The city had woken early.
Even before the bells rang out across the rooftops, people were already filling the cobblestone streets — hanging streamers between lamp posts, brushing chalk patterns onto the stone with colorful flour, stacking stalls with fire-red fruit and sun-kissed breads. Sunfire Festival had arrived, and with it, a kind of magic that felt older than the city itself.
From the open windows of Papa's Roost, the smell of cinnamon smoke and fried dough drifted in. Ronell leaned against the sill, watching the slow spread of sunlight across banners that fluttered like flame. In the distance, a band had already started warming up — wooden flutes trilling light-hearted scales, a beat of drums keeping time.
Moore groaned from his bed. "What is it with festivals and starting before breakfast?"
"Civic pride," May replied flatly from her seat, lacing her boots. "And market discounts."
"I knew there was a catch."
Ronell turned, tugging on her belt. "It's beautiful out there."
"Hot," Moore mumbled into his pillow.
Then — the door knocked. Once. Firm. Familiar.
When Ronell opened it, the princess stood framed in the doorway — not in armor today, but in a lightweight festival tunic stitched with gold thread. Her braid was loose, casual, but her presence carried the usual spark of command.
"Good morning," she said, with a grin that was far too awake for the hour. "I figured you'd need a guide."
May raised an eyebrow. "Unofficially, I assume."
"Obviously," the princess said with a wink. "Mother thinks I'm overseeing a temple blessing. I've got two hours before I'm dragged off in lace."
Moore sat up groggily. "This feels like a trap."
"Oh, it is," she replied brightly. "But the good kind."
She stepped back, hands behind her back like a commander inspecting a new squad.
"Now come on. I know all the best stalls. And if we move fast, you can eat something before the rest of the city shows up."
Ronell exchanged a smile with May, who shrugged as if to say it's happening whether we like it or not.
They followed her down into the street — into a sea of laughter, sun-colored ribbons, and the rising pulse of drums echoing through the morning air.
---
The market was alive with sound — merchants shouting deals from behind painted carts, children darting under tables, ribbons of music trailing behind dancing minstrels. The Sunfire Festival's morning crowd was swelling by the minute.
May, eyes sharp and cloak tucked tightly around her, was already halfway down the street by the time Moore caught up with her. "You walk like we're in a race," he muttered, weaving between a pair of flower sellers.
"We have ten stalls to visit before the sun peaks," she replied without looking. "And I'm not paying inflated festival prices without reason."
Ronell trailed behind them, eyes wide at the colorful chaos — spice towers in glass jars, roasted almonds turning over fire-pits, bolts of sun-dyed cloth flapping in the heat. She passed a mirror stall and caught a glimpse of her reflection — flushed, wind in her hair, smiling without meaning to.
"Here," May called, gesturing them toward a gear vendor tucked beneath an orange awning. "Packs. Thread. Flintstones. Don't touch anything you don't plan to buy."
The siblings nodded. Mostly.
Ronell stepped forward to ask the vendor for a pair of traveling gloves, trying to mimic the firm tone May always used. "I'd like these," she said, holding them up. "For… uh… less."
The vendor blinked.
Moore groaned softly. "Less?"
"Half price!" Ronell blurted, clearly improvising.
The vendor raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Half? You want me to starve, girl?"
From behind them, a voice laughed. "Oh dear gods, no. You're embarrassing all of us."
The princess stepped forward, slipped beside Ronell like a shadow. "Watch and learn," she whispered, then turned to the vendor with practiced ease.
"These gloves are festival stock — slightly sun-worn, yes? And they're stacked with surplus. I'll take them for two-thirds price, and if they don't last the season, I'll make sure the guild stops shopping here. Deal?"
The man hesitated. Then nodded, muttering under his breath as he took the coin.
Ronell stared. "That was amazing."
"I learned from the best," the princess said, smug. "May, obviously. But I add charm."
Moore snorted — but just as he did, his hand drifted toward a glistening fruit at the next stall. Just a touch, just a test—
"Hey!" the vendor shouted, slapping Moore's wrist. "You pay for that, or your hand's mine!"
May didn't even flinch. The princess, however, stepped in immediately.
"He's with me," she said, breezily pulling out a coin and tossing it on the stall. "Apprentice. Terrible impulse control. We're working on it."
The vendor grumbled but took the coin. Moore shrugged, biting into the fruit sheepishly.
The princess raised an eyebrow. "Stealing from festival carts? Really?"
"I was testing his reflexes," Moore said with a mouthful. "They passed."
She shook her head, laughing. "You two are worse than I expected."
"And yet you keep inviting us out," Ronell shot back.
"Maybe I'm fond of chaos."
They moved on, laughter and festival sounds folding around them — the market now just one colorful thread in a tapestry of a day none of them would soon forget.
---
By midday, the heat had mellowed to a soft, golden warmth, and the city's stone streets shimmered with light. Music drifted from every corner — flutes, drums, laughter — while the scent of grilled fruit and spiced pastries hung heavy in the air.
Ronell slowed as they passed a plaza where performers in bright sashes were forming a circle. One of them, a dancer with silver bangles on her arms, caught her eye — and before Ronell could protest, she was grabbed by the hand and pulled into the center.
"W-Wait, I don't—!"
But the music had already started, and the crowd was clapping. The dance was fast-paced and twirling, patterned like a spiral. Ronell stumbled once, twice — then laughed, shoulders loosening as she fell into the rhythm. Her boots slapped awkwardly on the cobblestone, but she matched the steps eventually. Her hair spun around her face, and for a moment, she looked like she belonged in the swirl of colors.
From the edge of the crowd, Moore leaned against a pillar, arms crossed.
"She's gonna trip," he said flatly.
The princess smiled without looking. "She's not."
Just then, Ronell did trip — but laughed so hard catching herself that even the dancer beside her broke form to laugh along.
Moore turned to leave — only to be intercepted by two stocky boys holding slices of watermelon and pointing at a sign:
"City Champion Watermelon-Eating Contest – Free to Enter!"
Before he could object, one had already shoved a piece into his hands.
"Oh, no," he muttered.
Moments later, Moore was seated awkwardly at a wooden table surrounded by cheering children. A bell rang, and he dove in. Juice sprayed. Red pulp splattered. He struggled — clearly not built for this kind of glory.
When the bell rang again, he dropped his half-eaten melon onto the plate, gasping.
A small boy next to him burped triumphantly. Moore, face sticky, gave him a slow nod of respect.
Meanwhile, the princess had wandered over to a stall of games. One in particular caught her attention — rings tossed onto ceramic horns. She tossed coin down and played once, twice, and on her third try, scored a perfect ring.
The vendor handed her a trinket: a tiny glass pendant shaped like a leaf, threaded on a red string.
She glanced back toward Ronell, who had just returned from the plaza glowing with joy and a little sweat. Without a word, the princess tossed her the pendant.
"A prize," she said.
Ronell caught it, surprised. "For what?"
The princess gave her a smirk. "For second-best."
Ronell rolled her eyes, but tied it around her wrist anyway.
Behind them, Moore stumbled up, face sticky and shirt soaked through.
"I need… a nap," he wheezed.
"You need a bath," May said, appearing out of nowhere with a fresh cloth in hand.
"How long have you been watching?"
"Long enough."
They laughed — tired, full, and feeling more like a team than ever.
But by late afternoon, the crowd began to thicken for the evening procession, and May's presence grew quieter... more distracted.
---
The sun slipped behind the city walls, casting long golden beams across the rooftops. Lanterns bloomed like stars along every street — soft oranges, reds, and golds — swaying gently from ropes overhead. One by one, torches were lit in solemn ceremony, passed from hand to hand by cloaked festival stewards. Drums began to echo from the heart of the square, deep and rhythmic, like the beat of something ancient.
Ronell looked around the plaza, adjusting the small pendant the princess had tossed her earlier.
"Where's May?" she asked, frowning.
Moore blinked. "Wasn't she just with us?"
The princess glanced around. "She didn't say anything."
They searched the crowd. Ronell wandered through the tapestry stalls and under the painted arches. Moore checked around the food carts and music circles. The princess asked a few passing guards and merchants — none had seen a girl in a dark cloak slip away.
"She does that sometimes," Moore said with a shrug, when they regrouped. "Disappears for a bit. Comes back like nothing happened."
Ronell didn't respond right away. She looked past the torchlight, toward the quiet alleys. Her brows furrowed.
"She didn't even say anything…"
The drums picked up, signaling the start of the flame-lit procession. People began to cheer softly as the first dancers emerged — masks glittering, fabric trailing like flame. Fire juggled in spinning arcs. Music shimmered through the night like water.
But Ronell's eyes weren't on the parade.
She kept scanning the edges.
"Let her be," the princess said eventually, more gently than expected. "She'll come back. She always does."
Still… Ronell's concern lingered.
And somewhere, unseen in the flicker of flame and celebration, a green-eyed cat watched from the shadows — curled near a quiet hearth, just out of reach.
---
The inn was quiet now.
Papa's Roost, once bursting with festival noise and foot traffic, had settled into a soft hum. Faint laughter drifted in through the windows from distant revelers, but most of the lanterns outside had gone dim. Only the warm crackle of the hearth remained — casting flickering light over the wooden walls and worn rugs of the common room.
Ronell padded down the stairs barefoot, rubbing her arms. She didn't know why she couldn't sleep. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was everything else.
Her eyes landed on the hearth.
There, curled tightly into herself, was a green-eyed cat — nestled on one of the warm cushions near the fire.
May.
Ronell's expression softened. She crossed the room slowly, quietly, as though she might disturb something fragile. She didn't say anything. Didn't ask.
She just sat down beside her, knees drawn up, arms around her shins.
The fire popped gently. Shadows danced on the floor.
The cat didn't move at first — only flicked one ear toward her. Then, slowly, she adjusted. A soft sound escaped her — not quite a purr, but not silence either.
Ronell tilted her head, smiling faintly.
"I was worried," she said, almost in a whisper. "Next time... just say something."
May didn't shift back. She didn't need to.
The silence between them was full — not empty.
Ronell leaned a little closer, resting her cheek on her arms.
The last of the lanterns outside bobbed lazily in the wind, their light dimming as the city finally drifted to sleep.
And for a moment, nothing needed to be said.
Just warmth. Just trust. Just the quiet understanding between a girl and a cat-shaped secret — both curled close to the fire, watching the night fade.