There were three days until Haloa, and the city was already buzzing with anticipation.
Haloa wasn't just a festival—it was the festival. The one time each year when Drachin's streets transformed into something almost magical. Performers and traders flooded in from every corner of the region, bringing strange artifacts, enchanted sweets, glowing incense, and talents that could silence a crowd.
In the small forge-house nestled between crooked alleys and old stones, the air buzzed with a quieter kind of excitement.
Vivian, in particular, was practically vibrating with it.
It would be her first Haloa spent with someone other than her grandfather. Her smile lingered more these days. Arcose noticed. She never talked much about her parents—just a passing mention that they'd died during the slum riots. Her grandfather rarely let her out of sight, which made this moment—this freedom—feel like something precious.
Arcose didn't know how to feel.
Festivals had always been dangerous in the slums. Pickpockets. Guards on edge. Fights breaking out over a glance too long or a coin purse too light. He and his old crew used to snatch what they could, then vanish into the shadows.
Now he was hanging paper lanterns.
Cleaning soot off the doorway.
Helping—without needing to run.
Man... What a weird feeling.He should've felt happy. He expected to feel happy.But happiness was nowhere to be found.
"Arcose!" Vivian's voice sang from her room. She appeared holding a wicker basket, wearing a fresh tunic dusted in flower petals. "Will you come to the market with me?"
Nope. No chance am I going there, he thought.
"I… don't really like crowds," he said, hesitating.
She pouted. "Come on. It's Haloa prep week! There's magic shows, street duels, candy that changes your voice—and flamefruit skewers!"
Arcose blinked. "That's… a lot."
"I need you there," she added slyly, dropping her voice. "Grandpa usually comes with me and grumbles the whole time. He won't even let me try roasted scorpion crisps."
What in the Dickweed is a roasted scorpion crisp?There are people eating scorpions? What a bunch of masochists.
Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his wrist and pulled.
"Vivian—!"
"Grandpa! I'm going with Arcose!" she yelled over her shoulder.
A distant clang of metal came from the forge. "Don't stray too far!"
Vivian beamed. "Don't worry. I've got Arcose as my bodyguard."
"I'm the one that needs protection," he muttered.
But he didn't pull away.
****
Future Arcose to Present Arcose:"Why didn't you pull away, you absolute fuckwit shitmagnet pisswizard dickweasel asshole!!!!"
****
The city was alive.
Street performers danced on glowing chalk runes that sparked with every step. Merchants barked over booths draped in vibrant silks. Lanterns floated between rooftops on threads of glowing mana, like ghostly watchers overhead.
Arcose had seen Drachin like this before.But never from this angle.Not from the inside.
He staggered slightly as they crossed into the plaza. Something slammed into him—not physically, but through the senses.
The lights. The noise. The colors.It all surged into his skull like a wave.He blinked against the brightness.
Vivian was talking—laughing—but her voice blurred at the edges. His hearing stretched too far. He could hear conversations behind him. Footsteps across stone. A cup being set on a wooden stall. Too much.
"Vivian… the lights… it's all too loud."
She gave him a confused look. "It's busy, yeah, but not that bad."Then she raised an eyebrow. "Wait, are you trying to ditch me already?"
Before he could answer, she looped her arm through his, locking him in place with a triumphant grin.
"Nice try. If you run, and something happens to me, Grandpa's gonna forge your bones into nails."
Arcose snorted. "Oye, who you laughing at?" she snapped, mock-offended.
"No one. Just thinking about how doomed I am."
"Then might as well enjoy the last day of your life."
She tugged him deeper into the crowd.
Arcose tried to breathe. Focus. Stay grounded.But it was getting worse.
His senses weren't just sharp.They were wrong.
Colors bled into each other—too rich, too vivid, like paint melting. Smells layered in thick waves: sweetbread, sweat, spice, burnt copper. His skin tingled, like lightning was trying to crawl through it.
His head throbbed.
ahh
"Vivian," he said again, voice taut. "Something's… wrong."
She turned toward him—but before she could say anything, she gasped and pointed.
"Look! A crowd's forming—probably some illusionist or a flame-dancer! Come on!"
She didn't wait.
Dragging him toward the epicenter, she never noticed the faint shimmer in his eyes.
Arcose's pupils had dilated into ringed crescents, and for a heartbeat, tendrils of gold danced behind them like living fire.
He didn't notice either.
But something inside him—deep and ancient—had opened its eyes.