The Red Canary

As soon as they were gone, Malec turned to her.

Without hesitation, he took her hand, entwining their fingers tightly—

Too tightly.

Then—

A kiss.

Soft, lingering—pressed against the top of her head.

The gesture sent a shock through her system, not because she was unused to his affection, but because of his silence.

Malec was rarely this quiet.

He should be gloating, teasing her, demanding her attention.

Instead—

"The night parade starts soon."

His voice was low, steady, but there was something off about it.

"Let's go to the main street before the crowds get too heavy."

He pulled her along, weaving through the festival, but Allora barely noticed the movement.

She was too focused on his expression.

His demeanor.

His unsettling sadness.

She studied his face out of the corner of her eye, watching how his gaze lingered on nothing, how his jaw tightened subtly, how his grip on her hand never loosened.

"What's wrong with you?"

The words almost slipped out—but she bit them back.

She had to be careful.

Malec was always calculating.

Strategizing.

If he was acting strange, it meant something was coming.

Something she might not be ready for.

The streets buzzed with energy, the air thick with excitement as the festival reached its peak.

Lanterns swayed overhead, their warm glow painting soft gold over the cobbled roads. The night parade was about to begin, the first performers already gathering down the avenue.

It was loud, joyful—everything Allora had been waiting for.

Her best—and possibly last—chance to run.

But the weight of it sat heavy in her chest.

She was so close.

She had one shot at getting back.

One shot at saving her species.

Eron.

She felt her body tense, deep in thought, trying to run through every possibility, every escape route.

Then—

"What is on your mind?"

Malec's voice pulled her back.

She snapped out of it, her eyes darting to him, startled at the slight crease in his brow.

He was watching her.

His worry was subtle—but it was there.

She needed to cover her tracks.

"The parade."

She forced a small smile, tilting her head toward the main street.

"Tell me about it."

Malec studied her for a beat longer, but he let the question slide, leading her to a quiet spot beneath a large tree, its hanging lanterns glowing softly in the breeze.

The light danced across his silver-wheat colored hair, his fur-lined coat settling against the tree's bark as he leaned back against it.

It was... romantic.

She hated that it was romantic.

She couldn't afford to get caught up in this moment.

And yet, when Malec finally spoke, his voice low and steady, she found herself listening.

"The parade started years ago," he said, his fingers absently brushing against hers. "After the town became more populated with Canariae."

Allora blinked, surprised.

She had expected some self-important Awyan tale about their greatness.

Not… this.

Malec's voice was almost reminiscent, like he was telling a story he had been taught as a child.

"At first, they were just laborers, but the Canariae had their own culture, foods, languages… their own way of surviving. They used small birds—ones they caught in the fields. Kept them as pets, trained them to carry messages between their people, even used them in the mines to warn them of danger."

Allora's heart pounded.

Canary.

In her world—her real world—they had been used the same way.

She had learned about them in school, how miners had taken canaries into tunnels because their delicate bodies would react to toxins before humans could detect them.

It was the same.

Her people—her species—had done the same thing here.

Malec glanced down at her, seeing the realization flicker across her face.

"The Awyan noticed how resourceful the Canariae were. Their strength, their breeding speed, their ability to adapt. They took them as pets in the same way the Canariae took the birds. They used them as servants, trained them, bred them for specific traits."

His eyes darkened slightly.

"And so, the word 'Canariae' became the name for your kind."

Allora stared at him.

Her stomach churned.

Her entire identity was based on a cage.

It wasn't just a word—it was a label of ownership.

She wasn't Allora.

She wasn't even Melodie.

She was a pet.

A canary in a gilded cage.

She turned to look at Malec, and he was already watching her.

Not with arrogance, not with control.

But with something deeper.

A softness in his usually unreadable expression.

A quiet contentment, like this moment—this simple exchange of words and history—was something he wanted to last forever.

Malec noted to himself how much this reminded him of teaching her Awyan.

The laughter, the defiance, the way she tilted her head when she concentrated.

He had enjoyed those moments more than he should have.

And now, under the lantern-lit sky, he felt it again—this strange pull.

This peace.

He wanted this every day.

Forever.

Allora swallowed hard.

She could feel the weight of the collar around her throat under her thick garments, warmed by her skin.

Her fingers brushed over the emblem.

The Silver Fox.

Her prison.

Her currency.

And—if she played this right—her ticket out.

She had no time to be sentimental.

No time to let the softness in Malec's gaze or the warmth in his touch distract her.

She forced a smile, turning toward the growing parade.

She needed to time this perfectly.

"Come on," she murmured, tugging him gently toward the street.

"Let's go enjoy the festival."

For the last time.

Malec's warm, docile hand rested in hers as Allora led him forward, guiding him to the edge of the walkway for a better view.

The night sky twinkled above them, the festive lanterns swaying gently in the evening breeze, their golden glow casting dancing shadows across the streets.

Malec stepped in closer, his body pressing against her back, his arms resting around her, caging her in.

His presence was overwhelming, possessive—protective.

Was he keeping others away?

Or did he just want an excuse to hold her?

Maybe it was both.

Allora could feel his warmth seeping through her immaculately designed blue velvet cloak, his heartbeat steady against her spine.

But it wasn't his touch that unsettled her.

It was his face.

His features were somber, mouth set in a stoic line, his gaze unfocused on the parade but instead scanning the crowd, shifting from face to face.

Brooding. Guarded. Looking for something.

The silver-haired commander was not enjoying himself.

'What is going on inside that albino head of his?'

Finally, he noticed her watching him.

His expression melted instantly, the tension softening into a small, warm smile.

But it looked forced.

Allora frowned.

"Do you even want to watch the parade?" she asked, tilting her head.

Malec's grip tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a slow, lazy motion.

"I don't mind," he murmured against her hair. "As long as you are happy… and safe."

Something felt very off.

But before she could dig into it, the sky suddenly exploded in color.

Fireworks.

A bright burst of orange and gold bloomed above them, cascading in shimmering waves. The crowd cheered, eyes lifted toward the spectacle.

Allora's breath hitched in awe.

'They have fireworks in this world?'

It shouldn't have surprised her—but it did.

Of course they did.

Some things were universal.

These, however, were different.

The shapes, the colors, the way they cracked through the sky—the composition must have been made with different minerals, different powders.

A foreign chemistry that still felt strangely familiar.

Then, the parade began.

The streets roared to life as music swelled around them.

Dancers spun and twirled down the avenue in elaborate costumes, their vibrant feathers shimmering under the lantern light.

Confetti rained down, swirling in the air like glittering snowflakes.

The energy was electric, infectious—beautiful.

Her eyes drank in the extravagance, the joy—and then she noticed something.

The costumes.

Many were dressed as birds.

She watched intently, slowly piecing together the story being told.

It was about the Canariae.

How they came to be in this world.

The dancers portrayed them, small birds flitting into Awyan hands, willingly entering cages, perching on golden stands.

The Awyan characters in the parade held out their arms, and the costumed birds would fly into them, trustingly.

Her stomach tightened.

The symbolism was clear.

They weren't telling a tragic story.

They were telling a celebration.

As if being captured, caged, and owned was something beautiful.

Something destined.

Malec said nothing.

Maybe he didn't think she would notice.

Or maybe he was waiting to see if she would react.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to rip this collar from her throat.

Then—

A flash of red.

Bright. Bold. Unmistakable.

A dancer, dressed in the vivid crimson feathers of a canary, spinning in the center of the parade.

Allora's heart stopped.

Her eyes locked onto the Red Canary, her breath catching in her throat.

It had to be a message.

It was too distinct, too deliberate.

The small Canariae girl's whispered words echoed in her head.

"Follow the little red bird."

Allora's fingers curled into fists.

This was it.

This was the moment.

But before she could make a move, Malec's hand tightened around hers.

Malec's grip on her hand was gentle but firm as he must have sensed her sudden unrest, his fingers warm against her skin.

His eyes, however—dark, watching, waiting.

"Careful, Allora," he had whispered. "I would hate to lose you in the crowd."

The words weren't a threat, not outright.

But they weren't harmless either.

There was something dangerous beneath them, something unspoken but deliberate.

Malec was testing her.

She needed to choose her next move carefully.

She couldn't just bolt.

She'd seen what happened to animals that ran from their hunters—they were chased, caught, devoured.

And Malec…

Malec was a hunter.

A damn good one.

Allora took a slow breath, forcing her body to relax, her expression to stay neutral.

She tilted her head up at him, softening her features, forcing curiosity instead of panic into her voice.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, her voice light, teasing, as if he had simply made a romantic remark.

Malec watched her, his silence thick.

His fingers traced absentmindedly over the silver collar at her throat, the soft clink of metal barely audible over the festival noise.

Finally, he smirked.

"Because you belong to me," he said simply, "and I do not share."

A shiver ran through her body, though she quickly disguised it as a small laugh.

"Possessive, aren't we?" she teased, tilting her chin up at him.

His smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp, watching her too closely.

"You've always known that," he murmured, thumb grazing the pulse point on her wrist.

She swallowed.

Damn it.

She had to be careful.

One wrong move, and she wouldn't just lose her chance to escape.

She'd lose everything.

Confetti rained down, swirling in the air like glittering snowflakes.

The energy was electric, infectious—beautiful.

Allora had never seen a real parade in her life.

Her eyes drank in the extravagance, the joy—and then she noticed something.

The costumes.

Many were dressed as birds.

Some elegant and dazzling, covered in shimmering fabrics of gold and sapphire, moving with the grace of a gentle wind.

Others, bright and colorful, their costumes exaggerated, playful, twirling in chaotic delight.

Dancers spun and laughed, grabbing people from the crowd—pulling them into the parade.

The audience became the performance.

A young Awyan noblewoman squealed as she was twirled into the throng, her golden skirts flaring. A group of giggling children were lifted onto dancers' shoulders, waving small paper flags.

A drunken merchant was dragged into the dance, his laughter echoing as he stumbled along with the performers.

And then—

The Red Bird, dressed in the vivid crimson feathers of a canary, spinning in the center of the parade.

The Red Canary moved fluidly, its vibrant crimson feathers rippling like flames as it twirled and spun through the parade. The crowd marveled, mesmerized by the display of elegance and mystery.

Then suddenly—

It reached out.

Its gloved hands extended toward Allora in a silent invitation, the fabric shimmering in the glow of the festival lanterns.

This was it.

Her cue.

Her chance.

Allora's heart pounded as she lifted her hand, about to take hold—

But then—

Warm fingers curled around her wrist.

She turned to him, her breath catching, her wide dark eyes searching his face in silent desperation.

He held her back, not roughly—but with a grip that told her he was still in control.

For a brief, terrifying second, she thought he wasn't going to let her go.

But instead—

Malec sighed softly, as if some heavy burden was settling onto his shoulders, rather than lifting from them.

Then—without a word—

He tilted her chin up and pressed a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

Allora froze.

Her breath hitched, her body stiffening in confusion.

Malec never let her out of his sight.

Malec never loosened his grip on her.

Malec never let her go.

Yet now—

He was.

"Stay warm, stay safe," he murmured against her skin.

Then he slipped something into her pocket.

And released her.

As The Red Canary pulled her into the crowded streets.