The four of them — two travelers, one knightess, and her towering beast — made their steady approach toward the city gates. The afternoon light shimmered off the flower fields behind them, but ahead, the dark stone ramparts of Fleurein rose like a crown upon the land.
As ever, Viena’s curiosity simmered just beneath her skin. She stole glance after glance at Hirma and her strange mount, her gaze darting over every intricate plate of armor, every glinting strap and buckle, and the beast’s sinewed limbs shifting beneath thick plumage. It was as though she were a painter and they her living canvas.
“Ma’am,” she piped up at last, voice bright as a silver bell, “why are you so tall and grey?”
Randia’s breath caught. His hand shot out, cupping her face in a gentle but urgent grip.
“My deepest apologies, knightess,” he blurted, trying to coax her back into silence. “I’ve taught her poorly—”
Hirma’s dry chuckle broke through before he could finish.
“Worry not, medevist. There is no malice in her question—only honest curiosity.”
With a fluid motion, she unfastened the clasps at her throat and lifted her helmet free. Sunlight spilled over her features: skin smooth and pale as riverstone, eyes sharp as polished obsidian. From the center of her forehead, two delicate antennae rose — slender, dark, and gently wiggling with unseen sensitivity. Their bifurcated tips curled outward like crescent moons facing the sky.
Viena’s eyes widened, her breath catching in wonder. The odd appendages stirred a half-forgotten memory of a beetle she’d once caught while helping Randia gather potion ingredients.
“Do you see this, child?” Hirma tapped the base of her antennae with a gloved finger. “This is proof of my lineage. I am Natlanis — born of the Ancient Marsh of Natlan.”
“Wow!” Viena breathed, practically bouncing on her toes. “That is so cool! But… we haven’t seen any marshes anywhere on our journey. What does it look like?”
Randia cleared his throat, a mark of his nervousness. He lifted a hand and pointed far toward the horizon, where sky kissed land in an endless blur.
“That is because Natlan lies far to the northwest of the world. We are nearly on the opposite edge of the map.”
Hirma nodded. “Picture a boundless landscape of dark, fertile soil… veiled by shallow waters that shimmer like glass. Mists curl above reeds taller than a man, and ancient trees rise from deep peat bogs. That is my homeland.”
Viena’s questions poured forth like an unbroken stream after that. Did all Natlanis grow as tall as Hirma? Did every one of them have such beautiful antennae? What creatures lived among those marshes? What did they eat, how did they dress, how did they celebrate festivals?
She even offered snippets of her own life in return — tales of flowers she’d seen, dishes Randia had cooked for her, the time she’d tried to catch fireflies but fell into a stream instead.
Randia’s brows frowned, his shoulders subtly taut. Though Hirma’s patience seemed genuine, he could not shake his unease. One careless word, one slip of Viena’s tongue, and their fragile reprieve could unravel.
Before long, Fleurein’s city gates loomed large. Twin towers flanked a grand arch of dark granite carved with trailing vines and sigils of protection. Guards clad in rose-gold tabards manned the entrance, pikes resting upright at their sides.
Hirma exchanged curt words with them, her insignia granting swift passage. She then beckoned Randia forward, helping him complete the required documentation with practiced efficiency. With an official standing guarantor, the process unspooled far faster than it would have for any ordinary traveler.
Finally, she turned to Randia and withdrew a slender black bracelet from a pouch. The metal gleamed faintly, intricate glyphs etched along its surface.
“Wear this,” she instructed, her voice clipped but neutral. “It is a surveillance mark. Remove it, and you will be treated as a fugitive.”
Randia accepted it without hesitation and clasped it around his wrist.
Before he could speak, Viena leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.
“Wow! It’s so pretty! What about me? Where’s my bracelet?”
Hirma arched a brow, expression unreadable.
“You don’t matter. Your father alone bears responsibility.”
“Viena,” Randia said softly but firmly. She fell silent at once.
The knightess swept her cape over her shoulders and mounted Batrisha once more, her silhouette cutting a sharp figure against the bustling city beyond.
“It is time we part ways,” she declared. “My patrol awaits.”
“It has been an honor to meet you, knightess,” Randia replied with a bow.
“Bye-bye, Hirma! Bye-bye, Batrisha!” Viena called brightly, waving both arms.
The beast’s head dipped, and Hirma offered a small wave in return. Then, leaning down toward Randia, her voice dropped low — meant for his ears alone.
“A word, medevist. If you seek honest work, go to the cathedral. I hear they are in need of all manner of skilled hands. It is one reason why medevists and herbalists are given special leniency at the gates.”
“I understand. Thank you, knightess. I’ll bear it in mind.”
Hirma’s gaze lingered on Viena one last time. The girl had already wandered ahead, limping slightly on her injured leg but oblivious to the pain, entranced by the flurry of market stalls and vivid awnings spilling into the thoroughfare. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she murmured wonderings to herself, spinning in slow circles to take in the vibrant streets.
“Your daughter is bright,” Hirma murmured, almost to herself. “Fleurein will offer no shortage of wonders for a mind as keen as hers.”
Randia’s lips lifted faintly. “We shall savor every moment we can.”
With that, Hirma straightened, spurred her mount forward, and vanished into the throng.
By midday, the golden hum of Fleurein had swelled into a gentle frenzy. Rather than sit tucked away in an eatery’s quiet corner, Randia and Viena let themselves be swept along the mosaic of streets, grazing their way from one food stall to another. Skewers glazed with honeyed spices, crisp pastries dusted in powdered sugar, tangy fruits sliced and served on leaves — each bite tugged another grin onto Viena’s face.
Though the silver coins slipped faster from Randia’s satchel than he would have liked, he could not bring himself to mind. Not with the way Viena’s eyes shone, her cheeks flushed with joy, her laughter bubbling free at every new flavor. He marveled at how swiftly her spirits had lifted — as though the grim interrogation at the city gates had evaporated from her mind like morning mist.
Colors, scents, and textures spun around them in a dizzying carousel. Artists hunched by street corners, their fingers coaxing life from pigments and clay. Hatters perched at makeshift stalls, threading ribbons and preserved blooms into bonnets delicate as spring nests. Tradesmen barked out songs of distant lands, their stalls heavy with silks, trinkets, and spices from places whose names curled like forgotten poetry. For Viena, it was more than a city — it was the shape of every dream she had never dared to voice.
They wandered the day away, losing themselves in Fleurein’s labyrinthine charm. Even Randia, who had crossed more borders than he cared to count, found his guarded heart tugged loose by the city’s splendor. Yet, as the afternoon deepened and shadows lengthened, a thin thread of unease began to wind itself around his thoughts.
“Viena,” he murmured at last, his voice low but steady, “I think we should start being careful with how we spend our coin.”
“Ehh? Why?” Viena pouted, puffing her cheeks. “I promise I’ll work hard! I can help, truly! Can’t we just keep enjoying this for a little longer? And besides, the church here is huge — surely they’ll pay us better than the little chapels in the countryside!”
Randia’s gaze darkened, almost imperceptibly.
“I’m afraid that’s exactly why I’m concerned.”
He gently steered her toward a shaded park at the edge of a wide square. They settled on a worn wooden bench beneath the dappled canopy, a small hill of skewers, buns, and crinkled paper parcels spread across their laps. The distant toll of cathedral bells rippled on the wind.
Randia’s lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated when he caught the subtle downturn of Viena’s mouth. She no longer attacked her food with the same gleeful abandon.
“I should’ve realized it sooner,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But I let myself get too comfortable.”
“What’s wrong, Papa?” Viena tilted her head, concern flickering across her face.
“I’ve been here before,” he said quietly. “Fleurein is always lively, yes… but even for this city, this is too much. There are too many people.”
He leaned in slightly, voice softening to a thread.
“Look to your left — the man in the brown cloak.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t make it obvious.”
The instant Viena began to turn her head, Randia’s hand darted up and cupped the back of her skull, steering her gaze forward again and holding it firmly.
“Stars above,” he muttered with a weary sigh. “Has anyone ever been less subtle than you?”
“Alright, alright! I’ll be discreet this time!” she whispered, her grin returning in defiance of his scolding.
He slowly released her. This time, Viena cast her gaze sideways with practiced nonchalance, peeking through her lashes at the figure Randia had indicated.
To her eyes, the man seemed utterly forgettable — just another weary traveler hunched over a folded newspaper like half the city’s population.
“I don’t know, Papa,” she whispered back, frowning faintly. “He looks normal to me. What are you talking about?”
“On the surface, yes. But watch longer.”
Randia’s tone was cool, precise — the same voice he used when teaching her how to spot faint magical residues or decipher old herbal scripts.
“If you’re patient, you’ll see it. He’s making tiny tears along the edge of that paper.”
Viena narrowed her gaze and concentrated. Moments later, she saw it — the man’s fingers working with practiced, rhythmic precision, almost imperceptible. Tiny strips torn cleanly, one by one, in a pattern too deliberate to be idle fidgeting.
“What’s he doing?” she breathed, her voice tight with intrigue.
“An espionage agent,” Randia said, as if discussing the weather. “A spy. He’s transmitting coded information. Later, he’ll leave the newspaper somewhere that looks accidental — but won’t be. Someone else will come along and retrieve it, completing the exchange.”
Viena’s breath caught, eyes round as polished sapphires.
“A spy,” she gasped, her whisper fizzing with excitement as she shifted giddily on the bench.
Randia exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Yes, a spy. And I fear he’s not the only one lurking in this crowd today.”
“But what is it that he’s looking for?” Viena’s voice was hushed now, curiosity laced with a trace of caution.
Randia leaned back against the worn slats of the bench, his shoulders sinking into the wood with a weary grace. His eyes wandered, sweeping slowly over the square as though he hoped the stones themselves might offer an answer. Guards in polished steel paced their patrols, merchants hefted crates brimming with pre-ordered wares, and armored warriors clashed in friendly spars that rang sharp against the cobblestones.
All of it bustling, all of it purposeful — but none of it yielding the answer he sought.
“I think something large is stirring in this city,” he said at last, voice low and thoughtful. “And that man’s task is to observe it all, to record every thread of motion before it knots into something greater.”
“Something big might happen?” Viena’s lips parted, her brows lifting. “You mean… something bad?”
“Not necessarily.” Randia exhaled through his nose, slow and even, as though the very act might steady the tangle of thoughts in his mind. “It’s hard to say. Maybe I’m reading too deep into the signs.” He shook his head lightly. “Never mind me. For now, we’ll just carry on naturally. It’s in our best interest to keep a low profile.”
“L–low what?” Viena squinted at him, her mouth quirking. “Ugh, I told you to stop throwing around words that twist my brain.”
“In simpler terms—” he slowed down, “—let’s not cause any trouble while we’re here.”
Viena puffed her cheeks but nodded in agreement. The faint crease of concern on her brow softened, and soon enough, her appetite kindled anew. She bit into the grilled eel skewer, savoring the sweet glaze and smoky char, then tore into the braised duck bun with the same delighted vigor as before. True to her habit, she never finished more than half before nudging the remainder into Randia’s hands with unspoken trust.
A sudden spark flared behind her eyes.
“Ah! What if there’s going to be a festival soon?”
Her words struck something sharp in Randia’s thoughts, like flint against stone. His gaze narrowed, thoughtful.
Of course — a festival. Why hadn’t it crossed his mind sooner?
Yet… the timing was wrong. Prima Risera was still moons away. So, what else could draw so many bodies to Fleurein at once?
“There’s no denying that possibility,” he murmured.
“Hehe! Finally!” Viena’s grin spread wide, bright and earnest. “I’ve been waiting forever to see one! Like—millions of years forever!”
"Hah." He reached out, tousling her hair with a rough fondness that made her scrunch her nose. “You do realize that more people means more patrols and tighter security, right?”
“Mmm.” Viena wiggled her head free and tapped a finger to her temple, mockingly sagacious. “But it also means we can blend into the crowds more easily, doesn’t it?”
Randia arched a brow, skeptical.
“Do you really think I can disappear in a crowd?”
“Well…” Viena drew the word out, glancing up and down his broad frame — the unmistakable poise of a medevist who carried danger as effortlessly as breath. “If you put it that way… Uhm… Nah, I still think we’ll be fine! Everyone’s too busy minding their own business to care. And besides, it’s not like you’re the only tall, scary-looking person in the world! Hirma’s bigger than you, and she gets by just fine!”
Peaceful silent laid on Randia's lips. Without a word, he reached over and wiped a smear of glaze from the corner of Viena’s mouth with the pad of his thumb. Then, tilting the waterskin, he let her drink in careful sips, cradling her as gently as though she were no older than a toddler. She grinned at the familiar fussing, unbothered by it.
“You do make a fair point,” Randia conceded, his gaze softening as he polished off the last of her leftovers. “Let’s just hope nothing too extreme unfolds.”
The wind shifted slightly, carrying distant bells and the scent of flower petals long since trampled underfoot. Around them, the city pulsed on — vibrant, intricate, and brimming with undercurrents still unseen.