Aston's POV

"My first and last friend, I wished to celebrate a birthday with."

—Aston von Rosenmahl

Vis sits cross-legged, his long frame folded neatly into the chair beside Lenny, the bald and short-headed. Both are of the same color, green, and yet their forms could not be more different. Vis—his hair brown, slicked back to the middle length, his posture relaxed, his eyes sharp—balances a teacup between his long fingers. A quiet, genuine smile plays on his lips.

Lenny, by contrast, slouches forward, his thick hands clutching a fluffy cake as though it were treasure.

"What ya reading?" Lenny asks, his northern accent rolling awkwardly off his tongue. I've never been sure if it is a mask he wears or the truth in his blood. Even as comrades, some things about them remain faceless to me.

No, I shouldn't think of them like that anymore. What good fortune does such distance bring me? Nothing.

Lowering my head into the hot steam of my own teacup, a bruised reflection in bandages stares back, warped in the brown liquid. Too bitter for my taste, not nearly sweet enough. Still, I drink.

"Nigil is going furious with Zentria," Vis says suddenly, leaning back into his chair with elegance. He smiles again, showing the faint green of his gums. Unlike Eriksson, most of them cannot change their inner appearance, such as their gums, tongue, or the faint blush under their skin. Even Eriksson fails at changing the color of their blood.

"But that's a small matter compared to what we've done."

The azure sun spills its light through the open window, painting the room in warmth. Outside, pale birds—white, nearly baby-blue—pick and flutter at the stones just beyond. The air rolls in with the scent of salt and fish, a freshness only the coast can give. I breathe it in.

Vis folds his newspaper on the round table, the words sharp as usual. "The whole kingdom is in an uproar over who assassinated the king. As we guessed, according to Harmon, they believe the blood came from another kingdom. Most assume it must have been Nigil, since tension was already at breaking point."

I shift, pain still lancing my side from the false god's blow.

"Kingdom Zentria is close to declaring war against Nigil," Vis continues, "yet they have neither king nor queen, no commander, no troops worth fielding. Nothing but chaos. And the other kingdoms won't remain silent forever. Soon, every single one of them must take a side. Elisia will burn."

He creases the newspaper and sets it aside while sipping on his tea.

Three days have passed. Only now have they shared this version of the events with the people—falsehoods, wrapped in ink and paper.

Elisia saw me. Even assumed me for who I truly am—Aston. My memory remains foggy, but that moment will not leave me. I changed my blood, and she still recognized me. Did she not see the box? Why not tell them?

Bracing myself against the arm of the chair, I stare through the open window. The breeze scatters my hair into my eyes, and for once, I do not care. I've never left it uncombed. Now, as the wind whirls across my face, I feel alive.

Alive.

All the sorrow, all the weight—gone. No more endless effort to please my father. No need to bow my head before siblings who despise me. No need to pretend to know the stranger who bore me, who called herself my mother, even though she never talked with me.

I am free.

I embrace the salt; I embrace the warmth. The sun dances across my skin, bandages wrapped tight around most of it, pale white instead of the blue stains they bore three days ago.

I stare into the open world. Beautiful. The sky stretches endlessly, turquoise mingled with blue, the horizon as clear as glass. Not a single cloud mars it. Birds flit freely—not the mountain beasts who ferry Reds into chains, but small, harmless creatures. The kind that do not devour cattle but eat bread from the streets to survive.

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