The celebrations took place on the first week of summer, that precious transitional period when the last chill of spring finally surrenders to the warmth of the coming months, and the city of Aethelberg awakens to a riot of color and life. It was a time of transition, of renewal, of the world tilting toward longer days and shorter nights. And it was the time of the Hydrangea Festival.
For seven days, the capital of Aerthos would transform. The streets that had witnessed political intrigue, conspiracies, and the quiet tension of a kingdom on edge would be draped in flowers of every color imaginable. Banners of blue and white hung from every balcony, and the air was thick with the sweet, earthy scent of hydrangeas. Children ran through the streets laughing, their faces painted with floral patterns. Musicians practiced in the squares, their melodies drifting through open windows. Vendors set up stalls selling everything from roasted meats to delicate pastries to small hydrangea-shaped trinkets that glowed faintly in the dark.
The festival was a celebration of unity, of remembrance, of the promise that life continued even in the shadow of death. But like all things in Aerthos, it was also a stage. And upon that stage, the players of a grand drama were gathering.
The origins of the Hydrangea Festival stretched back to the Era of Kingdoms, a period defined by the consolidation of power and the forging of a unified Aerthos. The Unification Wars had been brutal—decades of conflict that saw the fractious kingdoms of the continent slowly brought to heel under the banner of a single ruler. When King Kael I emerged victorious in 412 EK, he faced a monumental task: not just ruling a kingdom, but convincing its people that they were one nation.
Legend held that Kael had planted a white hydrangea for each of his sixteen children on the day of his triumph, a gesture meant to symbolize the unity of the noble houses that would form the backbone of Aerthos. Everyone from Houses Zeppelin, Dukker, Mellou, Vaughn, Amberose, Shirogane, Dahl, Lin Feng, Osei, Oberoi, Baiden, Nova, Vancross, Wunvella, Sinclair, and Cavendish—all of them were represented in that single act. Over time, the hydrangea became a symbol not just of the royal family's ascent but of the kingdom itself. The white flower represented unity, the shared identity that bound the houses together. But each region adopted its own color as well, a nod to their unique identities within the larger whole. During the festival, the streets of Aethelberg were decorated with hydrangeas of every shade imaginable—blue, purple, pink, and white—creating a riot of color that reflected the diversity of Aerthos itself.
The festival had originally been a celebration of Kael's reign, a reminder of the peace he had forged. Over the centuries, however, it evolved. It became a time for the noble houses to set aside their differences and reaffirm their commitment to the kingdom. It became a time for the common people to forget their struggles and join in the collective joy of the nation. And, perhaps most importantly, it became a time of remembrance—a time to honor those who had died in service to Aerthos, whether in the Unification Wars of 412EK, the conflicts that followed, or the more recent Aerthos-Kemet War that had ended only a decade ago.
That war had left deep scars. Thousands had died defending Aerthos from the Usurper Sultan, including many from the Blackwood, Hoshikawa, and Kartsfall—regions that had borne the brunt of the fighting. The Feast of Remembrance, held on the sixth day of the festival, was a solemn affair in those regions. Families gathered to place hydrangeas on the graves of their loved ones, their tears mingling with the summer rain.
The Sacred Orthodox Church played a central role in the feast. Clergy led prayers and blessings, their voices rising and falling in ancient hymns. The names of departed believers were inscribed in the Church's records, and the families of the deceased were offered comfort and solace. The Church's presence was a reminder that death was not the end, that the souls of the departed lived on in the hearts of those who remembered them.
But the Church's involvement in the festival went beyond the Feast of Remembrance. It blessed the opening ceremony, organized the lantern lighting, and provided food for the Feast. It was a pillar of the community, a unifying force in a kingdom that had seen its share of division. Despite the apparent good the church was doing in the eyes of the people, there were whispers among some Lords that the Church's agenda was not entirely selfless. Cardinal Ljudevit, the West Cardinal, was a shadowy figure whose true goals remained unclear. He had been absent from recent meetings of the Hidden Patrons, and his absence had been noted. Some said he was simply waiting, watching, and biding his time.
The festival was a stage for many players, and Ljudevit was one of the most dangerous.
The city of Aethelberg itself was transformed during the festival. The Royal Palace, was adorned with hydrangeas of every color. The King would address the nation from its balcony on the first day of the festival, his voice carrying across the crowds gathered in the square below. It was a tradition that dated back to the era of King Kael I, a reminder that the monarchy was the foundation upon which Aerthos had been built.
The second day of the festival belonged to the Flower Promenade, a grand procession that wound through the streets of Aethelberg like a river of color and sound. Participants from every region of Aerthos gathered in elaborate costumes adorned with hydrangeas of every shade imaginable. People wore whitealong with the unique color of thier region. The promenade was a competition as much as a celebration, with judges—nobles and Church officials alike—evaluating the creativity, craftsmanship, and historical accuracy of each entry. Floats depicting scenes from the past, their surfaces covered in thousands of fresh flowers. Musicians played ancient melodies on instruments that had been passed down through generations. The promenade was a reminder that Aerthos's history was not just written in books but was alive, carried forward by those who remembered.
On the third night, the city transformed once again as the Lantern Lighting began. As dusk settled over Aethelberg, citizens gathered in the Royal Square and along the shores of the gulf of Ae. Each person carried a small paper lantern, its surface inscribed with a prayer, a hope, or a memory. Some wrote the names of loved ones lost to war, others penned confessions of love or dreams for the future. As the first stars appeared in the darkening sky, the lanterns were lit and released. They drifted upward, carried by a gentle breeze, until they resembled a second sky of flickering lights. It was said that the souls of the fallen watched from above and that the lanterns guided them home. For a few precious hours, the divisions of Aerthos seemed to fade, replaced by a shared sense of wonder and hope.
The fourth day brought the Games, a series of competitions that tested the strength, skill, and artistry of Aerthos's citizens. The Royal Square was transformed into an arena, with temporary stages and platforms erected for the various events. Warriors competed in feats of arms, their blades flashing in the summer sun as crowds cheered. Archers tested their accuracy, their arrows striking targets with deadly precision. And in a quieter corner of the square, artists and artisans displayed their crafts—painters capturing the festival's beauty on canvas, sculptors carving hydrangeas from stone, and weavers creating intricate tapestries that told stories of Aerthos's past. The Games were a celebration of human potential, a reminder that the people of Aerthos were capable of greatness. But they were also a competition, and the rivalries between regions were as fierce as any battle. When the winners were announced, the cheers of their home regions echoed through the streets, a testament to the pride that defined Aerthos's diverse people.
The fifth day was dedicated to Regional Celebrations, a time when each of Aerthos's regions honored its own traditions and heroes. In Blackwood, the day began with a solemn procession to the memorial that honored those who had fallen in the Aerthos-Kemet War. Families gathered to place hydrangeas on the graves of their loved ones, their tears mingling with the summer rain. In Hoshikawa, the celebrations were more vibrant—dancers performed traditional routines in the streets, their movements telling stories of ancient battles and legendary heroes. In Kartsfall, the day was marked by quiet reflection, a time for families to gather and share memories of those they had lost. Across the kingdom, the Regional Celebrations were a reminder that Aerthos was not a single entity but a tapestry of cultures, each with its own history and traditions. The white hydrangea of unity bound them together, but the colors of the regions celebrated what made them unique.
The sixth day was the Feast of Remembrance, the festival's most solemn occasion. Across Aethelberg, tables were arranged in long rows, covered with food donated by the noble houses and merchants. The feast was open to all—rich and poor, noble and commoner—a reminder that in death, all were equal. The Sacred Orthodox Church played a central role, with clergy leading prayers and blessings for the fallen. The names of those who had died in service to Aerthos were read aloud, their sacrifices honored by the community they had protected. In Blackwood, Hoshikawa, and Kartsfall, the feast was particularly poignant, a time for families to remember the loved ones they had lost in the Aerthos-Kemet War. The laughter of previous years was replaced by the weight of memory, but there was also a sense of gratitude—gratitude for the lives that had been lived, the sacrifices that had been made, and the peace that had been won.
The seventh and final day of the festival was the Closing Ceremony, a quiet conclusion to a week of celebration. The King addressed the nation once more from the balcony of the Royal Palace, his voice carrying across the crowds gathered in the square below. He spoke of unity, of remembrance, and of the hope that the coming year would bring peace. Then, as the sun began to set, the crowd fell silent. For one full minute, not a sound could be heard in the streets of Aethelberg. It was a moment of reflection, a time for each person to consider the meaning of the festival and what it meant to be part of Aerthos. The silence was broken by the distant ringing of the Cathedral bells, their peals echoing across the city. The festival was over, but its spirit would linger—a reminder that even in the shadow of conflict, there was always hope for renewal.
The Museum of Ages, usually a popular destination during the festival, was closed this year. The official explanation was that it had been targeted by bandits in a failed attempt at robbery. The public accepted this explanation, though there were whispers of something more. Those who knew the truth understood that the break-in had been far more than a simple robbery—it had been the work of a young man who had infiltrated the Forbidden Vault and emerged transformed. Though his identity still remained unknown.
The Flower Gardens, scattered throughout the city, were another popular destination. Families and couples would stroll through the gardens, their laughter mingling with the scent of blooming flowers. The gardens were a place of peace, a respite from the tensions that simmered beneath the surface of daily life. But they were also a place where conspiracies could be hidden in plain sight, where meetings could take place unnoticed.
The festival was a celebration of unity, but it was also a reminder of the divisions that threatened to tear Aerthos apart. The Revolutionists had targeted the festival before, and they would target it again. The Hidden Patrons, the Revolution, the Inquisition—all of them were gathering in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike.
The Inquisition's presence was heavier than usual this year. Senior Inquisitor Layl and her subordinates patrolled the streets discreetly, their eyes scanning the crowds for any sign of trouble. The City gaurds would be the more visible sign of security and order. Their presence was a response to recent events—the break-in at the Museum of Ages, the growing unrest caused by the Revolutionists, and the whispers of a conspiracy that reached into the highest echelons of power. The public resented their authority, but they also feared them. They along with the other squds present in each region had always been a force of order, but in recent years, it had become something more—a weapon wielded against the enemies of the state.
The Revolutionists, meanwhile, were planning something big. The Revolutionary, their enigmatic leader, had failed in his mission to infiltrate the Forbidden Vault, but he had not abandoned his cause. He was lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The festival provided the perfect cover—crowds, chaos, confusion. The Revolutionists would use it to their advantage.
The Church, too, was playing its own game. Cardinal Ljudevit was a master of subtlety, a man who understood the power of symbols and ritual. His involvement in the festival was a reminder that the Church was a force to be reckoned with, a pillar of the community that could not be ignored.
The festival was a time of hope, but hope was fragile. The joy of the crowds, the laughter of the children, the beauty of the flowers—all of it was fleeting, a brief respite before the storm.
Heidi Dahl's vision hung over the festival like a shadow. The white-masked figure atop the Cathedral, the star of misery descending upon the city—these images lingered in the mind of a certain Lord, a warning of what might come.
Would the vision come to pass?
Or had it been averted, its horrors prevented by the actions of those who had glimpsed the future?
The answer was unclear.
The hydrangeas bloomed in every color across the city of Aethelberg. The streets were filled with laughter and celebration. But beneath the surface, shadows gathered. The Revolutionists planned. The Inquisition watched. The Hidden Patrons schemed. And somewhere in the crowd, a figure in a white mask waited.
The festival had begun. But what would it bring?
Only time would tell.