Bear, Bowl, Hat, and Turban waddled down Valencia's busiest street. Though Rikael was obscured by the many fortresses hovering up above, the darkening sky affirmed that she was on the verge of sinking beneath the horizon. It was time for the city to quiet down and prepare to rest, so that it could regain its energy early the next morning. And throughout the rest of the year, it likely would have done just that. But there was less than a week before the summer festival. Even in the evening, the Cadrian capital was bustling with life.

The vendors that closed up shop were replaced in the blink of an eye. Booths that sold daily necessities vanished in favour of stalls highly specialized in specific types of street food. The vast majority were greasy, crunchy, or meat-based—snacks meant to be paired with alcohol. But of course they were. All of the most popular nightly pop-ups were focused on the sale of distilled drinks, with vekratt breweries proving the most popular among them. Despite the drink's reputation for immediately ending a night of fun, there were a dozen different vendors with nothing but the ridiculously concentrated spirit for sale. Each store had a different brand on its shelves and a number of particular cocktails that played to their accompanying strengths. Though, in most cases, the mixtures went unsold. Claiming to be more cultured than their fruity-drink-loving-peers, many of the self-proclaimed connoisseurs refused to cut it with anything but water.

Despite Bowl's concerns, their shape hadn't drawn too much attention. No one who spotted the hydra had been even the slightest bit concerned with its presence, no doubt on account of its ridiculous outfit. Even if still at its full size, it likely would have been construed as someone's pet. The more surprising discovery was that Hat had been right about the creature's adorability. A surprising number of people, both inebriated and otherwise, had stopped to pat the four-headed creature.

Hat and Turban stole most of the attention. Bear's cold, snappy attitude kept most of the hydra touchers at bay, and Bowl's choice of headgear had made it almost unpettable.

Further exemplifying the appeal of their form was the influx of free food. Many of the shop owners offered their wares when they noticed the heads turned their way. It helped that Bowl and Turban were ravenous. Both devoured everything they were given as deliciously as a nobleman's feast and practically made the mini-hydra into a walking billboard.

It didn't take long for some of the drink sellers to take note and join in providing samples. Bowl licked its lips and prepared to dig in, but Bear headbutted it before it could indulge. Bowl was a terrible drunk, and Bear had no intention of contending with the headache that was sure to accompany the aftermath. The two heads immediately began to bicker in silence, smacking and complaining at each other while the drunks watched and laughed.

If not for the burning sensation in their shared stomach, they never would have realised that another head had taken Bowl's place. Both turned to Turban and immediately assumed its guilt, but it was Hat who had taken the opportunity.

Hat was far better at handling alcohol than any of the others had imagined. Seven full, undiluted drinks later, and it had only turned the faintest shade of red. Much of Hat's tolerance stemmed from its continued exposure; it drank wine with every meal and had hard liquor at least three times a week. The maids often indulged in such pleasures on their rest days, and they were happy to share with the princess, who would always accept and down the drink with a smile.

Virillius' taste for Vekratt did Hat's liver no favours. He occasionally drank with it to keep up appearances and the servants served his preferred spirit on every such occasion. The Myrtle brew was stronger than what most of the other brands produced. In fact, it was so strong that it was often used in cleaning. As far as the body was concerned, the almost pure ethanol was simply poison, and Hat's corresponding resistance had long exceeded its racial level.

The four heads continued to eat, walk, and drink their way through the main street. Though none said much aloud, they thoroughly enjoyed their time in the city. Even Bear, who wasn't exactly fond of Valencia, was stuck with an unfading smile.

At least part of their fun had stemmed from the many evening entertainers. In another country, the term was likely to refer to a person of the night, and such folk certainly existed in Cadria. There was no denying that people like the late Timaois Pollux chased their loins, and that the nobility was rife with sexual deviation. But at least on the surface, there was no such degeneracy to be found.

The fervent zeitgeist that gripped the nation drove warriors to condone and reject those who worked in the oldest trade, and it was common sense to declare that the arena was the best place to sell one's body. And in reality, such pieces of advice were often repeated, for most of those that looked to market such services were rarely Cadrian to begin with. It was not an uncommon way for foreigners who were down on their luck and unaware of the social safety nets to try to earn a meal.

Any Cadrian in such a predicament would know to visit a local government kitchen. The food served at such establishments was far from luxurious—they doubled as facilities to educate aspiring chefs—but it was edible and nutritious enough to keep even the most unfortunate soul happy and healthy enough to fight with all their strength.

But if not prostitutes, what then were the entertainers that roamed Cadrian cities at night?

Fighters; the answer was fighters.

Individuals who specialised in showy fistfights wandered up and down the streets whilst dressed in the most ridiculous, colourful costumes that money could buy. There was a rabbit in a bright yellow suit and a paper bag over his head, a bald elf that was somehow walking upside down on his ears, and a strange, masked creature that was wearing a rubber sphere over everything but its face. Somehow, it wasn't even the strangest entertainer. That title belonged instead to a centaur wearing a jester's hat over his horse half. He kept his legs tucked in and moved by expanding and contracting his stomach muscles as would a snail. He was clearly deranged, not that the four idiots disguised as a hydra were in much of a position to comment.

The most common practice was for a street fighter to call out to potential opponents and for their coworkers to collect bets from the crowd before any fighting began. Anyone was allowed to watch for free, but it was customary for people to throw some money into the hat if they found themselves entertained. Higher quality fights naturally drew more attention and earned more cash. To that end, many of the entertainers would coordinate duels with their peers—fair matches that were sure to glean all sorts of attention. Of course, such fights only had value on the rare occasion. The crowd would grow bored of them with any amount of regular repetition, but all the fresh blood in town brought fresh opportunities in turn. There were not only more fighters present—ergo a greater number of variations to be arranged—but also new eyes to see even those in which the locals had long lost interest.

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The fighters certainly made up the majority of the entertainers, but they weren't alone by any means. From the western alliance had come an influx of fortune tellers. The self-proclaimed seers were missionaries that served the goddess of fate and touted the idea that one's course in life was predetermined. Few Cadrians believed in their ramblings, but the westerners' attractions were well-beloved regardless. It didn't matter if the so-called fortune tellers were fraudsters—though not all of them were. One particularly well-known seer was capable of providing in precise and perfect detail the next time that one would stub their toe. Even so, most believed that it was the result of an otherwise harmless curse as opposed to a true look into the future.

And then there were the exotic pet traders. Having wanted a pet of its own ever since its childhood, Bear was especially excited to browse the merchants' wares—and that was precisely why it bashed its face into the nearest wall when it saw them.

Their main creature feature proved awfully familiar. With giant claws, bright orange fur, and the dopiest face that could have possibly belonged to a tiger, it was precisely one of the aspects that the Northern Brigade had encountered in the moments preceding Olethra's fall. The big cat's less-than-intelligent behaviour was a dead giveaway—he was sitting perfectly content in his cage, in spite of the fact that he was chained up and treated as property.

Bear wasn't the only one to react viscerally to his reveal. The elves in the crowd opened their eyes wide and immediately spread word of his level while the moose shivered in their boots. The tiger was a monster that couldn't be bested; they didn't even want to imagine the hell that would come out of its mistreatment.

It was fortunate then that the chain was the only hint of possible abuse. He had plenty of fresh water, was pudgy from overfeeding, and his cage was practically filled with toys. He even had one in his mouth when his owner pulled the curtains, though he quickly set it down and puffed up his chest.

He continued to remain perfectly content until he twitched his nose. Suddenly tensing, he gave the air a few cursory whiffs. Each was accompanied by a subtle but undeniable change in his expression, a dose of fear that manifested as a bead of sweat.

His neck made a creaking sound as he turned towards the hydra, or more specifically, the head on its far left side. Bear said nothing. It only returned the tiger's stare with the friendliest of smiles.

Roumalou, the tiger, didn't seem to share the hydra's perception. A shiver running down his spine, he curled up into a ball with a whimper of an awroo, prompting much confusion from the crowd. The more eagle-eyed members followed his gaze and found the tiny critter. At least seven different elves activated their racial abilities. But they only came away more confused than not.

After all, they thought the hydra was one creature, not four. And coincidentally, one of the heads was much much lower level than the three others. It only took lightly editing the rays that exited their eyes to focus them upon the only one that wasn't an aspect.

The moose weren't quite as easily deceived, but the elves were vocal enough for Roumalou's owner to gather his wits and offer an explanation. The man told a tragic backstory wherein the tiger had watched a treacherous, nine-headed lizard tear his family apart. The whole thing was made up, of course, but seeing no better explanation, the crowd readily accepted the merchant's lie.

Though Bear was tempted to lean into the tale and terrorize the silly cat, it decided to abandon the scene before it drew any more attention. All four heads had eaten their fill; they had no reason to continue aimlessly wandering about.

Casting its magic, Bear took the hydra's body up into the sky. It passed straight through the barrier that surrounded Valencia and rose above the ducal houses to look down upon everything that Valencia had to offer.

It was strange.

It had only been a few months since its last visit. And back then, it had felt nothing for its homeland. But somehow, Bear couldn't stop itself from smiling. A strange tingling coursed through the back of its mind as it continued to gaze upon the place where it had spent its first sixteen years.

The bitter memories were still there.

But knowing that its mother was still alive, and that its father always had its best intentions at heart, made them much easier to stomach. Or perhaps, maybe it didn't. Maybe it was just the company that truly made its mood.

Either way, it greeted the night with a calm, collected smile.

"Wow! The city's so bright that you wouldn't think it's nighttime!" said Bowl.

"It's always like this," said Hat.

"It's a nuisance," said Bear. "It makes it harder to sleep."

"Yeah, right! You literally always fall asleep the moment you close your eyes!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's the biggest lie ever and you know it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Lying is bad," said Hat.

The statement was accompanied by a stare; Hat's eyes were so bright and clear that Bear almost felt bad for lying. Almost.

"L-Lying!? I'm not lying!" Bear choked on its fake tears as it recoiled into a tiny, sad ball. "I'd never lie! Not to you two!"

"Oh, come on. Now you're just playing dirty." Bowl sighed. "You know that I can't help but feel bad for you when you do that, even though I know you're just pretending!"

"B-bowl!?" Bear opened its eyes wide before breaking down into a sobbing mess. "How could you!? I trusted you, Bowl! I spilled my heart out! All I wanted was for you to believe me! But you won't even do that!"

"Wait… Why are you calling me Bowl?" asked Bowl.

Bear gasped. "What a cruel twist of fate! What wicked, savage god has consigned this unspeakable trial upon us!? I thought a plotted act of cruelty, twisted through my chest like a knife! But in truth, her lack of pity was but another artifact of her lack of memory. Oh, how terrible! How unspeakably horrific! To what lengths must I go to tear myself from this frightful nightmare? To which promised land must I embark to return to her the times we shared together? I know only that I must steel my spirit and prepare. For there is no such journey devoid of adversity."

Hat clapped its stubby little hands while Bowl blinked, confused.

"Where the heck did that soliloquy come from?"

"I made it up on the spot," said Bear. "I was thinking about visiting one of the theatres. They often have evening shows, but it's about time for us to get back to the castle. They're going to be looking for Rubia."

Looking one last time at the city, Bear closed its eyes and fell towards the castle.

Perhaps, one day, it really would spirit its sister away.

But any such day was still far in the future.

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