The smell of moss, water, and pleasant reptilian musk brought Igni out of his sleep. Feeling slightly groggy, he sat up with a sighing groan. He looked at his arm and peeled off a sleeve of skin.

His new skin was no longer crumpled, smooth with a faint scaly texture. He placed the shed skin into the pile that had accumulated during his brief, dazed awakenings. Feeling his arm, he pulled off another old layer while softly humming to himself.

Once done, he rose from the bed and approached a door he kept slightly cracked open. It led to the bathing room, and he prepared a lukewarm bath.

After bathing and donning selective clothes, he exited his room.

He hummed with a smile upon hearing distant sounds of celebration. His tongue flicked out, and he rested his hands in his billowing sleeves. The air thrummed with excitement and a unique happiness that came only once a cycle. He moved to see the ground floor.

Looking down from the stone rail, he saw people of all races and creeds intermingling with smiles and laughter. Children ran all over the place, giggling and skipping around. Such was the castle’s atmosphere during Jonjae-Bū.

He strolled down the staircase and waved at the usual group of children on his way out of the castle. Once outside, he opened a portal, changing his surroundings from the inferno surrounding his home to a grassland a few miles between him and the wall that was Yake Meresta, The Feast—Faifeleth.

In the sky, ships carrying hundreds of passengers traveled to and from the central city. He began the long walk to his destination with a sigh of contentment. He was early. Too early. Fortunately, this meant he could dally a bit. His smile widened at the thought of getting a treat to eat to celebrate the New Year.

The initial mile or two made for a pleasant walk, albeit a slightly chilly one; the early spring air still carried a bite. With this in mind, he had the forethought to wear enough layers to be comfortable while also making it so he could move easily if necessary. At some point during his trek, he wrapped a simple light blue scarf around his neck. It would do to keep him thoroughly warm.

Barely visible blue entered the dark sky when he arrived at the trodden road leading to the city checkpoint. Standing within the verdant on the roadside, he observed the civilians entering with his head slightly tilted sideways. A larger influx of people entered the city for the celebration than usual. Many were nobility, but a handful were also royalty from other countries. He noticed at least one Zholä Dynasty and Nen Dynasty procession passing through lowering heads as citizens bowed.

He took his first step forward, watching closely as the civilians made subconsciously a small path for him to walk through. It wasn’t noticeable if one was among them but it was painfully obvious from his point of view. He stood above most heads of browns and blonds, yet he blended in with the citizens, taking each steady step with intent. A large overhead shadow brought his blindfolded gaze to the sky. Military ships patrolled the gloomy heavens, their searchlights flashing now and then as they watched for suspicious activity.

Before long, he stood directly before the checkpoint. He didn’t waver in his steps, his eyes looking between the left and right alcoves where soldiers spoke to and checked the invitations and identification plaques belonging to commercial vehicles. Some civilians simply passed through. He walked among them, whisking by with long steps.

Several yards passed before he sensed the brush of someone’s senses against him, widening his smile. Before someone could react, he used jūryovā to disappear from their sight.

Satisfied, he slipped his hands into his sleeves as he stopped running. People took notice of him, startling when he appeared out of nowhere to their eyes, and he continued down the Malaki Isé Bānen, the Imperial White Road within Faifeleth City.

Heavy music proclaimed the end of one calendar cycle and the beginning of another, fluting through the air from every doorway, balcony, street corner, and window. Sparklers held by children reflected the fireworks in the sky, lighting the night with colors and handheld nightfires as far as his eyes could see. People walked together, their eyes alight with gratefulness for the passing of another cycle with their loved ones and hoping for many more.

All the while, they caroused beneath the even darker shadows of military ships patrolling in the sky.

Several hours into his trek to the city, Igni watched above tall walls and the beautiful sloped tops of low buildings to marvel at the fireworks. They came in several colors and designs of mythical beings from faifethi lore, and they left a light haze of smoke in the air. His long tongue flickered out to catch a better taste of the unique fetid scent they left behind.

He leveled his gaze to observe the citizens, the faifethi of Faifeleth Megalopolis. They dressed in beautiful clothes and colors, as they were the fortunate of the Sahīleth plane. When they came upon them—and there were many—they would bow at the portraits of their empress with reverence and a strange gleam of fixation in their eyes.

Resting his long arms in billowing sleeves, he took notice of the eyes that would briefly dart at his blindfolded face with apprehension and only sometimes with brief curiosity as he strolled along. The latter gazes came from children, of course, the little strange things they were. Only during Jonjae-Bū could he walk so openly in the city, let alone the central megalopolis itself. The citizens needn’t fear him, for only during this day would the royal Mahilasi within the Sūn Palace descend to mingle with commoners en masse.

Thus, even the ever-so-fearful citizens treated him rather amicably.

A particular scent, strong enough that his nostrils picked it up, diverted his attention to a large multileveled restaurant. His expression initially twisted at the smell of food, but the sign, Dalko’s Hangan, made his face brighten. He didn’t think twice, ducking inside with his typical wide smile on his lips.

Cordial expressions turned to him, only to drop the moment they recognized him. He couldn’t prevent his tongue from slipping out to get a taste of the fear emitting from the pores of a woman and two waitstaff. Likewise, his presence ceased all conversations and laughter that were once amid the patrons as soon as they noticed him.

The man behind the counter, dressed in a short navy blue tunic of a host and a matching hat, opted to give him a simple, cordial nod. This was Dalko, the restaurant owner. After returning the nod, Igni kept his hands in his sleeves even when Dalko wordlessly beckoned for him to follow. Behind him, he heard a whispered order for eight helpings of rasagolla. His smile widened.

They walked down the large aisle where myriads of heads in shades of brown and blond remained silent and poised downward on both sides. Naturally, those who didn’t understand were children, eyeing him and inquisitive despite the worry from their guardians which permeated the air around them.

He observed the restaurant’s lavishly decorated interior as they walked. Adorned in silvers, bronzes, reds, and deep navy blues on nearly every brown surface, it came across as gaudy to his tastes. Yet, as expected, high above the third floor looking down at them hung another portrait of the Faifethi Empress.

Dalko didn’t take Igni upstairs but to a decent-sized room on the main floor located at the back of the restaurant. What or whom normally reserved it, he hadn’t a clue, but it was always available to him when he visited.

Upon arrival, the man moved aside so Igni could part the red curtain, revealing a secluded space decorated in various light browns and a maroon table in the center. He considered this appealing to his eyes, as nothing existed to distract him from his eventual meal.

He approached the table and sat with his back to the curtain. He didn’t have to wait long before he heard tentative footsteps approach from behind.

His tongue flicked out but he otherwise didn’t make any movement lest he scare the poor woman. He recognized her; she existed as one of two waiters who were lucky enough to serve him. Or unlucky, depending on who said what, he supposed.

She managed to place the small bowl and a single small khopt utensil in front of him despite having to be close to his side. She then bowed her head and said something resembling an apology and thanks in one mess of a sentence before quickly disappearing behind the curtain again.

He took in a few whiffs of the bowl of syrup and white, cheesy pastry with his nose, humming with appreciation and a widening smile at its perfect smell to his olfactory. Pulling back his sleeve with his free hand, he raised his utensil and poked his first piece. He placed the warm, syrupy dessert on his tongue and bit into it.

He made a soft sound of contentment.

Perfect.

There were only eight pieces of rasagolla, and he slowly took every bite with the reminder this could very well be his last time tasting the heavenly sweet. He resigned himself to the dismaying thought.

Once done with his last morsel, he gracefully placed the khopt beside the bowl. Sliding his sleeve back down, he took a moment to sit and enjoy the peaceful moment.

With a soft sigh, he reached into his coat and brought out a small pouch of money. Humming to himself, he picked out a single gold jūl coin and placed it atop the table. Standing, he replaced his pouch and approached the curtain. Moving it aside, he could hear and sense patrons were still within the restaurant but were considerably subdued.

The curtain brushed against his back as he walked out of the room and returned to the main space. He glanced up and over to his right to gaze at the second floor. A young child looked down at him from the rail, though his guardian quietly tried to pry him away from it. Igni’s smile widened, and as he neared the large aisle, he waved at the child.

The child waved back, in that oblivious way.

While leaving, Igni bowed his head in thanks and appreciation at Dalko behind the counter. The man eagerly returned the gesture with a small smile. It humored Igni when city faifethi smiled at him. A waiter who stood near Dalko, however, stared somewhat openly at him while another who served a nearby table avoided looking at him entirely—though that didn’t prevent them from shaking at his close proximity. Seemed like a new face.

He exited through the door and returned to the street. A few steps away, he heard the steady return of life in the restaurant.

The light from the massive fireworks gave the street a soft glow of colors, a pleasant sight. Continuing his walk up the street eventually brought him close enough to see the tall white walls of the Jancitei, the Court of Feasts, in the distance. Blockading the Court’s perimeter, the many Malaki Raja’śun brackets were hidden behind thick woods. In spite of this intentional barrier, he heard far-off thumps of drums and loud, boisterous voices. He imagined the few lucky soldiers allowed to be merry were enjoying themselves.

With his advanced eyesight, he observed the Jancitei entrance. Pristine white steps diverting from the equally white street led to the landing, and at the gate were the eight appointed K’etiśao, the noble guard. Standing still as statues, their silver-gold masks covered their mouths, and their headwear of white wraps and coned black hats shaded their eyes.

With a hum to himself, he believed now was the best time to perform his task, what brought him to Faifeleth.

He watched the sky.