Caprissia, wrapped in a blanket of cold, damp fog, eagerly announced the start of the Festival of the Everlasting Light. In a city used to rain, the inhabitants gathered for this age-old celebration to call for the sun—the body that gave life and clarity to existence.
Large bonfires burned on the cobbled streets, fed by people heaving on dry logs. It was not a solemn ritual so much as a ceremony that defied time: a warm refuge against the relentless rain.
It was Janab's last day in the city. And although a strange place ought not to inspire affection, the thought of returning home pressed on her with an inexplicable weight. She walked through the crowd, drawn by the glow of the flames, while the sky slowly filled with shadow. In her mind, an invisible hourglass tipped against her.
The bonfires sent hypnotic tongues of flame into the sky. Thick smoke wound itself into gray spirals, like snakes unraveling into the moist air.
In the central square, the festival's opening ceremony was ending; a minister stepped down from the platform after his brief speech. Janab lifted her eyes, pulled along by the unavoidable clamor.
Then she felt it.
Time turned heavy, raw. Her senses tightened like taut strings. Eyes she didn't remember ever seeing met hers in an instant that stretched slow and cruel, like the gray clouds chaining the sky. A figure of disturbing beauty cut through the crowd. Long hair, caressed by the wind, fell over shoulders that gave off a grim aura. Masculine? She hesitated. A memory, buried deep in her unconscious, came back to life: fragmented images of a man collapsing to the ground. A survival instinct ran through her like an electric current.
The distance between them was huge—an ocean of human bodies separated them. And yet Isaiah's otherworldly presence pinned itself to her small form like a memory fighting to break free.
Janab's pupils widened; blood raced through her veins, marking the cords at her throat beneath the skin. Fear left her helpless before a look that had already condemned her.
—She's looking at you. —Astilbe's voice was a cold echo, a poison that seeped into Isaiah's mind— —"Is that man real?" —he continued, malicious, reciting the young foreigner's thoughts.
—No need to recite them. I can hear them too, —Isaiah answered, reserving his usual restraint. He was enigmatic, the opposite of Astilbe, who wore human emotions with ease. That duality made him even more lethal to mortals.
Isaiah turned his gaze away with indifferent ease, as any stranger would when they accidentally meet the eyes of someone unimportant. He walked beside the prime minister with an unreadable expression.
Janab's heart pounded out of control. Her breathing grew uneven and the sense of time dissolved in her mind. The effect that man had on her was absurd, incomprehensible. She couldn't form conclusions, but one thing was certain: her body trembled, her unconscious feared.
Astilbe, still watching, followed the girl with his gaze until she vanished into the press of bodies.
—That woman's mind is a complete chaos. Are you going to let her go so easily?
In Isaiah's brown eyes flashed a brief desire to snuff out that fragile, persistent life. But the duties of the diplomatic leader were done, and escorting him out of the square took priority.