The sun spilled gold across the terrace, painting the stone floor in amber and blush. Warm wind whispered through the garden beyond, swaying the flowering vines that curled around carved pillars. At the far end, seated on the edge of a wooden bench, Akira toyed with a single rose, its petals dark crimson, velvet-soft between his gloved fingers.
His mask caught the dying light, a subtle gleam washing over. Though his face was hidden, his posture was still contemplative. He spun the rose slowly by its stem, the light glint off the thorns.
From down the hall, Daita emerged casual as ever, with a half-eaten cluster of grapes in one hand and the echo of a flirtatious laugh trailing behind him. Just moments earlier, he had leaned toward a young maid in the corridor, his voice low and playful:
"If beauty were a weapon, miss, you'd have me bleeding before I could even draw my sword."
The maid flushed furiously and swatted at his arm, half-scolding, half-giggling. But Daita only chuckled, unabashed, and sauntered off with that crooked grin of his popping another grape into his mouth as he stepped into the light-soaked terrace.
He stopped a few steps from Akira, brow furrowing slightly as he watched the prince toying with a single rose beneath the amber blush of sunset.
"…You look too happy here," Daita said after a pause, his tone casual but edged with something. "Makes me nervous."
Akira tilted his head slightly, "Strange. You say that like joy is a threat."
Daita plucked another grape from the stem and popped it into his mouth. "In this situation? It usually is."
There was a moment of quiet between them—broken only by the rustle of wind and the distant flutter of birds settling beneath the golden sky.
Then Akira spoke again, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "Is it strange," he murmured, "to find calm in something that never changes?"
Daita leaned lazily against a nearby pillar, his gaze shifting toward him with a hint of wariness. "I don't trust that kind of calm. Usually means a storm's just waiting behind it."
A pause.
Then Akira said, soft but firm, "Not all storms are loud. Some… just linger. Long enough to make you forget they're storms at all."
Daita's chewing slowed. He studied the prince in silence for a moment, lips pressed together.
"…You trying to say something without saying it?" he asked, one brow arching. "Because I'm suspicious now."
Akira didn't turn. Just let the rose drop from his fingers as the breeze carried its petals into the air. "Maybe."
Daita stared at him a moment longer, then sighed, holding out the remaining grapes. "Want one?"
Akira gave the faintest chuckle beneath the mask. "No. They're not sour. I don't want them."
Daita snorted, shaking his head. "Why do you like sour things so much? Seriously, Crown Prince, you're weird. Isn't there anything sweet in this world that makes you actually want more of it?"
Akira's voice came softer then, like a memory brushing past.
"…Maybe. I haven't tasted it yet… or maybe I did, and just didn't realize it."
Daita scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right. Knowing you? You'd probably taste honey and complain it wasn't sour enough."
Akira let out a low, quiet chuckle. Daita flopped down beside him on the bench with a stretch, tossing the now-empty grape stem aside.
A pause lingered.
Then Akira's tone shifted, quiet but pointed. "Any word about another attack?"
Daita shook his head slowly, expression dimming. "Nothing concrete. Just whispers. Some say they saw something out by the Southern Ridge, but by the time anyone got there, the place was empty. No blood, no damage, no fire… just cold air and silence."
Akira was still for a moment. Daita let out a short sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Looks like the demon's finally stopped setting fire to everything. No new casualties, no signs of movement. Either it's gone into hiding… or it's waiting."
He leaned back, letting his arms drape along the bench's backrest. "Searches haven't stopped. I've already reported everything to the court, so now it's just… waiting. Waiting for orders. And honestly?" He sighed. "I'm bored out of my mind."
Daita turned his head, gaze drifting to Akira, who was completely still, lost somewhere far from the present.
Daita popped another grape into his mouth, chewing slowly as he cast a sideways glance at Akira. "What about you?" he asked, tone playful but laced with curiosity. "You don't look bored at all. Actually… you seem almost too eager to be here. Has the Laughing Lantern grown on you, or is it the person staying here who has?"
Akira choked on a breath, turning his face away too quickly. "What do you mean by that?"
Daita raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing slightly as a smirk tugged at his lips. "Nothing. Just think it's… a coincidence." He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I happened to come across a few familiar faces around here."
Akira tilted his head, murmuring thoughtfully. "Is that so?"
Daita gave a small, knowing hum. "Mhm. A few more from the sect arrived here recently—at this very inn, actually. Recognized them right away. Master Zhang Dou's disciples. Junior Mo, Junior Wei… and a newer one, Junior Guo."
Akira turned toward him more directly now, tapping his chin in thought.
"They're not just visiting," Daita added, his tone shifting subtly. "I spoke with them. Apparently, they came here tracking the Pale Gorge Wraith. Managed to capture it too. But Junior Guo…" He stood up, eyes narrowing as he looked off toward the courtyard, "…was badly injured. A deep strike."
He paused, watching Akira's expression closely.
"But," Daita continued, easing back with a sigh of relief, "he's alive. They were lucky."
Akira's head tilted slightly. "Lucky?"
"Someone among that group performed a high-level healing technique." Daita's smirk lingered, but there was a flicker of unease beneath it. "Junior Mo mentioned something strange," he said, lowering his voice. "The one who performed the healing… used the Crimson Lotus Reversal."
Akira didn't respond. He stood motionless for a beat, then slowly began to pace, silent but visibly focused.
Daita watched him carefully, folding his arms. "That technique isn't something you just learn. It requires years of cultivation refinement, a precise spiritual balance, and most of all a deep understanding of the Meridian Bloom Cycle. Even I can't pull it off. Heavens, not even you have mastered it completely, and we trained under the best."
He frowned, shaking his head. "And those people? I know their kind. They're not sect-trained, not tied to any recognized order. Just wandering performers—travelers at best. Commoners with no bloodline, no clan affiliation, no lineage to speak of. There's no reason they should even know the theory behind a technique like that, let alone perform the Crimson Lotus Reversal. There's no way they could—"
Akira suddenly raised a hand, stopping him. "I think…" he said calmly, "they might've learned it… somewhere unexpected."
Daita stared, unconvinced.
Akira turned toward him, the sunset flaring behind him, casting half his form in warm gold, the rest swallowed by shadow. "But Daita, didn't you say you were bored?"
"…Huh?"
"I heard there's a Silkfire Revue tonight," Akira said lightly, "just down near the merchant square. Lantern dancers, spirit puppetry… spirit marionettes... the works."
Daita blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden shift.
Akira's tone turned almost playful. "Who knows? Maybe you'll find another lady with a smile sharp enough to cut through that boredom of yours."
Daita narrowed his eyes, smirking. "Are you really the one suggesting that?"
Akira turned his face slightly, but the quiet curve of amusement at the edge of his mask said enough.
Daita shook his head and exhaled a dry laugh. "You deflect better than you fight sometimes."
He reached out and grabbed Akira's wrist, tugging him forward without waiting. "All right, let's go."
A breeze danced past them as they stepped from the edge of shadow into the streaking amber light.
"Let's see what awaits us…"