Two weeks had passed since Char's return to Oryn-Vel, but the city was already unrecognizable.
The streets overflowed with lanterns and banners, their vibrant reds and golds swirling in the crisp winter air.Merchants lined the roads, their stalls bursting with candied fruits, spiced meats, woven trinkets, and intricately carved masks. Children darted between the crowds with sparklers, their laughter mixing with the calls of vendors haggling over last-minute festival goods.
It was chaotic, it was loud—and it was almost suffocating with the sheer number of people preparing for the New Year Festival. The new year of 769 was just weeks away.
Char barely had time to breathe as he juggled the weight of six overstuffed shopping bags.
"Why the hell did I agree to this—"
Tess had graciously volunteered him to do all the last-minute shopping. Meaning she had handed him a list longer than his arm, shoved money into his hands, and promptly disappeared to 'supervise' the festival setup.
Now, he was elbowing his way through the packed marketplace, laden down with:— Three bundles of fresh herbs— A jug of imported honey-wine— A set of firecrackers for Callen ("Get the big ones. The illegal ones," he had said)— An obnoxiously large bag of candied nuts for Ishmael— A bolt of fine cloth Marin had specifically requested ("Only if it's deep indigo with silver embroidery. If you bring back anything else, I'll kill you.")— And a hand-carved festival mask that Tess had apparently been eyeing for weeks.
The bags dug into his arms.
The crowd pressed around him.
The chill in the air did nothing to stop the overwhelming heat of the mass of bodies moving through the market.
Still, even with all the hassle, Char couldn't help but take it all in.
The Festival of the New Year was unlike anything he had ever seen before.
It felt like a mix of Christmas, Halloween, and New Year's Eve all at once—with the warmth of winter feasts, the eerie glow of festival masks, and the electric thrill of the year's end approaching. And along with the fact Oryn-Vel was one of the largest and most exuberant cities in the country, the festivities were going well, even if each street was packed with hundreds of tourists coming to the city from far-off regions for the sole reason of celebrating the festival in the Oryn-Velian over-the-top fashion.
He dodged a group of masked performers, their painted faces half-shrouded in smoke as they practiced twirling burning torches in the square.
Further down, a vendor sold tiny glass charms, claiming they would ward off bad luck in the coming year.
Char exhaled sharply and adjusted the weight of the bags.
"Alright," he muttered, glancing down at the final item on Tess's list.
'Pick something for yourself.'
He blinked.
…Huh.
Tess had casually tacked it on at the end, like it wasn't a big deal, but something about it made Char pause.
He hadn't really thought about getting something for himself.
Between everything that had happened—the journey, the battles, the losses—it hadn't even occurred to him.
But as he stood in the heart of the bright and bustling city, with the glow of festival lights flickering around him, he realized:
This was the first New Year's Festival he'd ever get to experience.
Maybe he should pick something.
Something small, just for himself.
He tightened his grip on the bags and turned down the next street, eyes scanning the stalls for something that felt right.
*
Char had severely underestimated how hard it would be to pick something for himself.
He had thought it would be easy—just grab a festival trinket and be done with it.
Instead, he had been standing in the same crowded shopping district for over thirty minutes, arms full of bags, staring at far too many choices.
Did he go for a small enchanted pendant? Too impractical.
A hand-bound journal with pressed gold lettering? Too much like homework.
A set of miniature festival masks? …Maybe, but still, eh.
"Gods, why is this so hard?" Char groaned, running a hand through his hair. The shopkeeper at the stall he was loitering at gave him an unimpressed glance, but he ignored it.
As he debated yet another option—a dagger with an obsidian hilt—someone suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
"Took you long enough to notice us, dumbass."
Char whipped around, startled, only to come face-to-face with Merrick and Mira.
Both of them looked completely at home in the bustling city—Merrick had a thick scarf wrapped around his neck and an armful of wrapped festival snacks, while Mira was dressed in a warm cloak, her hood down for once, her wild braid catching in the lantern light.
Woah, she looked especially cute that time…
Char blinked, then grinned.
"Well, if it isn't my two favorite runaways," he said. "How's city life treating you?"
Merrick snorted. "Loud. Busy. Overpriced." He took a massive bite of a sugar-dusted pastry, mumbling through a full mouth, "But the food's good, so I can't complain."
Mira rolled her eyes but smiled. "It's been… nice, actually." She glanced up at the festival lights overhead. "I've never seen a city so alive before."
Char exhaled a small laugh. "Yeah. Oryn-Vel doesn't do things halfway."
They caught up quickly about the last two weeks—how Mira had already made friends with the local street-runners, how Merrick had somehow hustled his way into winning free meals from a few taverns before the two girls forced him to find some part time work in an accessory shop that sold so-called 'authentic' items, and how Selka had been adjusting well to the city, though she mostly stayed indoors to avoid drawing attention.
"She's fine, though," Mira reassured, seeing Char's concern. "She's tougher than she looks."
Char nodded, shifting the weight of his bags. "Good. I was worried."
Merrick tilted his head, eyeing the ridiculous amount of stuff Char was carrying. "You get roped into shopping duty?"
Char sighed dramatically. "You have no idea."
Mira laughed. "And let me guess—you're still here because you can't pick something for yourself?"
Char grumbled something unintelligible.
Merrick and Mira exchanged a look. Then—before he could react—they both grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him away.
"Alright, that's it, we're choosing for you."
"Wait—what—HEY—"
"You're terrible at this, Char, just let us handle it."
"Merrick, Mira, I swear—"
They pulled him into a nearby stall that was stacked to the brim with shiny but expensive-looking items, and within five minutes, they had picked something for him—a sleek black leather wristband, lined with subtle silver etchings.
"See? Simple. Looks good. Done." Mira grinned as Char fastened it around his wrist. It was a little tight, but after all the times he'd been injured and had nearly died, a tight bracelet was the least of his worries.
"…Okay, fine," Char admitted, grudgingly. "It's cool."
Merrick clapped a hand on his shoulder. "And now you don't have to stand around like a lost idiot anymore. Win-win."
Char rolled his eyes but smiled.
"Alright, alright—I gotta run. Tess will kill me if I'm late."
He gave them one last nod before turning back towards the safe house—finally, with something for himself. His pace picked up as he hefted his bags again and began swerving and darting between the crowd going against him, heading back to his home.
*
Char sighed heavily as he reached the safehouse door, nudging it open with his foot.
He barely had time to step inside before he immediately regretted it.
Tess and Ishmael were—
"Oh, for the love of—can you two NOT?!"
Tess and Ishmael were sprawled out on the couch, completely wrapped up in each other.
Char's face flushed instantly. It wasn't the first time he'd walked in on them like this, and gods knew it wouldn't be the last, but that didn't make it any less mortifying.
Tess barely glanced up, her hand still tangled in Ishmael's stupidly cool hair.
"Welcome back, Char." She smirked against Ishmael's lips. "Did you get everything?"
"Yes, I got everything, now STOP—"
"Ooh, someone's grumpy."
Ishmael chuckled against her neck. "He's just mad because he's single."Apparently, Char was close enough to them now to hear the stoic man's rare quip.
Char threw a bag at them. "Die."
The two just laughed as the bag harmlessly bounced off Ishmael's arm.
Before Char could suffer through any more of their public display of affection, a sharp voice cut through the room.
"Honestly, Callen, how do you keep getting into trouble?!"
Char turned toward the kitchen area, where Marin stood arms crossed, glaring down at Callen.
The younger boy looked absolutely miserable, shifting awkwardly under her motherly stare. There was a noticeable bruise forming on his cheek.
"I didn't do anything!" Callen protested, voice cracking slightly.
Marin arched a brow. "Oh, really? So that bruise just appeared out of nowhere?"
Callen winced.
Char sighed, rubbing his temples.
"What did he do this time?"
Marin turned, exasperated. "Got into a fight with some street punks. Again."
"I WON, THOUGH."
"That is NOT the point!"
Char groaned and dropped his bags onto the nearest table.
"I was gone for, like, an hour. An HOUR. And everything's already a disaster."
Tess finally sat up, grinning. "Welcome home, Char."