Night swallowed the city in velvet blue, the air soft beneath drifting lanterns and fireworks that burst like flowers against the full moon. Lantern light spilled golden warmth over the bustling streets, catching on yukatas and bright laughter, scattering shadows in ripples across painted roofs. Each string of lights seemed to invite the crowd deeper into celebration—a world apart from the battles and betrayals behind me.
I moved through the throng, cape pulled close against the chill and prying eyes. There was nowhere to go, no home waiting, and hunger twisted deep inside me—my stomach growling, sharp as knives, echoing through my aching emptiness. Festival music danced around me, blending with the chorus of voices, the clatter of chopsticks and laughter echoing off stone.
The curry rice stall drew me like a moth to flame, the aroma rich and spicy, thick enough to make my mouth water and my steps unsteady. I barely realized I'd stopped until the grumpy old vendor fixed me with a stare, his eyes tracing me from battered shoes to mask-hidden face—judging, weighing.
He grunted without greeting, voice rough and unimpressed.
"Got coins, kid? Or you just here for the smell?"
His tone cut through the music and fireworks, a stark reminder I was still an outsider—half in shadow, half in the glow of celebration I didn't belong to.
His accusation turned heads, lanterns swaying as people stared. I met his glare, covered but unflinching, and forced a reply through my aching throat. "I'm not a beggar. Nor a thief." My voice was low, burdened with cold and hunger.
Trying to avoid a scene, I made to leave, but he shouted after me, his tone harsh and scornful. "I know your kind! Always after pity—free food wherever you go!" His words echoed, slicing through festival noise.
I pressed deeper into the crowded lane, ignoring the looks until a wealthy man broke the mood—a blue-haired noble, draped in heavy ornaments. His laughter was sharp, carrying through the air.
"Maybe even princess Sherliey will be found begging, now that she's been tossed from the bloodline. Lord doesn't care—he let it happen. Did you see the way she fought? Pathetic."
The woman at his side—long brown hair, hazel eyes—leaned into him, voice sultry, teasing. "No matter what, it was entertaining. Wasn't it, darling?"
Entertaining? My life, my battle, was just another joke for them. Fury and heartbreak tangled as I wove through the crowd, their remarks stinging in the lantern glow.
—"A trash princess."
—"A clown who wants to be a warrior."
—"Disgrace to the lord's family... with just luck she landed with princes."
I blended into the throng, letting festival chatter fill my ears and drown my every hope. The taste of betrayal was sharper than hunger. The kingdom I wanted to protect now ridiculed me—power suddenly seemed hollow.
But above the golden streets, not everyone was lost in gossip.
On a balcony framed by glowing lanterns and the moon's light, Drystan lounged with ramen in hand, shoulders half-shrugged. He gestured in exasperation—a dramatic sweep of his hands, eyes narrowed and curious.
"How long are we going to watch her, Allerick?" Drystan's tone was playful but edged, words laced with challenge. "Why put her through all this? You could've said no at the festival—she'd have her answer."
Allerick stood against the rail, ocean-blue eyes serene, face unreadable in the soft light. Across the festival, his gaze tracked her—the fallen princess—walking away beneath the stars, cloaked in rumors, defiance, and mounting sorrow.
Fireworks burst overhead, scattering color and light. Music swept through the street, lanterns bobbed in the night breeze, and for one heartbeat, the festival seemed to hold its breath, caught between judgment and possibility.
"Hey! Kid, wait a minute." I barely registered the voice—maybe it was for someone else.
"Hey, can't you listen? I'm calling you!" A girl older than me ran up, breath coming in fast bursts, strands of hair damp from effort. She stopped, hands on her knees, finally catching her breath.
I blinked, confused, staring at her with wide, uncertain eyes. She smiled, her face full of genuine warmth despite the exhaustion. Her clothes were old but neat—clearly not a child of luxury.
"I wanted to give you this," she said, pressing a small package into my hands.
My reply came out low, unsure. "You've got me wrong. I don't know you."
The girl shook her head, her voice filled with bright energy. "I know. But that doesn't matter—eat. You look hungry." I hesitated, but she reassured me gently. "Go on. Two steamed buns and two gold coins. It's not much, but it'll help a little."
She straightened up, flashing one last smile. "I have to go—flowers don't sell themselves. I just... you looked like you needed it. Bye!" Before I could process what had happened, she vanished into the crowd. I tried to call out, to thank her, but she was lost in the festival's swirl of lanterns and laughter.
Even though I was never able to thank her, that girl's kindness was the only good thing that happened to me today. I wished I could find her, if only to offer a word of gratitude, but I had nothing left to give. My limp slowed me, pain pulsed with each step, and it was only the hour's rest before hitting these festival streets that let me endure this long.
Above me, the night sky was stitched with light—hundreds of lanterns floating upward, each carrying someone's wish to the gods. Word was, you wrote a plea and the name of a deity on the lamp, and it was sent soaring to be answered from on high. For a moment, my heart fluttered—maybe I could believe in wishes again—but I didn't have coins to buy a lantern. It was easier to convince myself that wishes were for the lucky, not the desperate. If prayers were answered, my mother wouldn't have abandoned me in the arena. My father would have looked at me with warmth, not indifference. That ache—wanting their love more than magic or power—never left.
A flash of memory burned deeper—the sight of my mother, face cold and distant as marble, pretending not to see me. Her gaze, cruelly screaming for my disappearance, haunted as if no time had passed at all. My hands trembled as the crowd swept by, colors and music blurring together.
Suddenly, an old, wrinkled hand settled atop mine. I startled, staring at the worn yet gentle fingers—strong with age, grace, and a warmth I'd only ever dreamed of. She was small, her hair white as frosted moonlight, her face radiant with kindness and fragile strength. I was caught by her gaze, eyes soft and knowing.
"Sometimes life puts us in difficult spots to unlock our true potential," she said, her voice like the hush of dawn.
I managed a bitter smile. "Can anyone truly smile, knowing they'll meet a lonely end—knowing no one will ever recognize them? It isn't just life. It's the people we trust who turn away, who betray us."
The old woman squeezed my hand gently, her kindness unmoved by the world's noise. For the first time today, I felt a glimmer of comfort—no threat, no mocking, just a moment of peace beneath the floating wish-lanterns and the ancient sky.
She murmured ""People will come and go. Some will hurt us, some will lift us. But the most important thing isn't whether they remember us, but whether we remember ourselves—who we are, even when there's no one left to watch."
The grandmother's thumb brushed across my knuckles, soft and reassuring, grounding me in the moment.
"If you keep a little courage alive, keep moving forward—even with an empty pocket or a broken heart—you'll find your way again," she said, gentle conviction in her tone. "And maybe, just maybe, someone will see you as you truly are. But even if they don't, you'll have lived with hope."
Her hand slipped into a worn satchel and emerged with a delicate lantern—small, glowing, painted with golden script. She pressed it into my palm, her eyes shining with kindness.
"Take this," she said, voice bright but steady. "Consider this lantern my gift to you. Write your wish and believe—not just in gods, but in yourself—to make it come true. Magic happens to those who truly believe in it."
I stared at the lantern, warmth blooming in my chest. For the first time tonight, I almost believed that hope—real, living magic—might sparkle just beyond the harsh silence.
Beneath the festival skies, I clutched the lantern, letting my battered heart begin to dream again.
The grandmother's warm smile lingered in my memory even after she disappeared into the crowd—gentle, mysterious, like moonlight when hope feels lost. What an unusual day; betrayal by loved ones, comfort from strangers. I stared down at the lantern in my hands, the soft glow painting hope across my palms.
My wish? Did I even have one left? For a long moment, my heart wavered. Was there anything left for me to believe in? Questions burned as I put ink to paper, trembling, letting sadness mingle with a fragile spark of ambition. With a shaky breath, I attached my wish to the lantern—a whisper for mercy, for courage—a final plea sent soaring above the festival.
As I let go and watched the lantern float up, caught by a gentle swirl of festival wind, a strange magic curled through the air. Blue light flickered—a spell, subtle and precise, nudging my lantern from its path. I spun, catching a shadow retreating through the festival glow—a figure wrapped in midnight, eyes veiled, wind magic coiled around him like a promise.
He moved with effortless grace, always a half-step behind the chaos. I shivered, a rush of uncertainty flickering in my chest. Who was he? Curious observer, would-be protector, or something else? I saw him glance at the lantern, studying my wish with unreadable intent.
Lanterns continued to rise around us, echoing dreams and hidden wounds. The magic in the air shimmered, holding my hope and his mystery together for one heartbeat in the night—a collision of fate, secrecy, and longing beneath the festival sky.
I found a quiet set of stone stairs by the bridge, unwrapped the package, and took a tentative bite. The bun was warm, savory—heavenly. A tear slipped down my cheek. I swiped it away, but another followed, blurring the lights.
Halfway through the bun, a sharp noise drew me from my reverie—a child, younger than me, thrown down hard by an older man. His sobs broke my heart. I rushed over as the man stormed off.
"Are you alright?" I knelt, voice soft with concern.
The boy—maybe seven—glanced up, his face guarded, eyes old with hardship. "I'm fine. Don't bother." He tried to walk away, but drops of blood pattered from his small fist.
"You need bandaging," I insisted, reaching out.
He flinched, snapping, "Why do you care?" Anger masked fear. "I need food for my sister."
His words stunned me. I pressed gently, my tone firm. "Are you planning to steal?"
He turned, eyes burning. "So what? I'm not a prince—no one's going to save me. I'll do whatever it takes to survive."
I was speechless. How could I explain my own fall—a princess, discarded, powerless? Before I could answer, he tugged to leave. I took a breath, grabbed his uninjured hand, and sat him beside me.
"Quiet. Five minutes. Then you can go."
He stilled, confusion mixing with stubborn silence. I tore a strip from my cloak and wrapped his bleeding hand, careful but swift.
"Kids shouldn't steal," I whispered, as the festival music drifted back, soft and distant. He watched wordlessly, and finally glanced at his now-bandaged hand.
I gave him the rest of my food and two coins. "It's not much, but you need it. Take it for today."
He opened his mouth as if to protest, but the sight of food made embarrassment creep across his face—adorable, awkward. He managed a quiet nod, clutching the buns and ran towards his place.
Above us, lanterns floated, music echoed, and the festival's magic brushed away the pain—just for a moment.