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By the time Lorian reached the eastern districts, the city had already begun to change its skin.
The streets grew tighter, warmer, louder, as if the stone itself leaned inward to listen, and the further he walked the more the air thickened with music, smoke, laughter, and that faint sweetness of roasted fruit and sugared wine that only came when the Sunburn Empire decided to celebrate something loudly and all at once. Lanterns hung from iron hooks and balconies in long chains of amber and gold, their flames flickering in uneven rhythms as the breeze rolled through the avenues, carrying silk banners and loose laughter with it. Families passed him in clusters, children darting between legs, couples walking shoulder to shoulder with hands brushing just often enough to mean something, groups of friends already flushed from drink and excitement, their voices overlapping into a single constant hum.
Lorian moved through them easily, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, his long blue hair catching torchlight in shifting shades of indigo and steel as he walked. His robe, still dusted faintly with the memory of demon soil no amount of brushing had truly erased, marked him as someone who did not quite belong here anymore, though no one seemed to notice, or perhaps they noticed and decided they did not care. He breathed in deeply, lips curling into a smile that looked genuine enough to pass, even as his chest tightened in a way he pretended not to feel.
'Look at them,' he thought as a group of children raced past him, one nearly colliding with his knee before being hauled back by a laughing parent. 'Must be nice.'
The eastern plaza opened before him like a living thing, wide and circular, paved in pale stone worn smooth by centuries of feet, now packed so tightly with bodies that the ground itself seemed to pulse. Torches ringed the square in tall iron stands, their flames casting long shadows that danced and overlapped, while vendors lined the perimeter in neat, colorful rows. Silks, glassware, carved trinkets, jewelry, spiced meats, sugared pastries, bottles of glowing drink that hummed faintly with enchantment, all of it competing for attention. Bards stood on crates or low platforms, playing strings and drums and pipes, their music weaving together into a chaotic but infectious rhythm that made it nearly impossible to stand still.
People danced in the center of the square, boots scuffing stone, skirts flaring, arms lifted, laughter breaking free in sharp, bright bursts. Lorian felt the familiar pull in his chest, that itch beneath the skin that urged him forward, urged him to disappear into the noise and light where thoughts could not follow.
"Now this," he muttered to himself, slipping into the crowd, "is more my speed."
He struck up a conversation with a merchant selling silver charms shaped like suns and leaves, leaning casually against the stall while the man prattled on about craftsmanship and tradition, never noticing as Lorian's fingers drifted, light as breath, lifting a small trinket from a velvet tray and letting it vanish into his sleeve. A few steps later, he laughed with a pair of young elves arguing loudly about which bard was better, clapping one on the shoulder while relieving the other of a ring tucked carelessly into a belt pouch. It was almost automatic, the thefts sliding seamlessly into conversation, his charm smoothing over any rough edge, his smile doing most of the work.
'See,' he told himself as he accepted a cup of spiced wine from a passing server and took a long drink, warmth spreading quickly through his chest, 'still got it.'
He spotted her near the fountain at the heart of the plaza, blonde hair pinned back with ribbons the color of autumn leaves, her ears adorned with small gold hoops that caught the light when she laughed. She stood with a group of friends, cup in hand, her gaze drifting lazily over the crowd until it landed on him, recognition sparking instantly in her eyes.
"Well," she said as he approached, lips curving, "you actually came."
"Of course I did," Lorian replied smoothly, bowing just slightly, one hand pressed to his chest. "I never miss an invitation from a beautiful stranger."
She laughed and rolled her eyes. "You still haven't told me your name."
"I did," he said. "You just didn't remember."
"That sounds suspiciously like a you problem," she shot back.
He grinned. "Fair. Lorian."
She tilted her head, considering him. "I'm Aelira."
"Aelira," he repeated, savoring the sound. "See, now that's worth remembering."
They talked easily, words flowing without effort, teasing and light, dancing around anything serious by mutual, unspoken agreement. He handed her the ring he had stolen earlier, a delicate band set with a pale blue stone that shimmered faintly, and watched her eyes widen as she slipped it onto her finger.
"For me?" she asked, genuinely pleased.
"For you," he said. "It suited you better than the man who had it."
She laughed and stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until the crowd seemed to fall away. They danced when the music swelled, his hands guiding her easily, her laughter bright and unguarded, and when she leaned in to kiss him it was brief but sweet.
'Gotta get her back to the inn somehow...'
The wine kept coming, cup after cup, and Lorian did not refuse any of it. The edges of the world softened, colors bleeding together more richly, sounds growing warmer and louder, his thoughts growing slower even as they grew heavier. He laughed loudly, told stories that were mostly lies, made Aelira laugh until she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes, all while something tight and dark coiled deeper in his chest.
'Don't think about it,' he told himself as a flash of memory cut through the haze, Roland's stern face, Vivian's hopeful eyes. 'Not tonight.'
He climbed onto the edge of the fountain when the crowd began to chant his name, or perhaps he imagined they did, and spread his arms wide. Illusion spilled from him like breath, light bursting into the air in swirling patterns, fireworks blooming overhead in brilliant blues and golds, reflections of himself appearing around the square, each one playing a different instrument, strings and drums and pipes all harmonizing into a dazzling spectacle. He danced atop the stone, spinning and bowing, the illusions mirroring his movements, the crowd cheering wildly.
For a moment, it worked. For a moment, he felt untouchable.
The laughter shifted before Lorian understood why.
At first it was subtle, the rhythm wrong, admiration slipping into something strained. He smiled through it out of habit, bowing atop the fountain as his illusions spiraled overhead, blue and gold lights bursting and fading in time with the music. But the warmth in the crowd thinned, murmurs crawling over one another, too heavy to ignore.
"What's that say?"
"Is that him?"
"I heard they failed."
Lorian slowed mid-step, breath catching as a vendor pushed forward, holding freshly inked papers high. The headline caught the torchlight, bold and merciless.
DEATHFORGED FAIL IN DEMON TERRITORIES.
DEMON CLANS JOIN THE INQUISITORS OF GODFALL
LORIAN VOLKAS REPORTEDLY TO BLAME.
For a moment, everything went hollow.
The murmurs broke into shouts, voices crashing together as fingers pointed and faces twisted.
"Fraud!"
"Coward!"
"People will die because of you!"
His illusions flickered, lights sputtering as his focus fractured, and the ringing began — a high, thin whine threading through the noise. He laughed sharply, spreading his arms as he jumped down from the fountain.
"Oh, come on," he slurred. "like any of you would've done better."
The crowd pressed closer, anger rolling off them in waves.
"Damn Hybrid!"
"Thief!"
"Criminal!"
"Blame Atlas!" Lorian snapped, shoving through bodies. "Blame the Empire! Blame the gods if it helps you sleep!"
Then the voices changed.
"Lorian."
Roland's voice slid into his head, calm and cold, untouched by the chaos. "You always did know how to make yourself the victim."
Lorian staggered. "Stop," he muttered. "Not now."
"We trusted you," Vivian whispered, her voice closer in the back of his mind, trembling. "I trusted you."
The ringing sharpened, the crowd's shouting warping and fading as his heartbeat thundered in his ears.
"You said you'd protect us," Vivian continued. "You promised."
"I didn't mean to," Lorian breathed, fingers digging into his hair.
"Intent doesn't erase consequences little brother," Roland replied flatly.
Faces blurred, torches smearing into streaks of gold as he shoved harder, tripping. Landing on his hands and knee he spotted Aelira near the fountain, laughing openly now.
"Gross," she said, wiping her lips where she kissed him earlier.
The word cut deeper than the rest.
Vivian's voice cracked. "We believed in you even when Mother didn't. Do you know how stupid that makes us feel?"
The ringing peaked, pain blooming behind his eyes as something inside him snapped. Light rippled around his body and he vanished in a shimmer, the crowd gasping as he slipped through them unseen.
He ran.
Breath ragged, heart pounding, the voices chased him even as the festival noise fell away, his thoughts a mess of denial and guilt he refused to face.
And for once, the city let him go.