The next day, Caelthorn bloomed with color. Banners streamed from rooftops, trumpets blared, and the streets filled with crowds. The Festival of Blades had begun—a celebration of the kingdom's founding.
Mira tugged Aric through the throng, her laughter momentarily lifting the weight from him. Sword-dancers spun in crimson cloaks, bakers tossed sugared bread to cheering children, and fireworks painted the sky with green fire.
For a moment, Aric almost forgot the fire inside him. Almost.
Then the ground shook. A roar split the sky. From the river, a monstrous shape rose—a serpent of water and shadow, summoned by unseen hands. Panic rippled through the festival.
The crowd screamed, scattering. Mira clutched Aric's arm. "It's after you!"
The serpent's gaze locked on him, its eyes glowing with the same red fire as the hooded man's.
And Aric knew, as the beast lunged, that the city itself had become his battlefield.