The music faded slowly, like embers cooling after a long fire.
Laxyie stepped back first, awkwardly clearing his throat as the last notes drifted over the square. Lyla laughed softly, a sound lighter than anything he had ever heard from her before. Tyke clapped enthusiastically, as if they had just survived a battle instead of embarrassing themselves in front of half the city.
"Terrible," Tyke declared with confidence.
Lyla raised a brow. "You pushed him."
"Still terrible."
Laxyie didn't answer. His face was warm, and not from exertion. He avoided Lyla's eyes, pretending to fix his sleeve. The festival pressed on around them—lanterns bobbing, laughter spilling through streets, musicians tuning fresh strings.
They regrouped near the fountain where Diana stood speaking with a few attendants. When she noticed them, she waved with genuine ease, like they were old friends rather than guests she'd met a day ago.
"You survived the dance," she said, amused.
Barely, Laxyie thought.
After a few pleasantries, Lyla's expression sobered first. She glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear, then spoke quietly.
"Diana," she said, "there's something we wanted to ask."
Diana tilted her head, attentive.
"About Cohen," Laxyie added. "Specifically… assassins."
The word landed heavier than he expected. Diana's smile faded—not into fear, but something closer to resignation.
"So you noticed," she said.
Laxyie stiffened. "Noticed what?"
"That there aren't any," she replied simply.
The air between them cooled.
Diana gestured for them to walk with her, leading them a short distance away from the noise, toward the edge of the square where stone steps overlooked the river. The festival sounds dulled behind them.
"Two years ago," Diana began, resting her hands on the railing, "Cohen lost almost all of its assassin orders."
Lyla's eyes sharpened. "Almost?"
"A few survived by fleeing early," Diana said. "Most didn't get the chance."
Laxyie didn't blink. "Who?"
Diana looked at him carefully. "Aîiurh. And the Ten Elemental Users."
The name struck like a hammer.
Lyla sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers curling at her side. Laxyie felt something cold unfurl in his chest—not rage, not yet—but recognition. The pieces aligned too cleanly. Too easily.
"They came through Cohen," Diana continued, voice steady but distant, "like a purge. No negotiations. No warnings. Assassin dens burned. Leaders executed publicly. Anyone even suspected of being tied to the shadow trades was hunted down."
Tyke looked between them, confused but sensing the weight. "Why?" he asked quietly.
Diana shook her head. "No official reason. My father says it was a 'necessary cleansing by them.' Others say Aîiurh was sending a message. Whatever the truth… Cohen hasn't had an assassin presence since."
Laxyie's fists tightened.
Two years.
That meant when he was still running. Still hiding. Still bleeding in silence.
"So that's why," Lyla murmured. "The city feels… open."
"Yes," Diana said. "Safe. For the first time in generations."
Laxyie looked out over the city—the lights, the order, the absence of shadows watching from rooftops. The safety he had felt wasn't imagined.
It had been paid for.
"Thank you," Lyla said after a moment. "For telling us."
Diana nodded. "Enjoy the festival. Cohen doesn't see many honest travelers anymore."
They returned to the square soon after, but something had changed. The music was still bright. The food still rich. But now Laxyie understood why no one here watched the dark corners.
There was nothing left in them.
The festival didn't end with a final song.
It thinned.
Music loosened into fragments, laughter drifting down side streets before dissolving into the quiet. Lanterns were extinguished one by one, leaving the square bathed in pale blue moonlight, Tyke has went back to the inn as his stomach wasn't feeling great. Above Cohen, the sky was open and clear, stars sharp and distant.
Laxyie stood beside Lyla at the edge of the square, where the noise no longer reached. The stone beneath their feet was cool. For once, there was no pressure on his senses—no watching eyes, no threat hiding in the crowd.
Just stillness.
"That was… fun," Lyla said softly.
She sounded almost surprised.
Laxyie turned his head slightly. He watched her wearing the white gown. Under the moonlight, the gold lining shimmered faintly, like embers beneath snow. She looked different—lighter, unburdened. Less like a warrior forged by loss, more like someone who had stepped out of a long war and didn't yet know what to do with the silence.
"I didn't think I could enjoy something like that," Lyla continued. "Dancing. Eating. Walking around without thinking about tomorrow."
She exhaled, then smiled faintly.
"Maybe there's a life like this for me," she said. "I've already been exiled. I don't belong to Pyoin or anyplace anymore."
Laxyie watched her. Said nothing.
Cohen felt whole. Too whole. A city without shadows.
Lyla glanced at him.
"So," she asked, casually, as if asking about the weather, "what do we do next?"
The question struck deeper than it should have.
Laxyie opened his mouth—then closed it again.
He didn't know the answer.
His thoughts tangled. Cohen had no assassin guilds. No whispers. No work for the life he had lived. And yet… for the first time in years, he wasn't running. Wasn't watching his back. Wasn't alone.
An image surfaced before he could stop it.
Odd jobs. Guard work. Traveling when they wanted. Eating together. Sleeping without fear.
Settling down.
The thought frightened him.
He looked at Lyla again. The moon softened her expression. The strength was still there—but it no longer screamed.
Beautiful, he realized—and froze at the honesty of it.
His chest tightened. He shifted his weight, glanced away, then back. For once, he considered saying it. Asking her if she wanted to stay. If she wanted that kind of life.
He inhaled—
The night screamed.
Heat tore through the air.
A ball of fire slammed into Lyla from the side, exploding against her shoulder in a violent bloom of light. The force hurled her backward across the stone. Fire licked across white fabric as she crashed hard, unmoving.
"Lyla—!"
Laxyie moved.
Pain erased the world.
A spear punched through his chest.
The impact lifted him off his feet before driving him into the ground. His breath shattered in his throat. Stone bit into his back. Warmth spread rapidly beneath him,the taste of iron flooded his mouth.
The sky spun.
Footsteps approached.
Unhurried. Calm.
A shadow fell over him.
"So," a voice said—low, uneven, carrying a strange cadence, as though shaped by thought before sound. "So this is where you ended up."
Laxyie forced his vision to focus.
Aîiurh stood there.
Silver armor etched with faint, shifting lines. Pale green eyes reflecting the moonlight like cold glass. He looked around slowly, taking in the square—the fallen lanterns, the scattered remains of celebration.
"This city," Aîiurh said thoughtfully, "has been… quiet."
His gaze returned to Laxyie.
"And yet," he added, tilting his head slightly, "I found you here beneath festival lights. Slipping in places you should never have been"
There was no triumph in his voice. No excitement.
Only mild curiosity.
He glanced toward Lyla's motionless form.
"I see you have made some acquaintances," Aîiurh continued. "Even though you shouldn't."
Blood filled Laxyie's mouth. His body refused to move.
"You should have considered yourself lucky,and should've stayed buried" Aîiurh went on softly.
He stepped closer, boots scraping stone.
"But fate," he said, faintly amused, "is rarely polite."
He leaned down slightly.
"So," Aîiurh murmured, "you Ashborn… ready to finish what wasn't completed ten years ago?"