The Angel's city shimmered that night like a dream painted in starlight. Floating lanterns drifted through the skies above white marble spires, their golden glow reflecting across crystalline bridges that spanned streams of pure light. Music—harps, flutes, and drums—echoed through the avenues, weaving with laughter and the crackling of festival stalls. The Festival of Wings, an annual celebration of the angels' heritage, had transformed the entire city into a living constellation.

The group entered together.

Nero walked at the front, his crimson cloak swaying faintly in the evening breeze. His hand rested in his pocket, his red eyes sharp yet strangely distant. Beside him, Khione walked silently, her pale hair glistening beneath the lantern light. She said nothing, but the quiet calm in her ice-blue gaze carried more weight than words. Their presence together was enough to draw whispers from passing angels, but Nero paid them no mind.

Behind them trailed the others.

Adam walked stiffly, arms crossed, glaring sideways at Azalea. The elven princess, elegant in a shimmering green festival dress, returned the glare with equal intensity.

"You're walking too close, dwarf," she hissed under her breath.

Adam smirked. "You wish. I'm just making sure you don't get lost. Wouldn't want you to trip over your own arrogance."

Her brow twitched. "Arrogance? At least I don't need a stool to reach the food stalls."

"You—!" Adam bristled, his short frame straightening in outrage. "Say that again, twig!"

Their voices rose in sharp whispers, each jab sharper than the last. Passersby stole curious glances, whispering about the odd company trailing behind the mysterious flame knight and the frost maiden.

Blake, walking a few paces behind, gave a long, exaggerated yawn. His hands rested casually behind his head, his lazy golden eyes half-lidded as if the bustling city were nothing more than background noise. "So noisy," he muttered, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips as Adam and Azalea's bickering escalated.

At the rear, Elreth moved in silence. The proud princess's expression was a storm hidden behind her calm mask, her orange eyes simmering with a fury that hadn't dimmed since the sparring match. Her grip on her spear tightened each time her gaze slid toward Nero and Khione, walking side by side. Every laugh from the festivalgoers felt like mockery, every lantern a reminder of the fire burning in her chest. She did not speak. She couldn't trust herself to.

The group pressed on, weaving through stalls laden with food, trinkets, and magical displays.

A vendor waved cheerfully. "Come, young adventurers! Try angelic flame cakes! Sweet enough to melt your heart!"

Adam immediately reached for one, only for Azalea to smack his hand.

"Dwarves shouldn't eat sweets. You'll get rounder than you already are."

He glared. "I'll eat what I want, you overgrown weed!"

"Excuse me?" Azalea's smile sharpened like a blade.

Blake sighed loudly. "At this rate, one of them's going to throw the other into the fountain."

Meanwhile, Nero and Khione stopped before a stand selling crystal-wing charms, the kind lovers often bought during the festival. The angel craftsman looked up, smiling knowingly.

"For couples, yes? These wings always come in pairs. Two halves of one whole."

Khione blinked, her cheeks tinged faintly with color. Nero tilted his head, eyeing the trinkets. For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the music drifting through the city. Then Nero reached out casually, plucking one from the stand and flipping a coin onto the counter.

"Two halves, huh?" he muttered, handing one side of the charm to Khione. His tone was casual, but the gesture wasn't.

Khione's lips parted slightly. She accepted it without a word, her fingers brushing his for an instant before pulling back. The cold aura around her flickered like soft snow, betraying the smallest hint of warmth.

Behind them, Adam scowled. "Oh, so now he's buying her things too?"

Azalea smirked. "Jealous, little dwarf?"

"Shut it, tree branch!"

Blake let out another yawn, hiding the amused gleam in his eyes. "Children, children. If you're going to flirt, at least do it properly."

Elreth said nothing. Her nails dug into her palms, her knuckles white. She couldn't watch any longer. Turning sharply, she strode toward a sparring arena set up for festival duels, her footsteps sharp.

Azalea arched a brow. "Where's she going?"

Blake shrugged lazily. "Somewhere she can burn off steam. Or someone."

The night pressed on, lanterns rising higher into the starry sky. The group moved from stall to stall, the clash of personalities ever present—Adam and Azalea trading jabs like it was second nature, Blake drifting behind them with a half-bored smile, and Elreth simmering silently on the edge of eruption.

But at the heart of it all, Nero and Khione walked together in quiet, wordless gravity. Fire and ice side by side, drawing all eyes without trying.

The Angel's city was alive with music and light. Lanterns floated higher into the heavens, their soft glow mingling with the radiant halos of the marble towers. The streets overflowed with laughter, the sound of bells, the scent of roasted meats and candied fruits. Yet among the bustling crowds, tension walked in the form of one princess.

Elreth's boots struck the stone pathway with sharp rhythm, her spear balanced across her back. She couldn't bear to stay near them any longer—not when Nero, that infuriating man, was strolling beside Khione in silence as though nothing had happened. As though kissing her before everyone hadn't been bold enough. As though refusing to go all out against her had meant nothing.

Her pride was burning.

The festival duel arena stretched ahead, lit by hovering crystals that pulsed with soft light. Spectators gathered around, cheering as combatants tested their skills in mock battles. Here, she could breathe—here, she could let the fury simmering inside her spill into flames.

"I'll fight the next challenger," she declared, stepping into the circle. Her orange eyes blazed like coals. The crowd murmured in excitement—an imperial princess was going to fight.

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