The bell of noon chimed softly across the rooftops of Roshar.
Zack and Ico had just left the crepe stall and were now strolling through the bustling St. Durkheir Square, the scent of sweet confections still lingering in the air. Ico wasted no time—she took a generous bite of her vanilla-flavored crepe, her small, delicate lips wrapping around the warm pastry with a hum of satisfaction.
But her pout lingered.
She had wanted the Fansal-flavored one—something bolder, more daring—but Zack had refused. Even now, a faint pout remained on her face as she chewed.
"Mmm… I guess vanilla isn't so bad," she admitted reluctantly, her golden eyes sparkling ever so slightly.
Zack let out a breath of relief. Thank the stars for vanilla… If fifty ocres could buy even a moment of her happiness, it was a bargain he'd pay again and again.
"That's good to hear," he replied, smiling.
Ico leaned against his side as they walked, licking a bit of cream from the tip of her finger. Her tongue flicked across it in a way that made Zack's breath catch in his throat for a second. She was completely unaware—or perhaps too aware—of how effortlessly beautiful her every movement was.
"A holiday like this… isn't so bad after all," she murmured, nibbling on the last edge of her crepe as if it were some delicate fruit of the gods.
St. Durkheir Square was alive with energy. Laughter and music drifted through the summer air. Zack glanced around, observing the crowd. Among the locals were plenty of tourists—likely from the Alethian Kingdom just beyond the border. They wore finely embroidered tunics, and their accents carried the lilting charm of the southern dialect.
"Hey," Ico said, pointing. "Why are they all gathering over there?"
Zack followed her gaze.
"Ah, they're admiring the sacred statue."
He gestured toward the center of the square, where a towering figure of stone stood proud. The bronze-armored likeness of a warrior cast a long shadow over the cobblestones.
"That's St. Durkheir's statue," Zack explained. "It's one of Roshar's most important cultural relics."
"Who's that supposed to be?" Ico asked, her voice curious but casual.
"Durkheir Steinert—the first Paladin. A legend from over five centuries ago."
Her sharp eyes narrowed.
"That armor… It looks like an Ark, doesn't it?"
Zack blinked. For all her antics, Ico's intuition was razor-sharp.
"You recognized it?"
"Of course. The blueprint for the Ark is stored inside the Dragweiss," she replied confidently, brushing a few strands of hair away from her cheek with a dainty, deliberate flick.
Zack stared at her, momentarily distracted. The sun was high now, and her silver-pink hair gleamed like stardust. The breeze fluttered the hem of her short dress—barely long enough to be modest—offering brief flashes of her smooth, pale thighs as they walked.
"So… with that blueprint, could you make one?"
"Huh?" Ico suddenly halted, her glare slicing through him.
Zack raised both hands in surrender.
"J-Just asking! You're amazing, Ico. I thought maybe you could do it."
She stepped closer, invading his space, her face flushed a bright pink.
"Idiot! That'd just be a cheap imitation!" she snapped. "The blueprints passed down by Ancestral are just references. You think anyone can just recreate something sacred like that?!"
"R-Right… Makes sense…"
Zack nodded, cowed by her outburst—but secretly pleased. Her passion was kind of… cute.
He tried again, with a sheepish grin.
"Well, someday… you'll make an Ark for me, right? I mean, once you become a Vaestro—ouch!"
Pain exploded in his foot as Ico stomped down with surprising strength. Zack stumbled back, yelping.
"What was that for?!"
Her face was crimson now. She avoided his eyes, her fingers twisting in the hem of her dress.
"D-Don't joke like that! Why would I… why would the owner make an Ark for her pet dog? That's just… it's illogical!"
Then, without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and ran.
Only then did Zack remember something from his lessons. To a dragon, gifting an Ark to their contractor meant more than simply forging armor—it was a sacred vow. A gesture of ultimate trust and devotion. It meant giving everything to their partner.
No wonder she ran off… His heart thumped in his chest. She had looked… flustered. Vulnerable. Almost like— No. Don't go there.
Still, her reaction was kind of adorable.
"Hey, wait up!"
Zack laughed and chased after her through the crowd, a warm grin on his face.
.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.༄
They had been walking leisurely through the vibrant square when Ico suddenly stopped in her tracks, her gaze fixed on a charming little café nestled right along the edge of St. Durkheir Square.
The sign above the door read L'essaroys, its cursive letters framed by ivy and blooming flower baskets. The café was renowned for its signature herbal teas and held a reputation as a trendy hotspot—especially beloved by the girls of Roshar. The interior, visible through tall glass windows, was tastefully decorated with soft pastel colors, elegant furnishings, and delicate lace curtains.
It was the kind of place that always buzzed with life on weekends—usually with couples sipping tea, leaning close, laughing softly.
To Zack, who had never been on a real date before, it was dangerous territory. Just glancing through the window was enough to make his chest tighten. He could already feel the judgment if anyone saw him there with Ico.
But his worries didn't seem to register with her. Instead, Ico leaned closer to the café entrance, her petite nose twitching as she sniffed the air like a curious feline.
"…Mmm. What a nice smell."
Her voice was soft as her eyes fluttered shut. She looked dainty and refined, almost like a noble lady enjoying her first spring outing—but her behavior, in that moment, was pure young dragon.
Zack tilted his head and finally caught the faint aroma wafting from inside.
"…Wait. That scent… Don't tell me—"
He suddenly paled. "No way. That's Fansal! It has to be!"
L'essaroys was famed for its exclusive blends, and naturally, Fansal tea—infused with rare herbs known to affect dragons—was one of its top sellers. As a dragon, Ico was particularly sensitive to it. And if Zack remembered the last time…
"Ugh… Why even make something like that available to the public? Don't they know what Fansal does to dragons? It's practically considered an aphrodisiac in dragon culture!"
Ico turned to him with an expression that was at once indignant and adorably pouty.
"You make it sound so scandalous! Fansal is the mark of refinement. The taste of a mature dragon," she said proudly, flipping her hair with flair.
Zack narrowed his eyes.
"You're still a young dragon! Do you seriously want to repeat what happened last time?!"
"What happened last time?" she asked, blinking innocently.
His heart sank. "Great. You don't remember. That just proves how drunk you got! All the more reason to stay far away from it until you grow up!"
"H-Huh?! You can't just forbid me like that!" she cried. "That's so unfair! I won't forgive you! I won't—nnnghh…"
Suddenly, Ico's words trailed off into a strangled whimper. Her small body tensed as she bent slightly forward, squeezing her thighs together and gripping the hem of her dress tightly.
Zack blinked. "…Ico?"
She looked up at him with flushed cheeks and trembling lips, her breath growing heavier by the second.
"Nn… Aah… Zack… My chest… It's tightening…"
Before he could even react, she pressed herself against his chest, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in the crook of his neck. Even through his clothes, he could feel the heat radiating off her—intense, almost burning.
Her soft curves molded against him, and her warm breath fanned across his skin as she gasped.
"Haa… Haa… It's too hot…"
Her voice was laced with something deeper, more desperate. Her thighs shifted against one another as if struggling to resist an urge, and the way her body quivered in his arms sent a dangerous jolt down his spine.
"Y-You got drunk… just from the smell?!"
She nodded slowly, her fingers clutching at his back. Her body was trembling, her skin flushed, and her gaze glossy. Zack could barely hold it together. He was practically holding a bundle of heat and temptation in the shape of a girl.
"Damn it… What kind of cursed café is this?!"
Panic surged in him—not just from the heat of Ico's reaction, but from the fact that they were still standing in public. If anyone he knew saw him like this—
"Hey, isn't that Zack over there? He looks awfully cozy, doesn't he?"
A teasing voice called out behind him.
Please no… Anyone but—
He turned slowly.
Standing just a few steps away was none other than Roderika, her arms crossed beneath her chest, smirking like a cat that had found her prey. And behind her, hiding half-shielded in the shadow of Roderika's confident stance, was a familiar face.
"…Princess Silva?" Zack croaked, dread curling in his gut.
Silva didn't answer. She simply peeked out from behind Roderika, her expression unreadable. Her eyes lingered on the sight of Ico wrapped around Zack, and then quickly looked away, a strange flicker crossing her face.
She was silent.
Perhaps she was still affected by the previous day's incident—when Ico had accidentally exposed her dragon form. Or maybe it was something else entirely.