The festival began on a morning of clear skies and soft breeze.
Banners of every color hung from the academy towers, snapping in the wind like the wings of countless birds. The main square, usually a quiet space of stone benches and a single fountain, had been transformed. Booths lined the perimeter, their wooden frames draped in cloth, their counters laden with goods. Food, drink, trinkets, games. A stage had been erected at the far end, where musicians would play and dancers would perform. The air smelled of roasted meat, spun sugar, and fresh flowers.
Nero stood at the edge of the square, his hands in his pockets, taking it all in. He had never been to a festival. Not like this. Not one where he was free to wander, to explore, to simply enjoy. The Raizen estate had held celebrations, but he had never been invited. His mother had described them to him in soft whispers, the colors, the music, the laughter. He had listened, imagining, but the imagining had always been pale.
