The beating of large, man-sized drums gave a powerful rhythm to the dancers celebrating at the center of Moonset. The resonant melodies of violins added elegance to their joyous laughter. Petals and colorful paper whirled around the gathering of women and men as their cups clashed in cheers, their dreams of a brighter future reignited—free from the burdens of days past. Residents waved fans to keep the petals afloat, while others carried bold-colored flags or sculptures of the ever-admired Pink Holly.

  The festival always stirred a deep, enduring pride in Blū—a pride in being human. A community united, facing the world through music and dance.

  Sil, however, was less impressed.

  Navigating such large crowds wasn’t her strength. She blended in well enough, wearing her Stearna uniform and a square-cut cloth draped around her neck, its front corner falling to her belly. Blū had dressed for the occasion too, changing little except for a rarely worn pair of black leggings that contrasted nicely with his white top.

  Still, more pressing matters were at hand—like finding Furgen’s wife and daughter, and sampling all of this year’s festival snacks.

  New scents rose to meet him with every turn of his head, yet in the chaos of celebration, it was hard to chart a clear route through the crowd.

  Oy, a few steps away and towering above the others, was easy to spot. He waved them over with a gesture that promised a solution.

  He’d thrown something over his shirt—more suited to public appearances, though Blū doubted anyone would’ve minded festival attire.

  The coat was loose, dark brown leather, trimmed with fur. On his legs, he wore a standard training uniform—black instead of white. It matched the mess of hair on his face.

  Blū pushed forward, using his shoulders to part the crowd, brushing past waving arms and dodging spilled drinks.

  He passed a girl no taller than his knees, weaving through the crowd with ease. She tugged at sleeves and nudged strangers, trying to get their attention amid the boisterous laughter.

  She grabbed the leg of Blū’s pants and looked up at him, beaming with delight to have caught his eye. From her delicate straw basket, she retrieved a handmade Pink Holly pin—clearly the result of a crafts class.

  Not wanting to disappoint, Blū reached down, accepted the gift, and thanked her with a smile. She squealed with joy and skipped off between the legs of the crowd. He pressed onward.

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  Breaking free of the mob was like surfacing for air—arms free, breath unburdened, the pressure from every direction finally gone. Sil followed behind, also panting with relief.

  Only after that wonderful feeling faded did Blū realize where Oy had led them.

  They were in a dark alley.

  He caught up to ask for an explanation.

  Outside the glow of the festival and its torchlight, the street lay empty. Music was distant, barely audible—replaced by a lonely whistling wind.

  “Why are we leaving the fun?” Blū joked.

  “As the town keeps celebrating, we can use the quiet backstreets to search for the woman,” Oy replied.

  “You make it sound easy. People are gonna have their doors locked tight tonight,” Blū muttered.

  Sil gave him a disapproving look. “If Furgen’s lady stayed in, maybe she left a candle burning. That would stick out like a sore thumb, wouldn’t it?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” Blū groaned. “I might just bring up the fool of a man you follow.”

  Sil smirked.

  As if on command, all three of them snapped into defensive stances. Their shoes scraped against the pavement as Blū and Oy readied themselves.

  The gritty, smooth whisper of Sil drawing her daggers sliced through the silence.

  A dark presence was approaching—they all felt it.

  The stench was rotten, and the air tasted of salt.

  With every second, their thoughts grew cloudier.

  The heat pressed down, heavy and suffocating like a summer noon.

  Then came the sound of running—steady footfalls echoing in rhythm.

  Lit only by the glow of the night sky, they waited as a figure approached, its features sharpening with each step—until one of them finally spoke.

  “I know him,” Sil said, her sudden words making Blū and Oy flinch.

  None of them lowered their guard. They waited in tense silence, wary of an approaching threat.

  The guard sprinted at full speed, the clatter of his leg armor growing louder as he closed the distance. His expression made it clear—he wasn’t stopping.

  “Run!” the young man shouted. “For heaven’s sake, RUN!”

  His voice cracked through the night like a cry, echoing off the dimly lit homes. Still, none of them dropped their guard.

  The guard’s sudden scream seemed to disrupt his own momentum—he tripped over his legs a moment later and crashed face-first at their feet.

  “Joe, get behind us,” Sil said softly, though her tone was sharp with caution.

  The guard scrambled behind them, standing tall—if only in spirit.

  But whatever sense of readiness they’d had a moment ago vanished the instant a shape emerged from the mist. All three felt as vulnerable as children.

  More clanking followed. Heavier this time.

  Three fully armored guards stepped from the shadows.

  Above them loomed the silhouettes of three winged figures—large, beastlike men.