Imius decided—without asking—that they were staying.
He made this decision by grabbing Nocth's wrist and dragging him sideways just as a cluster of lanterns burst into brighter color overhead, their glow washing the street in warm gold. The crowd thickened here, bodies brushing, voices overlapping in bursts of laughter and argument.
"No disappearing," Imius said firmly. "You already look like you're halfway out of the city."
Nocth didn't resist. He let himself be pulled, feet adjusting automatically to the uneven stone. The pressure of people around him felt strange—not unpleasant, just dense. Like standing in water that moved when you did.
A group of performers occupied the corner ahead. Their faces were painted in ash-white streaks, eyes ringed with dark pigment. They wore masks shaped like beasts mid-snarl, jaws frozen open as if in eternal challenge. Drums thundered in uneven rhythms while one dancer leapt forward, limbs snapping into sharp angles before flowing again into something smoother, older.
Nocth watched the way their feet struck the ground.
The timing. The weight transfer.
Imius leaned close. "They do this every year. It's supposed to scare off bad fortune. Or invite it. Depends who you ask."
One of the dancers spun too close, nearly colliding with them. Imius laughed and stepped back, offering an exaggerated bow that earned him a playful shove.
Further down the street, long tables had been set up beneath woven canopies. Families crowded around them, passing food and drink freely, hands stained with oil and spice. Children darted between legs, clutching skewers and wooden toys shaped like winged beasts.
Nocth accepted a small bowl from Imius without question.
The food was unfamiliar—grain softened in broth, layered with thin slices of meat and something sharp that made his tongue tingle. He ate slowly, tasting each bite as if committing it to memory.
Imius, meanwhile, talked.
He talked about everything and nothing. About how the Saevereth lanterns were brighter this year. About how someone swore they'd seen a sky-craft drift too low over the western district. About how Doro's face—he made a sweeping gesture—had looked priceless when he hit the ground.
Nocth's hand paused mid-bite.
Imius noticed immediately. "—I mean," he said quickly, lowering his voice, "you didn't have to step in like that. But… I'm glad you did."
Nocth nodded once, eyes lowered to the bowl.
A sudden cheer rose from the far end of the street.
Imius's attention snapped toward it. "Oh. Oh no. They opened the ring."
Before Nocth could ask, Imius was already moving, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. Nocth followed, slipping into the gaps Imius left behind.
They emerged into a small open circle ringed by spectators. At its center, two older teens squared off, bare-handed. Their stances were loose but confident, feet planted, shoulders relaxed. No armor. No blades.
Just bodies.
Nocth's gaze sharpened.
The first exchange was quick. A feint. A low kick. A shove that sent dust skidding across stone. The crowd reacted with practiced enthusiasm—shouts, laughter, a few shouted bets.
Imius leaned in close. "Friendly matches. Mostly."
Mostly.
Nocth tracked every movement. The way one fighter favored his left side. The way the other overextended on strikes meant to impress rather than land. He felt an itch beneath his skin—not desire, exactly. Recognition.
Imius glanced at him, then grinned. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"No," Nocth said honestly.
Imius laughed. "Liar."
Someone in the crowd shouted for new challengers.
Imius raised his hand halfway, then froze. He looked at Nocth, expression suddenly uncertain. "I mean—we don't have to."
Nocth studied the ring. The dust. The space between bodies.
"I'll watch," he said.
Imius exhaled in relief that was too quick, too practiced. "Good. Because I'm terrible."
He jumped into the ring anyway.
What followed was less a fight and more a spectacle. Imius moved with enthusiasm and very little coordination, dodging by accident more often than skill. The crowd laughed—not cruelly, but with affection.
Nocth found himself smiling before he realized it.
Imius took a hit to the shoulder and stumbled back, laughing breathlessly. He bowed dramatically and retreated amid cheers.
"That," he announced, rubbing his arm, "is how legends are born."
They moved on after that, the night deepening around them.
At some point, Imius slowed. His voice softened. He pointed up at the lanterns drifting higher now, tiny lights dissolving into the dark.
"My mom used to bring me here," he said. "Said if you let yourself have one good night a year, the rest doesn't hit as hard."
Nocth listened.
"I don't know where you came from," Imius added, not looking at him. "But I'm glad you're here."
Nocth stopped walking.
Imius turned, confused. "What?"
For a moment, Nocth didn't answer. The words pressed against something deep, something fragile.
"I don't know either," he said finally.
Imius smiled, softer this time. "Then we'll figure it out later."
They walked on beneath the fading lanterns, two silhouettes among many, as the festival carried on without them—and because of them.