Sincerity is a scarce resource within the confines of noble society. Eyes dull paired with polish smiles that never reaches ones ears.

In addition to being the only nobleman with full Hilagran descent, adopted, Cecil Evergray finds the veiled hostility of other rich young nobles more often than not.

"Quick!" Annalyse, a brazen blonde woman, grabs his arm. His current fling for the month. Or her current fling for the week depending on how fast her bodyguard works. It's either his timeline or hers. "Eulfric went somewhere. This is our only chance."

Cecil laughs, hiding his smile behind his hand as he takes Annalyse by her waist using his tail. She's fun and far different than anyone he's ever met only by the sheer fact that she is not an actual noble, yet her family's fortune could threaten a baron's title.

"Miss Lathalia, have some reserve." He dips her before they waltzed around the ballroom.

From the blinding gleam of the golden chandelier raised at the center of the ballroom, to the glittering gowns of noble ladies and noble men alike, everything is manufactured for a festivity that he is yet to understand the necessity of.

The only thing that is real is her.

"Reserve?" Annalyse guffaws, grabbing Cecil's waist and flipping their dance roles. "What good will reserve do me? There's a certain pair of eyes I'm hoping to catch."

He glances behind her, towards the courtyard where he sees Annalyse's familiar bodyguard talking to someone in the shadow. That brooding tall man with barely any emotion in his face is attractive to say the least, yet his appeal definitely comes from the air of danger surrounding him.

"You wound me, darling. Am I not your boyfriend tonight?"

"Reputation matters to you nobles too much."

"Am I one of those nobles?"

"Are you not?"

Cecil didn't reply, smiling instead. "It's my birthday, dear Annalyse. I was hoping your eyes would remain on me."

The song ends and Annalyse, to Cecil's request, kept her gaze on him which made him realize he should've been careful of what he wishes for. Especially the only daughter of the Lathalia family.

He can feel the gaze of Eulfric on him as well. Though intimidating, it isn't unwelcome. Attention is his bread and butter, both the good and the bad.

"Happy birthday, Cecil." Annalyse says, standing on her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Son," Cecil's father, Marquis Albeus Everfield, taps his shoulder once Annalyse left the ballroom floor.

He turns to his, daring not to give Annalyse one last glance. "Father."

"Delightful 17th birthday," his father pulls him into a tight hug. "Which number of dance was she?"

"I've lost count," he lies. "Where's mother?"

"Oh, she's handling the party for the Wishing Festival."

"I still don't understand why I must share my birthday with any other occasion," Cecil mumbles.

The warmth emitted by his father turns cold, his gaze cast by a shadow. He grabs Cecil's arms, tightening around it while maintaining a smile.

"Ah! Father." Cecil hisses.

Albeus looks forward, greeting guests that would wave at him. "I've told you many a times, this festival is a boon to our great city, and I will not have you growing selfishly."

Indeed, Cecil have heard this reasoning for the 17 years he's been alive. Maids chattering by the gardens when he was a kid, talking about the poor the Marquis Albeus Everfield and Marchioness Cassandra Grayburn. They could not conceive a child for the longest time and have tried so many times before. Now, they've settled for an adopted son and a Hilagran at that.

Still, his birthday being celebrated on a festival when it wasn't the day he was adopted at all unnerves him. Must he share a spotlight?

When, despite how high society and those peasants treats him, his own parents praises him for the prosperity he's giving to the city for simply existing? Is it not the greatest honor to give to the child that they chose and light up their life, a day all about him?

It'd be another party to celebrate after all, and the Marquis Evergray delights in throwing once per month.

"Forgive me, Father." Cecil surrenders.

Albeus lets go, patting his shoulder in a hearty laugh. "Now, I didn't mean to sour your day, I was only pulling you aside to say that I'll be assisting your mother at the festival. Entertain the guests while we're gone."

Upsetting as it is to hear the news, Cecil swallows the bitterness that swells within him. The pain of his arm being gripped wasn't even a factor as the betrayal of both parent leaving is pain none could compare.

He nods, "of course."

Wine and revelry, what more can the rich upper-class of the Southern Vale want? Many Lords and Ladies of the twenty fiefdom in the province have gathered here tonight for merriment and Cecil dare not to disappoint.

The orchestra played an upbeat jaunty dance whilst barely dress Hilagrans performs for the elegantly dressed Wydellians. Their silk robes and sheer satin fabrics clung to their body, adorned by extravagant gold necklaces and bracelets.

Three Khenho, hopping about and spinning in mid-air. Their large bunny ears acting flying elegantly with every twirls.

But what caught everyone's eyes are the two Freyhana's. Cat-like features, stalking the stage in slow sensual hip sways. Arms moving like waves in the ocean as they part the Khenhos on the stage.

Their deep forest green eyes trained on Cecil, closing them slowly but never breaking eye contact. Hands caressing their bodies, tugging the golden necklace and bracelet.

He couldn't help but be hypnotized by their movement. The music changed to the theme of the Wishing Festival. Percussions began thrumming, then the hanging chime and the strings join in an upbeat melody.

The first Freyhana grabs onto the ropes, tying it around her waist as she is hoisted above the other dancers. They circle her beneath, dancing low to the ground, hunched back as if in hunger yet the music show none of that suffering.

A large boom from the percussion picked up the pace, a second rope descended, though it appears to come from the Freyhana in the sky. With a sickening grin that sent shivers down Cecil's spine, the rope strikes a Khenho down as she tosses herself on the ground, her jewelries getting caught.

The audience began to clap as gold fountains from where the silk has caught the Khenho. Other dancers tosses the money in the air, covering the Khenho, before turning around to end the segment with... a Nerie.

He doesn't look like Cecil, no. The color of the Nerie was same as the Khenho that was striked down by the silk. He has the silk wrapped around his joints, the dancers posed with jewelries thrown around him in grandiose fashion.

A crown, a bracelet, a necklace that's too tight around the neck.

Cecil gulps, sweating now with the hypnotic stare of the Freyhana slowly descending from the rope. Her dancer friends helping her down.

The party continue but it was a blur after that.

He doesn't know why, but her gaze burns his skin and now he's been marked. Even while he bid his guests goodbye, he could still feel the sensation of her gaze.

"Peol!" He calls to the butler, a small man with thinning white hair. Lanky figure with a pointed nose that keeps his eyeglass up. "Have the performers tonight left already?"

Peol turns to him, pointing orders to the maids to clean the ballroom properly. "Young Master, the performers are being sent to the Wishing Festival. They've already gone."

His heart sank hearing the news.

For whatever reason, he was never to attend that festival. That loathsome festival.

"Is something the matter?" Peol asks.

Cecil shakes his head, "nothing at all. I was enamored by the dance. I thought I could ask what the name is."

"It's a part of a play, Young Master. The Wishing Festival has many stories. That is but one of them."

That caught his attention.

He nods, "alright. I'll pay them a visit tomorrow. I'll be heading to bed now, Peol. Greet mother and father for me once they arrive."

With a wave of his hand, he walked up the stairs to his room. Past the lonely corridor filled with tapestry of the woods and a fallen star. He always finds it beautiful, the glowing illumination of a light in the middle of the pond, where the ripple of water forms its crater.

The legends says the Stardrop Pond is where a slumbering god lies. A god long forgotten by its people.

Cecil takes off his tailored suits; finds the tackiest attire he could find and the failed cloak he tried to make as a kid. He never had a talent for creation still; this was good enough to hide his figure as he runs into the night.

There are questions in his head. That Freyhana was telling her something, with the way she stares, coaxing him to find meaning in the play where the music is disjointed from the message.

Art have always moved him.

Perhaps, he can steal a moment of her time and discuss ideas.

>><<>><<

Truscott jumps forward, body going on overdrive. The heat within her begging to escape. Its been growing. Since they've arrived in Amphitide Peninsula, there's a raging beast caged within her begging to erupt but she couldn't explain it.

She doesn't have the word in her brain to even tell Gray, much less anyone, of what she's feeling. So, she's been ignoring it.

"Leo!" Calls Truscott.

Her eyes adjusting to the dark surroundings. Her head pounding at the familiar view. Bars fences her in. It's different than the one's she's used to.

Usually, only one side has bars, and they are encased by limestone walls that smells of urine, feces, and blood. This cage, however, resembles the bird cages Truscott saw in the Intrepid City Market.

Without meaning to, she leaps out of her sitting position, hoping to find a lock but stops when she noticed Monica curled in a ball beside her.

They're sitting on a patch of grass.

Bird cages planted on the grass.

Pausing, she adjust her stature.

Caught. We were caught. Who caught us? The forest sprites!

Truscott looks down, sees her clothes without mud and worn correctly. She turns to Monica and finds the same thing.

In her haste, she hadn't considered waking Monica up. Instead, she pulls the unconscious woman to sit up, leaning her back against the caged bar, and pulling her clothes off.

Monica's eyes flutter open, feeling her body be moved. She blinks, adjusting her eyesight to the darkness to see familiar glowing yellow eyes so close to her.

She feels the breeze, notices Roussie undressing her. Heat rushing to her face.

"Woah! Get off." She exclaims, quickly pulling her hands down along with her shirt.

Truscott did. "The forest sprites caught us. We have to turn your clothes around."

Monica looks around.

Thick branches of trees weaved together to form a wall not far from where they are. They have thick crowns of leaves flourishing. Multiple bird cages on the ground littered the area and wooden barbs acting as fences around them.

"I don't think we're escaping like that, Rou." Monica says. "We're jailed."

"My name's not Rou." Truscott replies.

"It's a nickname. Short for Roussie."

"That's not my name."

Monica frowns, "what do you mean that's not your name? I gave you that name. You have other names?"

"Yes. It's Truscott."

"Did... your parents hated you?"

"I don't have one."

Silence.

Monica purses her lips, wide eyes and cursing herself within. "I, uhm. Yikes. Sorry."

"For what?" Truscott tries to catch her gaze, wondering why silence enveloped them. "For assuming what my name is? It's fine."

"Where's the others?" She changes the topic, patting her body for her phone.

Not finding it within her person, Monica flounder around. Crawling on the grass, her hand feeling every blade as the dim light wasn't letting her see clearly.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." She mutters.

"You lost your phone?" Truscott asks, standing up to search. Her eyesight not impeded by the lack of light. "It's not here."

"No," Monica replies. "Don't say that. Knock on wood. I did not drop it when the mud swallowed us."

Her breathing became labored. A sense of desperation washing over her at the idea of a lost phone. She was waiting for a call. She was waiting to be let back home.

Even if this is a dream, her phone is her only connection to her mom. She can't...

Stupid! Stupid! Dumb fucking bitch! HOW COULD YOU LOSE IT?

"Shut up!" Monica growled.

Her hand fisting the grass; her frame slowly grows again.

Anger, loneliness, and this uncontrollable pit of irrationality boiling at the surface. Her mind is on overdrive, thinking how to find that particular area in the Evershift Forest, thinking how to escape, and–––

"Mo...nica." Truscott groans.

Monica snaps back into reality, feeling the thorns of the wooden cage dig into her skin, making her bleed. She pushes against it, sensing Truscott pressed against her side and the barbed fence.

"I'm sorry!" She exclaims. "I can't control this. I don't know how to."

Hissing, she turns to her side to allow Truscott more room. The smaller woman crawls under her, with no apparent bruises in her person.

"Are you okay?"

Truscott lies down on her back, "do you always grow when you're mad?"

Monica pauses.

Watching Truscott stare back at her on the ground with her giant sad eyes. It dawns on her the simple commonality of the twice occurrence of her growing bigger.

Not that it'd be evident when she's not paying attention at all.

"Oh my gosh, you're a genius!" She squeals. "Wait. I'll just break these cage for a second and we'll look for the others, yeah?"

"I suggest you refrain from doing that." Says a commanding figure in the shadow.

A large, plump woman steps into purview. Her fist raises and a glowing crystal appears beside her, illuminating her other-worldly appearance. Thick brown fur with ursine snout and ears. Her black void eyes looks up to Monica.

"Welcome to Silver Haven Coast, Lady Sunniva Glasse."