Astria, the Kingdom of Freedom, was alive with celebration. Lanterns adorned every street, casting a warm golden glow over the cobblestone roads. Stalls lined the squares, filled with vibrant decorations, savory foods, and cheerful vendors shouting out their wares. Music filled the air, blending with laughter of children and the chatter of families.
The festival of Clovers marked the day Astria had broken free from the Pantheon's tyranny-a day of hope and joy amidst the darkness of the world.
In the heart of the festivities, Bran and Draven were locked in a fierce drinking competition. The table before them was littered with empty mugs, and a crowd had gathered, cheering and laughing at their antics.
Bran slammed another mug down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is that all you got, Draven?"
Draven, his face as stoic as ever, drained his mug in one go and set it down gently. "I could do this all night."
"You always say that," Bran shot back, reaching for another drink.
The crowd roared with laughter as the two continued, their bravado growing louder with each round.
Meanwhile, Ana and Luna were surrounded by children, their faces bright with joy. Ana, her usual calm demeanor softened, taught a group of kids how to juggle small wooden balls, her movements graceful and precise.
"Like this," she said, her silver haired braid catching the lantern as he moved.
The children clapped and cheered, trying to mimic her movements.
Luna, on the other hand, was playing tag with another group, her laughter ringing out as she darted through the crowd. "You'll have to be faster than that!" she teased, her wavy brown hair bouncing as she ran.
The sight of their happiness warmed the hearts of everyone around them.
On the far side of the square, Jean and Fenrick were causing their own brand of chaos. Jean had somehow managed to convince Fenrick to wear a ridiculous hat adorned with oversized feathers.
"You look so ridiculous!" Jean declared, laughing.
"Screw you, Jean." Fenrick shot back, though he couldn't hide his grin.
They challenged each other to a series of foolish games, from balancing on barrels to attempting to charm a group of good looking ladies. Their antics drew a mix of laughter and exasperated sighs from the townsfolk.
Xeraniel and Arden strolled through the festival, their dynamic as unpredictable as ever. Xeraniel snatched a stick of candy from a vendor, tossing it to Arden before the man could protest.
"Catch!" he said with a grin, dodging a half-hearted swipe from Arden's hand.
"You're impossible," she muttered, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.
The two disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a trail of laughter and confusion.
While his comrades reveled in the festivities, Modred sat alone on the kingdom's outer wall, his dark cloak billowing in the night breeze. Below him, the town glowed with lantern light, and the sound of music and laughter carried through the air.
His crimson eyes scanned the faces of the people, their joy a stark contrast to the weight in his chest.
"This peace," he murmured to himself, "was brought through blood. How many had to die for them to smile like this? How many more will die before this is over?"
The memories of his past surged forward-the betrayal, the pain, sacrifices that shaped him.
"The gods think they can play with our lives," he said, his voice cold and sharp. "But I swear, I'll end them. Every last one. I'll tear their limbs apart and burn their creations to ash."
His fists tightened, the fire in his eyes burning brighter. "They'll know how it means to lose everything."
A soft voice broke through his thoughts. "Modred."
He turned to see Aisha standing behind him, her golden hair shimmering in the moonlight. She wore simple dress, but her presence was radiant, her emerald eyes filled with quiet warmth.
"Everyone's having fun," she said, stepping closer. "Why aren't you?"
Modred looked away, his expression unreadable. "This isn't my kind of celebration."
Aisha smiled gently and sat beside him. "You always try to carry everything on your won. But you're not alone anymore, Modred. You have people who care about you."
He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, the distant sounds of the festival fading into the background.
Aisha turned to him, her cheeks tinged with pink. "I just wanted to say… thank you. For fighting. For not giving up."
Before he could respond, she leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
Modred's crimson eyes widened slightly, but his expression quickly returned to his usual stoicism.
Aisha smiled, her blush deepening. "You're not as scary as you think, you know."
She stood and began to walk away, her golden hair swaying in the breeze.
Modred watched her go, his thoughts a mix of confusion and something he couldn't place. For the first time in a long while, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.