Four days on the road had a way of grinding things down.
By the time the walls of Cohen finally came into view, the trio had stopped counting the hours. The land flattened gradually, the forests thinning into wide roads paved with stone so smooth it felt wrong beneath their boots. Even the air felt different—less dust, less bite. Orderly. Calm.
Tyke saw the walls first.
"Is that… all Cohen?" he asked, craning his neck.
Laxyie didn't answer right away. He was staring at the gates—no, the gate. Singular. Massive. Wide enough that ten carts could pass through side by side, guarded not by nervous spearmen but disciplined soldiers who stood relaxed, hands resting lightly on their halberds.
No tension. No urgency.
"It's big," Lyla said quietly. "That's just the outer line."
As they approached, they noticed something odd.
No shouting guards.
No suspicious looks.
No sense of being measured or weighed.
Laxyie felt… nothing.
No prickle along his spine. No instinctive tightening in his chest. For a city this large—this important—it felt unsettlingly open. Like a beast that didn't bother baring its teeth.
Just outside the gate, they came upon a small cluster of people gathered around a stalled carriage. One of the wheels had snapped clean through, the axle splintered beneath the weight of the load.
The horse stood calmly, reins loose.
Too calm, Laxyie thought.
A young woman stood beside the cart, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back in a way that suggested she was more used to command than inconvenience. Two attendants hovered nearby, clearly unsure what to do next.
Lyla slowed first. "Looks like trouble."
"Not our trouble," Laxyie said, though his feet didn't stop moving.
They approached anyway.
"What happened?" Lyla asked, already crouching near the wheel.
The young woman straightened. Her posture was effortless—natural authority without arrogance.
"I overestimated the cart," she said plainly. "And underestimated how much I packed."
Tyke blinked. "You broke it by stuffing it too full?"
The woman smiled, just a little. "That would be the simple version."
Laxyie knelt beside Lyla, inspecting the damage. "Axle's gone. You won't fix this on the road."
"That much I gathered."
Lyla cracked her knuckles. "We can carry some of it. Lighten the load enough to roll it in."
The attendants looked startled. "You would do that?"
"Why not?" Lyla replied.
The woman studied them for a moment longer than necessary, then nodded. "Thank you."
They worked quickly. Laxyie lifted crates with practiced ease, Tyke hauling smaller bundles with surprising steadiness. Within minutes, the cart was light enough to move.
As they walked toward the gate together, the woman finally spoke again.
"My father asked me to oversee preparations for the Grand Festival," she said. "I wanted everything perfect. Too perfect, apparently."
"Festival?" Tyke echoed, eyes bright.
"A large one," she confirmed. "Cohen celebrates its founding tomorrow."
They passed through the gates without interruption.
No questions.
No inspection.
No delay.
Inside, the city opened like a different world.
Wide streets. Tiered buildings of pale stone. Water channels running cleanly alongside the roads. People moved with purpose, but not haste—merchants, scholars, guards, families. No chaos. No edge.
"This place…" Tyke whispered. "It's like it doesn't care who we are."
"That's exactly it," Lyla muttered.
They escorted the cart to an inner district where workers immediately took over, bowing respectfully to the young woman.
Only then did she turn fully toward them.
"I should introduce myself properly," she said. "My name is Diana."
Laxyie felt it click a moment too late.
"One of the city's royal daughters," she added calmly.
Tyke's jaw dropped.
Lyla blinked once. "Ah."
Laxyie exhaled through his nose. Of course.
"I owe you a debt," Diana continued. "Please allow me to invite you to the festival tomorrow."
Laxyie opened his mouth. "That won't be—"
"Will there be food?" Tyke asked immediately.
Diana laughed, genuinely. "More than you could finish in a week."
Tyke turned slowly. "Please."
Laxyie glared at him.
"Please please."
Lyla snorted. "Well, that settles it."
Laxyie pinched the bridge of his nose. "We didn't come here for—"
"—for fun?" Lyla finished. "Exactly why we should go."
Diana smiled. "Dress well. Cohen takes its festivals seriously."
After they parted ways, Laxyie stopped in the middle of the street.
"What was that about?"
Lyla stretched her arms. "I've never been to something like this. Not as… me."
"We're not here for festivals."
Tyke and Lyla turned at the same time.
Their expressions were identical.
Wide.
Hopeful.
Unfair.
Laxyie stared at them.
"…Don't do that."
They leaned closer.
He sighed. "Fine. Whatever."
Lyla beamed. "So—how much money do we have left?"
"Enough."
Her eyes lit up. "Then we need dresses."
"What?"
Cat eyes again.
He lost.
They spent the rest of the evening doing things Laxyie had never planned to do in his life—wandering markets, arguing over fabric, listening to Lyla debate colors like it was a matter of survival.
By the time night fell, they found an inn overlooking one of Cohen's inner lakes. Lanterns reflected on the water. Music drifted faintly through the streets.
Laxyie lay awake longer than the others.
Cohen was quiet.
Too quiet.
And for the first time in a long while, the world wasn't pressing down on him.
That unsettled him more than any enemy ever had.