inspected it. Maybe siege weapons… or training… or—

  “Yuki,” Phèdre called smoothly, “he lives.”

  Yuki turned, and Tramar was finally on his horse, sitting stiffly like someone who had been placed upon a throne against his will.

  “I hate this,” he announced. “The system is helping, but I have to do it alone!”

  Phèdre mounted again with effortless grace, patting her horse’s neck. “You will hate it less once we move. Also, if you fall, I’m letting Yuki catch you.”

  “I WON’T FALL.”

  “Mmm. We will see,” she whispered.

  They nudged their horses forward, settling into an easy pace.

  Phèdre looked around, amused. “You know… not everyone rides horses here. I saw a man earlier on something that looked like a feathered llama.” Her lips curved. “And there is a little cat-beast trotting around that is far too cute for its own good.”

  “Oh!” Yuki brightened instantly. “Yes! Because Altandai borders a savannah-like—”

  “Chéri,” Phèdre interrupted gently, “I only meant it was amusing. Not a research prompt.”

  “Oh! Sorry!”

  “No apology needed.” She smiled. “Just breathe. I know your excitement is trying to escape your body.”

  “I AM excited!” Yuki beamed. “We’ll get there, log out, sleep, and tomorrow morning—”

  “—we enter the labyrinth,” Tramar sighed, rubbing his eyes. “On seven hours of sleep.”

  “We’ll make it!” Yuki insisted, glowing with pure determination. “The Sun Fox! The real Sun Fox! Tomorrow!”

  Phèdre laughed softly. “Then onward, my brave little light.”

  They rode into the night.