Chapter 44: Christmas!

25th Eclipsera—Christmas Day

The city was alive with celebration.

Snow blanketed the cobblestone streets, reflecting the golden glow of lanterns and festive decorations strung along every building. Children ran through the marketplace, bundled in thick coats, their laughter ringing in the air as they threw snowballs and dragged along wooden sleds. Merchants stood outside their shops, offering steaming cups of mulled cider and roasted chestnuts to eager customers. Bells chimed in the distance, marking the official start of Christmas Day in the kingdom.

The skyscraper-sized Christmas tree in the center of the plaza was adorned with twinkling crystals, enchanted ornaments that shimmered in vibrant colors. Beneath it, citizens of all ages gathered—exchanging gifts, embracing loved ones, and basking in the warmth of the season.

The king, ever the busy man, had retreated to his royal chambers to oversee holiday exports and imports, ensuring the economy thrived even amid the festivities. His presence was felt across the city, but today, the people ruled the streets, indulging in joy, love, and unity.

And in the midst of it all—

Livia and I sat on a bench, away from the crowds.

She had invited me here, her usual confident posture relaxed, yet her crimson eyes still held that sharp glint of curiosity.

"I figured this would be a good place," she said, brushing some snow off the bench before sitting. "Not too crowded, but still close enough to feel the holiday spirit."

I took a seat beside her, watching as the city pulsed with life.

Christmas.

This was my first time truly experiencing it.

In my previous life, Christmas had never been anything more than a foreign concept. As a slave, it was just another cold day, another reminder of my insignificance. As a king, it had been nothing more than a tool—a way to keep the people entertained, to mask their suffering with false joy.

But here—it was different.

There was no pretense.

The people weren't celebrating because they were ordered to. They were celebrating because they wanted to. Because they found happiness in it.

For the first time, I was part of something genuine.

I glanced at Livia, who was fiddling with a small wrapped package in her hands.

"…Well?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Are we exchanging gifts, or are you just going to stare into the distance like some tragic protagonist?"

I exhaled, pulling out the small black box from my coat.

"Here," I said, handing it to her.

She blinked in surprise, then smirked. "I was expecting you to just toss it at me."

"I considered it," I admitted.

She chuckled before carefully untying the crimson ribbon and lifting the lid.

Her fingers brushed over the deep navy blue leather of the journal, tracing the intricate silver constellations on the cover. When she flipped it open, her eyes flickered to the inscription I had requested:

"For the woman who sees beyond the surface."

For a moment, she was silent.

Then, she laughed softly.

"…I didn't think you had this kind of sentimentality in you," she mused. "A custom journal? And an actual compliment? Who knew Sylas had a heart?"

I rolled my eyes. "Just don't let it get to your head."

She studied the journal for a moment longer before closing it and tucking it under her arm.

"…Thank you," she said, her voice quieter this time. "It's perfect."

I gave a small nod.

Then, she held out her own gift—a simple, neatly wrapped box.

"Your turn," she said.

I took the box from her hands and carefully unwrapped it, revealing—

A dagger.

Sleek, well-balanced, crafted from blacksteel with a finely sharpened edge. The hilt was adorned with subtle runes, likely for reinforcement, and a leather grip designed for comfortable handling.

A practical weapon.

Yet, there was something more to it.

I turned it slightly, noticing an engraving along the blade.

"For the man who refuses to fall."

I ran a thumb over the inscription, feeling its weight—not just the physical metal, but the meaning behind it.

Livia leaned forward slightly, studying my expression. "You like it?"

I nodded. "It's well-crafted. You had this made?"

"Commissioned," she admitted. "I figured you'd appreciate something you could actually use. Knowing you, you'll probably end up in some kind of life-threatening battle sooner or later."

She wasn't wrong.

I held the dagger up to the light, watching the steel glint under the glow of the Christmas lanterns.

A book. A weapon.

Two gifts, both practical and personal.

Both symbols of how we saw each other.

"…Thank you," I said finally.

Livia smirked. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

I scoffed, tucking the dagger into my coat.

For a while, we simply sat there, watching the snowfall, listening to the distant sounds of carolers and the laughter of children.

For the first time in both my lives—

Christmas felt real.

Christmas in the Kingdom

Walking through the snow-dusted streets, I took in the sights and sounds of the kingdom in full celebration. The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and mulled wine, while the chatter of joyful families and wandering musicians filled the streets with a warm, festive melody.

The marketplace was particularly lively—stalls overflowing with brightly wrapped gifts, hand-knitted scarves, and enchanted trinkets that shimmered under the golden glow of lanterns. Merchants called out with enthusiasm, their voices eager to attract last-minute buyers.

"Fresh baked honey bread! Perfect for a holiday feast!"

"Magical snow globes! Each one holds a winter scene from the farthest corners of the realm!"

"Custom jewelry for your loved ones! Show them how much they mean to you!"

Everywhere I turned, smiling faces. Families laughing together. Lovers exchanging small gifts. Children weaving through the crowds, their arms filled with wrapped presents and sugary treats.

It was a sight I had never known in my past life.

In my old kingdom, celebrations were often staged displays—designed to maintain morale, not because the people were truly happy. But here? This was real.

Christmas belonged to the people.

For the People

The city's main square was packed with performers—fire-breathers, illusionists, and jesters putting on shows for enthusiastic crowds. A group of foreign bards from the East played traditional winter ballads, their string instruments weaving a soft, melancholic tune that reminded me of distant lands beyond these walls.

At one corner, a group of orphaned children gathered around a storyteller who was acting out the tale of the Frost King—a legendary figure who, according to myth, traveled the world each winter to leave behind small gifts for those in need. Their eyes shone with wonder, completely enraptured by the performance.

Near the cathedral, priests and priestesses handed out hot meals and blankets to the homeless, ensuring no one went cold on this night. Acts of generosity like these weren't uncommon in this kingdom, but they took on a greater meaning during the holidays.

Christmas, it seemed, wasn't just a celebration of joy—it was a reminder of compassion.

For the Foreigners

Even foreign merchants and travelers found themselves swept up in the festivities.

In a plaza lined with multicolored tents, emissaries from distant kingdoms shared their own cultural traditions.

• A group of traders from the desert regions of Solmara had set up an incense stall, where people could purchase scented pouches said to bring good fortune for the new year.

• A delegation from the Western Isles performed a traditional dance with rhythmic drum beats, inviting curious onlookers to join them.

• An alchemist from the Empire of Astravia sold tiny enchanted stars that could hover above one's head, mimicking the night sky.

Despite their differences in culture, religion, and background—everyone participated in some way.

For one night, the borders between nations blurred, and all that remained was celebration.

For the King

Of course, not everyone had the luxury of simply enjoying the day.

In the royal palace, the king remained hard at work.

While others exchanged gifts and gathered with loved ones, he was surrounded by stacks of documents and ledgers, his attention focused on the logistics of the holiday.

Christmas, for the ruler of a kingdom, wasn't just about celebration—it was about ensuring the economy remained stable throughout the festivities.

Holiday exports had to be carefully managed. Trade routes monitored for increased demand. Security forces doubled in key areas to prevent any unruly behavior.

And, of course, there was the matter of diplomacy.

Several foreign dignitaries had arrived in the capital, using the festivities as an excuse to negotiate trade agreements. While the common folk saw Christmas as a time of joy, the elite saw it as a time of strategy.

I had no doubt the king was handling it all expertly.

Though rumors suggested he was a womanizer, I doubted he had time for such things today. A ruler who truly wanted power couldn't afford distractions, no matter how many stories the people whispered about him.

For Me

As I walked through the city, taking in all the sights, I realized—

This was the first time in my life I had ever experienced Christmas as a participant, rather than a distant observer.

I wasn't a slave, looking at festivities from the shadows, never allowed to partake.

I wasn't a king, using the holiday as a political tool to maintain control.

I was just… here.

Walking. Watching. Existing.

And for the first time, I understood why people cherished this day.

Christmas wasn't about grand feasts or extravagant gifts.

It was about sharing warmth.

It was about being together.

It was about feeling, even for just one night, that everything in the world was exactly as it should be.

And perhaps—

That was the greatest gift of all.

The Great Christmas Snowball War

It started small— innocently, even.

A group of children, laughing and shrieking, tossed snowballs at each other in the marketplace square. Their parents watched with fond smiles, too caught up in conversation to realize the inevitable escalation.

Then, a merchant—a broad-shouldered man selling enchanted scarves—was struck square in the face with a well-packed ball of snow.

Silence.

For a moment, it seemed like he would brush it off.

But then—

He bent down, grabbed a handful of snow, and launched it at the nearest group of children.

That was all it took.

The marketplace erupted into chaos.

A passing guard, still in his uniform, was hit by a stray snowball. Instead of scolding the offenders, he grinned, removed his helmet, and joined the fray.

More followed.

Guards, merchants, travelers, nobles—no one was safe. Even court officials, men and women typically too dignified for such things, found themselves drawn in.

The streets became a war zone, with hastily formed alliances, betrayal, and sheer, unfiltered mayhem.

The Battle Lines Are Drawn

"TO ME!" a blacksmith bellowed, rallying a group of burly workers behind him. "WE SHALL NOT FALTER!"

Across from them, a group of university scholars had barricaded themselves behind overturned fruit carts, developing strategic throwing formations.

"We'll take them down in waves," a bespectacled woman commanded, her voice filled with a terrifying level of authority. "Aim for the legs first. Then, we advance."

A baker and his apprentices had set up an artillery position, rolling snowballs into massive boulders and launching them with slings fashioned from bread baskets.

The royal guards, abandoning their posts entirely, formed a special division—known only as the Blizzard Battalion.

Even travelers from foreign lands joined in, eager to experience this ridiculous tradition firsthand.

The city, normally divided by status, trade, and culture, was now separated into only two factions—

Those with snowballs.

And those about to get hit.

The King Watches from Above

From the tallest tower of the palace, the king stood at his window, watching the absolute bedlam unfold below him.

His gloved fingers tapped idly against the sill as he observed his guards hurling snowballs instead of maintaining order.

His ministers, some of the most respected minds in the kingdom, were now ducking behind barrels, engaged in full-on snow warfare.

And his people—his merchants, his travelers, his commoners and nobles alike— were all laughing, playing, throwing themselves into the battle with childlike abandon.

The king sighed.

"This kingdom…" he muttered, shaking his head.

Yet—

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

For all their chaos, for all their lack of restraint—

His people were happy.

And perhaps that was what truly mattered.

The Final Clash

Back in the city, the endgame approached.

The remaining fighters had formed alliances, and two massive armies now faced off in the center of the capital, staring each other down.

On one side: The Workers' Legion, led by a blacksmith with snow-covered hair, his forge hammer now repurposed to launch massive snowballs.

On the other: The Scholars and Blizzards, commanded by a young noblewoman wielding a frozen broomstick like a sword.

For a moment, time stood still.

Then—

"CHARGE!"

The two sides rushed forward, snowballs flying like arrows, war cries turning into laughter as they collided in a final, glorious clash.

No one knew who won.

Perhaps there was no winner.

But as the last handfuls of snow were thrown, and the entire city lay covered in white, there was only one undeniable truth—

This was the best Christmas ever.

A Quiet Moment Amidst the Aftermath

The streets of the capital lay blanketed in thick snow, the remnants of the greatest snowball war in history. Laughter still echoed in the distance as the last remnants of the battle dissipated, but the once chaotic battlefield had now settled into a peaceful stillness.

Sylas and Livia sat side by side on a frost-covered wooden bench, their breath visible in the crisp winter air.

Sylas exhaled, rubbing his gloved hands together, his mind momentarily wandering back to the king—a man who, despite his apparent strength and wisdom, was a mystery to him.

He had seen the king once at the grand ball, standing at the highest balcony, watching the event unfold beneath him. The man commanded presence, even without speaking. He wasn't just a ruler; he was a symbol, an embodiment of power, refinement, and—perhaps—subtle loneliness.

Rumors painted him as a womanizer, but Sylas found that doubtful. A man of his stature had no time for frivolous affections. No queen sat at his side, no children bore his name, and while he surrounded himself with courtiers and nobles, there was always a distance—a separation between him and his people, as if he stood atop a mountain where no one else could reach.

But today, as the city indulged in childlike joy, Sylas wondered— had the king ever been allowed to play in the snow? Had he ever been given the chance to indulge in something so simple, so human?

He doubted it.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Livia's voice pulled him back to the present.

She sat beside him, looking utterly content, cheeks flushed from the cold, a soft smile playing at her lips. Her long, auburn hair was dusted with snowflakes, and she still had a small chunk of snow stuck to the collar of her coat, remnants of the battle.

Sylas shook his head. "Nothing important."

Livia gave him a knowing look. "You were thinking about the king, weren't you?"

He raised a brow. "Since when could you read my mind?"

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "You get that broody look every time you're thinking about something historical or political. Let me guess—his rule? His loneliness? Or are you wondering if he secretly joined the snowball fight from his tower?"

Sylas chuckled at the last thought. "That would be a sight."

Livia hummed in amusement, kicking a bit of snow with her boot.

The silence between them was comfortable, the kind that didn't require words. The city was still alive around them—vendors reopening their stalls, children dragging tired parents home, guards returning to their posts, pretending as if they hadn't just spent hours flinging snow at citizens.

And then—

Something unexpected happened.

Livia turned to him—her expression unreadable. Her amber eyes, warm and contemplative, studied him for a long moment.

Then—before he could say anything— she leaned in and kissed him.

Sylas froze.

It was brief—but undeniable.

Her lips, cold from the winter air, brushed against his softly, a fleeting yet deliberate touch.

The world, which had been so loud and full of movement only moments ago, stilled.

For the first time in both of his lives, Sylas didn't know what to do.

By the time his mind caught up to what had just happened, Livia had already pulled away, a small, almost amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Well," she said, her voice light, teasing, but with a tinge of something more. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

Sylas blinked. "I—" He stopped himself, recalibrating his thoughts. "That was… unexpected."

Livia tilted her head. "Was it?"

Yes. Very much so.

Sylas had never indulged in romance—not in his past life, and not in this one. Love was a foreign concept, something he had read about, something he had seen in others, but never something he had experienced for himself.

And yet, here she was—challenging that.

"I—" Sylas started, but Livia simply laughed, shaking her head.

"You don't have to say anything," she said, standing up and stretching. "I just figured… why not? It's Christmas, after all."

She turned to face him, hands on her hips. "Now, are you going to sit there like a stunned idiot, or are we getting some warm cider?"

Sylas stared at her for a moment longer before huffing out a small, almost breathless chuckle.

"I suppose warm cider wouldn't be the worst idea," he said, standing.

Livia grinned. "Good answer."

And as they walked together through the snow-covered streets, for the first time in a long, long time—Sylas felt something unfamiliar stir within him.

Something new. Something he wasn't sure how to define yet.

But maybe…

Maybe he didn't have to.