The golden light of morning spilled across the wooden floorboards of my room, painting long slats of warmth across the foot of the bed. I lay there for a while, listening—first to the creak of the shutters in the breeze, then to the faint sounds rising from the streets below. Laughter. Bells. Footsteps. The scent of fresh bread drifted in through the window, accompanied by the cool breath of the sea. It was the morning of the Swallowtail Festival.

I dressed slowly, letting the sense of the day settle in. The shirt I chose was clean—simple but well-fitted. Nothing ostentatious. I wasn’t here to turn heads.

Downstairs, the Rusty Dragon was alive with chatter and clinking mugs. Townsfolk and travelers alike filled the common room, finishing their breakfast before the festivities began.

Lucian spotted me before I reached the bottom step. He leaned against the bar with a mug of cider and a smirk. "Ah, the scholar emerges. Sleep well, or were you too busy dreaming of enlightenment?"

"Got something I can eat on the go?" I asked Ameiko as I passed the bar. "I'd hate to miss the opening ceremony—but my stomach is making a few demands."

Ameiko, ever prepared, grinned and handed me a warm, cloth-wrapped bundle. "Spiced sausage and cheese in a fresh roll. Portable and delicious."

Lucian grabbed one for himself with a grin. "Now this is the kind of magic I can appreciate."

We stepped outside into a town transformed.

Banners of blue, silver, and violet rippled in the sea breeze, strung from rooftops and lampposts. Musicians played at corners, their notes winding through the air like the scent of honeyed pastries and roasting meats. Children darted between booths with painted faces and sticky fingers, and the town square buzzed with energy.

The cathedral loomed ahead, its new stone facade catching the morning sun. A wooden stage had been erected before its broad steps, and townsfolk now gathered in a loose semicircle around it.

Among the crowd, I spotted familiar faces:

Aldern Thorne, dressed in fine clothes that caught the light with every movement.

Shayliss, chatting animatedly with a group of local youths.

Ameiko, near a vendor’s stall, keeping a watchful eye on everything.

Lucian nudged me, nodding toward the stage. "That’s Mayor Deverin, I’d wager."

"Welcome, friends, neighbors, and travelers!" she began, voice ringing with cheerful authority. "It brings me great joy to see you all here for another Swallowtail Festival—our chance to celebrate our community, our future, and the blessings of Desna!"

Cheers rose from the crowd, mugs and pastries lifted high in response.

The mayor stepped aside for a broad-shouldered man with a beard and soot-stained hands—clearly Sheriff Hemlock. His tone was more somber, reminding everyone to enjoy the day but to remain safe.

After him came an elderly man in deep blue robes. His voice trembled slightly, but his eyes shone with conviction.

"And let us not forget the historical significance of this day—for our town and our faith. The new Sandpoint Cathedral stands as a testament to perseverance. May it serve as a beacon for all who seek solace, wisdom, and renewal."

Finally, a slick-looking nobleman stepped up. His speech was full of flourish and self-congratulation. The crowd clapped politely, but I sensed they were used to tuning him out.

Lucian leaned over, muttering, "I think I like the old scholar best. At least he sounds like he cares."

Then came the butterflies.

Thousands of Swallowtails, hidden until now in a silken-draped enclosure, were released into the morning sky. Their wings caught the sunlight as they rose in shimmering clouds—blue, gold, orange—fluttering like living prayers.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Laughter and applause echoed across the square.

The festival had begun.

Lucian stretched, his grin lazy and eager. "Alright, Cassian. Where to first? Games? Food? Or shall we see if there’s any trouble worth getting into?"

I smiled, the warm bread roll still in my hand. The sun was high, the town was alive, and the day was ours to shape.

"Let’s start with trouble and work backward," I said.

The Swallowtail Festival was everything a celebration ought to be—color, sound, flavor, and laughter braided together into something vibrant and unmistakably alive. Lucian and I walked shoulder to shoulder through the heart of it all, the crowd parting and reforming like the sea around us.

It reminded me, in a way, of the festivals in Oppara—though less grand, less choreographed. But where the imperial capital had scale and spectacle, Sandpoint had sincerity. The Varisian flair, the Shoanti strength, the Chelish formality—here, it all blended into a strange, homey harmony. People laughed with their whole bodies. Music clashed joyfully with the rhythm of hammer-on-iron from a smith’s stall. There was a sense of place here, and of pride.

The townsfolk greeted one another by name, embracing, teasing, laughing like they shared more than just proximity—they shared history. You could feel it in the way they spoke about the cathedral, with reverence and pain still close to the surface. The fire that had claimed the old church was clearly a wound not yet fully healed, but the town wore its scars with grit. It had rebuilt.

That said, not everything was harmony.

I noticed the glances—brief and dismissive—from certain well-dressed merchants toward the working folk. And the murmurs. Land disputes. Prices. Familiar struggles dressed in new clothes. The older generation in particular seemed wary of the Varisians—especially when a fortune-teller drew a crowd, or a juggler cast minor illusions to the delight of children. And though some Shoanti mingled freely, I caught more than one guarded expression aimed their way. One man in particular—a tall, sullen Shoanti with crossed arms and faded tribal tattoos—watched the festivities from a distance, his stance rigid and unmoving.

The games were varied and spirited. A grizzled half-orc ran an archery range with barked challenges and a gleam of pride in every bullseye struck. A hammer-and-bell contraption sent laborers straining to impress onlookers. Children squealed as they chased a greased pig through a penned-in alleyway, slipping and tumbling with delighted shrieks. Nearby, a Varisian crone read harrow cards under a colorful awning, her eyes sharp and knowing beneath the layers of shawls.

Musicians wandered freely—some playing traditional Varisian tunes, others pulling laughter with sleight of hand and simple enchantments. The whole town was in motion.

"So?" Lucian asked, elbowing me. "What do you think of Sandpoint so far? More or less interesting than you expected?"

I smirked, nodding toward the pig chase. "I think you should go catch that pig. That would certainly be more interesting than I expected."

He gave me a look of mock indignation. "Me? Chasing a pig? Cassian, my dear cousin, I have a reputation to maintain."

I patted him on the back and turned my gaze toward a figure who had caught my attention. "That elven woman over there has me curious. She looks like someone who thinks three is a crowd. I’m going to see if I can strike up a conversation. Why don’t you go and check out the rest of the festival? I’ll catch up in a bit."

Lucian adjusted his cloak as though preparing for a royal audience, then gave a flourishing bow. "Fine, fine. You go be mysterious with the brooding elf. I’ll see what kind of trouble I can get into. Try not to bore her to death with architectural theories, yeah?"

And with that, he was off—vanishing into the press of people like a fish darting downstream.

I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and began making my way toward the elven woman, careful to approach with the kind of quiet that didn’t startle.

The elven woman stood near the edge of the festival like a shadow that had chosen not to blend. Where the townsfolk danced and drank and laughed beneath Desna’s blessing, she remained apart—rigid, reserved, and quietly alert. Her bow was slung over her back, unstrung but within easy reach, and the leathers she wore had the worn ease of years spent in the wilderness.

I approached openly, without artifice. She did not strike me as the sort who would appreciate games of charm or subtlety. I stopped beside her—not too close—and greeted her in Elvish.

"Good morning, lady. Not enjoying the festivities?"

Her emerald eyes flicked to mine, sharp and measuring. There was a pause—half a heartbeat—before she answered in the same tongue.

"Good morning, traveler. Enjoyment is… a matter of perspective. The festival serves its purpose. But I find observation preferable to indulgence."

Her gaze returned to the crowd, but I had her attention now. I could feel it.

"You speak my language well," she said. "Few outside my kin make the effort."

I bowed my head slightly. "Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Cassian Valerius, of Oppara. My family had dealings, now and again, with Kyonin emissaries. I pick up languages quickly, and Elvish seemed prudent to learn."

She turned to face me properly then—still guarded, but no longer closed. "A scholar, then. And well-mannered at that."

She inclined her head, just enough to acknowledge the respect. "I am Shalelu Andosana. Some call me Sandpoint’s protector. I hold no such title. I simply watch—over this town, the wilds, and the things that stir while others sleep."

She watched the revelry in silence for a beat. Children laughed as they dashed between booths. Jugglers tossed flame. A pig squealed somewhere in the distance.

"It is well that they can laugh. But laughter does not keep the darkness at bay."

Her words landed with weight—not melodrama, not paranoia. Certainty.

She looked me over again, appraising. "You carry yourself differently than most humans I meet. You did not approach me with flattery, nor ask me to smile or enjoy the revelry. You understand that some people watch while others dance. That, I can respect."

Then, after a pause, her voice softened just enough to hold curiosity.

"So tell me, Cassian Valerius—what is it you truly seek in Sandpoint?"

I chuckled quietly. "That seems to be the question. Someone asked me that very thing last night. The truth is—I’m not sure yet. But I think I’ll know it when I find it. Until then, I look to learn all I can, see what I can find, and do the most good I can manage."

I smiled, half-apologetically. "Ye gods, that sounds a bit silly even to me, and I’m the one who said it."

To my surprise, Shalelu chuckled. It was dry, brief—but not unkind.

"Silly? Perhaps. But not foolish. Many wander this world seeking coin, power, or legacy. Few admit they don’t know what they seek."

She shifted her weight, leaning casually against a wooden post as she scanned the crowd again.

"Knowledge is a fine enough pursuit. And doing good? Noble. Though a heavy burden if carried too seriously."

Her tone changed—sharpened. "If you truly mean to do good, be aware: Sandpoint is not as peaceful as it seems. There are signs. Shadows stirring at the edges of things. I’ve seen them before."

There was steel in her voice now, tempered by experience.

"Perhaps it is nothing. But I suspect otherwise. And if you’re the kind of man who acts when trouble arises, rather than turning away... then perhaps we will speak again."

She straightened, the moment of softness gone. Once again, she was sentinel.

"Enjoy the festival, Cassian Valerius. But keep your eyes open."

And with that, she turned her gaze back to the crowd.

I stood there for a few heartbeats more, watching the revelers laugh and cheer, letting her words settle in my bones.

Somehow, the sun seemed just a little dimmer after that.

The laughter of the festival faded behind me as I made my way back toward Lucian, weaving through the crowd with Shalelu’s words still echoing in my mind. The scent of honeyed pastries and roasted meat clung to the air, but it all felt slightly thinner now—like a painting with the color just beginning to run.

I found Lucian near a knife-throwing contest, watching with that familiar bemused smirk as a farmer's blade stuck into the edge of the target and wobbled. As I approached, he turned to me with a grin.

"So, how did it go? Did you unlock the elven secrets of brooding over a festival?"

I kept my voice low, my tone just light enough to keep from drawing attention. "Her name’s Shalelu Andosana. She’s more than just a brooding elf—she’s a scout, a guardian of sorts. And she doesn’t trust what she sees around here. Said there are signs. That something’s coming."

Lucian’s smile faded, replaced by something quieter. He nodded slowly.

"She doesn’t strike me as the type to spook easily. If she’s watching the shadows, we’d better start paying attention."

I glanced around the square and then asked, "Did you bring your weapon with you?"

He patted his hip instinctively—then grimaced. "Ah. Well… no. I left it back at the inn. Wasn’t expecting to have to duel anyone between bites of sausage rolls."

His eyes scanned the crowd now, more alert. "I’ll head back and grab it. If there’s trouble, I’d rather not face it unarmed. You staying here?"

I nodded toward the steps of the cathedral. "I’m going to get a drink and stand over there. It’s a good place to keep an eye on things without drawing too much attention. Meet me there."

Lucian nodded. "Alright. Don’t go getting yourself stabbed without me."

With that, he vanished into the swirl of festival-goers.

I made my way to the edge of the square, where vendors circled the cathedral green and families strolled with sticky-handed children. I bought a mug of mulled cider—lightly spiced and just warm enough—and took my place on the cathedral steps.

From here, I had a clean view of the square. The festival still danced around me—music and color, games and chatter—but my focus had shifted.

Ameiko stood near a food stall, laughing with two older women who must’ve been long-time regulars. Shalelu, I noticed, had moved to the edge of the square, still watching, still apart. The red-haired cleric of Desna I’d noticed earlier now stood near the cathedral entrance, speaking with a small gathering of children and elders. Her voice was calm and bright, weaving teachings into the festival with ease.

The merchant from earlier waved his arms wildly, trying to draw attention to his wares with theatrical flair. Nearby, a pair of young lovers stole a kiss behind a pie vendor’s cart.

For a moment, it was easy to pretend it was just another festival.

But then the children near the pie vendor scattered—laughing at first, running in different directions.

At first, I thought it was part of a game.

Then I heard the shout—a vendor cursing loudly, something about food going missing.

And then—

A dog’s yelp. High, startled, and too sharp to ignore.

I felt it in my spine before I saw it—the kind of cold certainty that only comes when instinct screams before logic can catch up.

I tapped my staff against the stone, murmuring the words of warding under my breath.

"Karames val’therin."

A shimmer of arcane energy spread across my frame, clinging like a second skin—Mage Armor, thin as mist, strong as iron.

Then I saw it.

A goblin.

Mangy and scarred, crouched over the still-warm corpse of a dog, its wicked blade dripping blood, its mouth full of half-chewed sausage. Its eyes met mine. For a moment, it simply stared. Then it shrieked.

"REEEEEEEE!"

The sound split the morning air—and was answered.

From barrels, from beneath carts, from rooftops and alleyways—they came. Dozens of them, shrieking, cackling, blades waving wildly. The square erupted in chaos. Vendors screamed. Children scattered. Smoke began to rise from toppled cooking fires and overturned stalls.

I took a step back, staff raised. I didn’t see Lucian. I was alone.

So I summoned help.

"Nal’shari ombrin!"

Light swirled at my side, crackling with bluish-white energy. A summoning circle blazed into being on the stone.

With a flash, a celestial hound appeared—its fur radiant, its eyes fierce. It barely had time to snarl before the goblin charged.

The dog lunged—snapping its jaws—but the goblin twisted, slipping past the bite. It slashed wildly with its blade.

A yelp—my summoned ally staggered back, wounded but still standing.

I growled and raised my hand, summoning a roiling orb of green acid. The goblin was focused on the dog, unaware of me.

"Asha vel drann!"

I hurled the orb.

It struck home.

Acid hissed as it splashed across the goblin’s leather vest, burning deep into the filthy skin beneath. It screamed, twisting in pain, but still didn’t fall.

That was enough.

I circled wide, staff gripped in both hands. The goblin never saw me coming.

With a grunt of effort, I brought the quarterstaff down with all the strength I had.

Crack.

Bone gave way. The goblin hit the ground in a crumpled heap, blade falling from its twitching fingers.

The celestial dog gave a triumphant bark, its stance still alert.

All around me, the square burned.

Goblins were everywhere—setting fire to banners, stabbing wildly into the crowd, loosing arrows at fleeing townsfolk.

I looked toward the path Lucian had taken. Still no sign.

I swallowed hard, tightened my grip on the staff, and turned back to the chaos.

The goblin snarled, blade raised high above the cowering townsman—until my voice cut through the chaos.

"Hey, friend goblin! Stop for a moment and leave that poor man be!"

The goblin blinked, his head jerking toward me, eyes suddenly unsure. I raised my staff and let the words flow like silver over stone.

"Larethian min’aral."

The spell hit clean.

His expression slackened, his posture softened, and he tilted his head as if struggling to remember whether I was friend or foe.

"Eh? You… you talk funny, but… you talk nice."

His grip on the reins relaxed, his blade lowered slightly. The townsman beneath him stared in confusion, his terror morphing into stunned disbelief.

I smiled, stepping closer, my tone friendly, coaxing. "My friend! I don’t care about this longshanks except that he’s wasting your time. There’s treasure and food right over there. I saw it myself—merchants running for the gates with bags of it. If you and your friends run, you’ll catch them."

The goblin’s eyes lit up. "Treasure? Food?!"

I pointed to the north gate. "That way. Right now."

He twisted in the saddle, shrieked, and jabbed a clawed finger toward the street.

"HAH! LONGSHANKS RUNNIN’ WITH SHINIES! WE GO! WE GO FAST!"

He whipped the reins of his mangy goblin-dog, and the beast snarled, leaping into motion. Several nearby goblins, drawn by the cry, actually followed him—forgetting their carnage in the square and chasing after phantom riches.

The townsman stared after them, slack-jawed.

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Don’t just stand there, man! Get out of the square and indoors. Check on your family if you have one. Go on, time’s wasting!"

That jolted him to life. He nodded and ran.

I turned just in time to see a flicker of movement near the Rusty Dragon. A goblin stood at the corner of the inn, torch in hand, fumbling with an overturned table and some bunting—trying to set a blaze.

I felt my stomach clench. That was our room.

And just then, I saw him—Lucian.

Rapier drawn, cloak swirling, cutting through the chaos with a grim set to his jaw.

I cupped my hands and shouted, "That little bastard is trying to burn our rooms down! Let’s explain to him how that’s a bad idea!"

I pointed my staff straight at the goblin, its tip glowing with arcane readiness.

Lucian came running at my shout, rapier already drawn and gleaming in the firelight.

"Oh, no, no, no," he growled. "If some goblin burns my bed, I’m going to have words!"

We skidded to a stop near the Rusty Dragon. Flames licked at the edge of the roof, curling smoke into the sky. A goblin crouched on a stack of crates, torch raised high like some demented fire-priest.

"BURRRRN THE DRAGON! BURRRRN THE DRAGON! MAKE IT SMOKEY, MAKE IT BRIGHT!"

The torch arced backward in the goblin’s clawed hand, ready to fly.

"You get him," I said quickly to Lucian. "I’ll get the torch."

Arcane syllables spilled from my lips.

"Velari mar’en—Manu Vecta."

A shimmer of force leapt from my fingers. The torch froze mid-swing, then jerked back, tugged by invisible hands. The goblin blinked, utterly dumbfounded.

"Huh?! WHAT?! WHO STEALS FIRE?!"

The torch floated, twitching like a bug on a string. I flicked it toward a rain barrel tucked beneath the eaves. It landed with a wet hiss, steam curling into the smoke.

Lucian didn’t miss a beat.

"No, it’s really not," he said, and lunged.

Steel met flesh. The goblin shrieked, stabbed clean through the ribs. It stumbled, bleeding, eyes wide and desperate.

I stepped in, twirling my staff with a feint that caught the creature’s eye. It flinched, turning instinctively toward me.

Just enough.

Lucian struck again, clean and quick. His blade punched through the goblin’s chest. It collapsed with a gurgle, twitching once before going still.

Lucian planted a boot on the corpse and yanked his blade free, flicking the blood aside before turning to me with a grin.

"Much appreciated, cousin. I do my best work when they’re not looking."

"And I do mine when they are."

We shared a breath—just one—before the screams of the town reclaimed us.

Smoke hung heavy over Sandpoint, curling through the streets in dark, acrid ropes. The fires still crackled, but no longer unchecked. A line of townsfolk passed buckets hand to hand from the wells, dousing the worst of it. Cries of alarm had shifted to barked orders and grim determination. The panic was turning to action.

And we had helped light the match.

Lucian stepped up beside me, flicking goblin blood off his blade as he surveyed the aftermath.

"This isn’t over yet," he said. "Where to next?"

I scanned the streets. The Rusty Dragon was safe. The fire brigade was organized and hard at work. Across the square, I could see Hemlock and his guards holding their line, keeping goblins pinned against broken carts and overturned market stalls.

But farther down—through the smoke-choked lanes and winding alleys—there were still screams. Still movement.

"Those fires are going to become a problem," I said. "We’ll have to trust the guard to hold their ground. If we don’t stop the burning, there might not be a town left to save."

I turned and jogged toward the nearest fire.

"We need to put out fires!" I called, grabbing the attention of nearby townsfolk. "Where are the wells? Buckets? Form a line—fast!"

A few blinked at me in confusion, still frozen.

"Move!" I snapped, voice ringing with the authority of someone who had no business giving orders—but would not be ignored.

The spell took hold. Not magic, not arcane—but momentum.

The blacksmith moved first. Then a fisherman. Then three more.

In moments, we had a chain.

Lucian planted himself near me, blade ready, watching every alley and rooftop with narrowed eyes. "I’ll keep anything with green skin off your back. You organize the town."

"Cousin," I said, panting as I passed a bucket down the line, "you have no idea how close I am to out of spells."

"Then try not to miss."

He wasn’t joking.

Through the haze, two more goblins emerged—one with a torch, another with a rusty dagger. Their eyes glittered with malice.

"Too many longshanks! Too many!"

"BURN ‘EM ANYWAY!"

"That one," I growled, pointing at the torch-wielder. "We just started getting these fires under control. We don’t need any more."

I raised my staff and let fly.

"Asha vel drann!"

The acid hit, but just barely. Enough to burn. Enough to distract.

Lucian moved in like a shadow with steel. One precise thrust, and the torch fell from the goblin’s fingers, sputtering harmlessly in the dirt.

The second goblin screamed as its companion collapsed.

"NOOO! SNUK! YOU WAS MY FAVORITE!"

It bolted.

Lucian looked to me. "Should we chase it?"

I shook my head. "Chasing a goblin into a smoke-filled alley on our own seems foolish."

He nodded once, satisfied.

We turned together, scanning the streets.

The fires were nearly out.

The guard was winning.

But Sandpoint was still a battlefield.

And we weren’t done.

"Let’s see if anyone else needs help," I said.

And we moved on.

We found the children beneath the shattered wreck of a fruit cart—a boy and a girl, no older than eight. Their faces were smudged with soot and tears, their small bodies trembling under the wooden frame.

I dropped to one knee, offering a gentle smile.

"Hey, guys. What are you doing under there? Need some help getting out? I think the little stinkers are gone now." I nodded toward Lucian. "Well, except for this one. I keep telling him he needs to bathe more than once a month, but he won’t listen. Want to get out and find your parents?"

The boy sniffled. "He does smell kinda bad."

Lucian crossed his arms, wounded pride painted across his face. "Really? After all the heroic swordplay I’ve done today?"

He knelt beside me with a dramatic sigh. "Alright, little ones. Let’s get you out of there, hmm?"

The cart was heavy, pinned at an angle, but not crushed. With Lucian at one side and me at the other, we braced ourselves to lift.

I grunted. He grunted louder.

And then he slipped.

Lucian hit the dirt with a thud, groaning. I, meanwhile, hoisted the whole thing up with a sharp breath and held it there as if the gods themselves had taken notice.

The boy’s jaw dropped. "Whoa! Mister, you’re strong!"

The girl gasped. "Is—is he dead?"

Lucian, flat on his back, raised one hand weakly toward the sky. "Cassian. I want you to know… I tried my best."

I rolled my eyes and tilted the cart just enough for the children to wriggle free. As soon as they were clear, I let the wood fall with a satisfying thud.

Their mother arrived moments later, frantic and sobbing. She dropped to her knees and pulled them close, murmuring thanks between kisses and cries.

"I don’t know how to thank you!" she said, turning to us, eyes shining.

Lucian, still in the dirt, held up a single hand again. "T-tell… tell them my story…"

She nodded fiercely. "I will! I swear it! Both of you—you’re heroes."

The fires had faded. The goblins were dead or gone. Sandpoint still stood.

And as the smoke began to clear, Sheriff Hemlock strode toward us, blood on his blade, weariness etched into every line of his face.

He stopped a few feet away, eyeing us with something that might have been respect.

"You two… You helped save this town today."

He gestured toward the cathedral.

"Come. There’s much to discuss. And I think you’ve earned some answers."