The Festival's First Breath

Chapter 4: The Festival's First Breath

Morning had already taken full hold of the skies when Fenn's carriage rolled swiftly along the winding road, curving through gentle hills painted in soft greens and golds. Inside, beneath the domed roof, three figures rode: Syrex, Caelum, and the ever-chatty old man himself. The carriage doors were half-open, letting in the crisp breeze that danced through the space, lifting strands of Caelum's golden-blonde hair as sunlight kissed his cheekbones.

Laughter echoed within.

"And then I told her," Fenn bellowed, lifting an imaginary mug in one hand, "'If you want to marry a blacksmith, you better get used to smelling like smoke!'"

Caelum burst into laughter, pressing his hand to his lips. His shoulders shook gently, while even Syrex , ever the more reserved , allowed himself a crooked smile.

"You didn't just make that story up on the spot, did you?" Syrex squinted at him with suspicion.

"I never make anything up," Fenn replied with mock seriousness. "I simply… embellish reality."

The road stretched further, winding into a glade where a silver-threaded river meandered between polished stones. Sunlight shimmered off its surface like scattered coins. They turned off the main path and stopped beneath the wide arms of an old tree. There, in the cool shade, they laid out blankets and shared a simple meal: crusty bread, salted meat, ripe fruit.

The air was warm, fragrant with summer , the scent of dry grass, distant wildflowers, and the murmur of flowing water. Syrex cupped the cold river water in his hands, splashing his face before inhaling deeply, as if the breath of the countryside could cleanse months of city noise.

"Even the silence sounds better here," he muttered.

"That's 'cause you're not in a city where every third man tries to sell you a 'magic pebble'," Fenn chuckled, reclining against a root.

They ate slowly, trading jests between bites. Caelum's laughter rang light , a sound rare and sincere, as if he'd forgotten the weight of being watched, of destiny whispering in the wind.

By noon, they neared the heart of the plains , where the festival bloomed like a second sunrise. Tents rose in vibrant colors, flags fluttered with ribbon tails, and the scent of roasting meat mingled with sweets and flowers. Stages echoed with music, children weaved through crowds, and laughter stitched the air together.

Fenn brought the carriage to a halt near the designated lots, nestling it between other fantastical transports: brass-tipped wagons, floating platforms, and even one beast-shaped contraption that hissed like a living insect.

"Hope no one steals her," he muttered, fastening the lock.

"Who'd want to steal something that collapses under its own nostalgia?" Syrex smirked.

They stepped into the crowd.

Heads turned. Murmurs stirred. Someone pointed. Another whispered.

Syrex slowed, his gaze scanning the surroundings.

"...We're getting looks," he said quietly.

"Must be the smell," Fenn sniffed dramatically. "Or maybe... people just ain't used to faces this good-looking?"

His words were light, but Syrex cast a sideways glance at Caelum , and smirked knowingly.

"Yeah. That might be it. If I were them, I wouldn't look away either."

Caelum said nothing, but a faint blush bloomed on his cheeks.

The festival consumed them. Booths exploded with color, games lured with bells and prizes. The boys hurled horseshoes, fired wooden arrows, and sparred in contests none of them could quite win. Every miss was met with theatrical groans from Syrex, and every hit with Caelum's teasing grin.

"Your aim's like a blind chicken's," Caelum called when Syrex missed from three steps away.

"And you throw like a nervous maiden," Syrex shot back. Then, laughing, ",Just kidding! Don't hit me!"

Fenn trailed behind, crunching on roasted nuts, watching with eyes that gleamed through wrinkles.

"When I was your age, I won every contest in the realm. They called me the Scourge of the Stalls," he said, stroking his beard like a king recalling war.

"The Scourge of the Stalls?" Syrex snorted. "That's what they call thieves, old man."

Their laughter echoed brighter than any music.

They bit into honeyed bread, caramel apples, drank cold berry cider, listened to flute players and tumblers. The world felt soft and young , until it didn't.

"Carriage! Clear the way!"

The crowd split. A hush swept through. The music faltered, joy paused. Like a shadow, a royal carriage glided down the cobbled street, guarded by mounted knights in black and gold. Its wood gleamed , carved in delicate lines, almost too fine for human hands. Wheels kissed the stones in silence, as if the wind itself bore its weight.

"A royal escort?" Syrex murmured.

Fenn narrowed his eyes. "Not one I've seen. The design... it's different. Elegant. That must be..."

The door opened.

A girl stepped out.

She looked no older than seventeen. Her dress was regal, though not ostentatious , every fold precise, her back straight, every strand of her pale hair perfectly coiled. Her knights moved into place, parting the sea of onlookers. But she did not speak. She only turned her head,

And her gaze found Caelum.

It was swift, but exact. Her eyes, sharp and strange, landed on him and did not move.

The moment stretched. Something unspoken passed between them , something ancient and new all at once. And then, it vanished. She turned away, stepping into the crowd like a dream fading with the dawn.

Caelum stood still, his breath caught.

"...Who was that?" Syrex asked beside him, still staring.

Fenn shifted, tone quiet for once.

"No idea. First time I've seen her. Probably seventeen now... She would've been seven the last time her face was hidden from the public. Too young back then."

Syrex frowned. "But she looked at us. At him. Her eyes,there was something in them."

"Heat, noise, a royal cloak , you imagined it," Fenn waved it off, though his eyes glinted with something left unsaid.

Still, he smiled and clapped Syrex's shoulder. "Come now. The festival's not over."

The music returned. Colors bled into the air again. Bells rang. Confetti spun above heads. They rejoined the swirl.

Caelum won a small archery game and tossed the carved wooden statue to Syrex with a grin. "Here. You'd never win it yourself."

Fenn tried and missed entirely, prompting another round of jokes.

"The master warrior felled... by a stick and string!" Syrex wailed, arms flung skyward. "What's next? A frog beats him at chess?"

Caelum laughed, bright and free.

Night fell in amber and purple. Lanterns lit, flames danced in bowls. The trio learned the festival would stretch on for three more days. That brought relief , a promise of more moments like this.

As the skies deepened, they returned to the carriage. Fenn climbed in first, claiming his corner. Syrex followed, settling near the food sack. Caelum lingered a moment, casting one last look toward the lights , then gently shut the door.

Inside, it was warm. Wooden creaks, the hush of straw, and distant laughter filled the air.

"Remember how you missed your first shot?" Syrex needled, peering at Fenn.

"Better to fail honestly than cheat your way through," Fenn said with mock pride. "Unlike some people."

Caelum only waved him off, already drifting toward sleep, a smile playing on his lips.

"I still shot best..."

Their voices softened. The laughter died down. Outside, lanterns flickered like fading stars, and the wind sighed through canvas and wood.

The first day ended not with fire, nor fear , but in rare stillness. A breath held between the unknown and the inevitable.

And none of them , not Fenn, nor Syrex, nor Caelum , could yet see how deep the river of fate would soon run.