Quiet Defiance

The air in Riena’s back alleys was thick with the stench of damp wood and old fish, a stark contrast to the city’s charming canals and quiet elegance. The further one strayed from the market squares and polished stone walkways, the more the town’s underbelly revealed itself—dark passageways, forgotten courtyards, and doors that only opened for those who knew the right knocks.

River Crowe didn’t need to knock.

The heavy wooden door creaked as he shoved it open, stepping into the dimly lit interior of a cramped, cluttered shop. The smell of old parchment and ink filled the space, mixed with something more acrid—perhaps the nervous sweat of the shop’s owner, who nearly leapt out of his chair at the sight of him.

“C-Crowe?!” The man stammered, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape that didn’t exist. “I-I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

River leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Didn’t know I had a schedule.”

The informant swallowed hard. He was a wiry, balding man with twitchy fingers that fiddled with a quill on his desk. His job was simple—gather information, sell it to whoever was willing to pay, and avoid getting stabbed in the process. Unfortunately for him, River wasn’t just any client.

“You got some nerve selling me false leads,” River continued, his voice casual, almost conversational. “I don’t like wild goose chases. I especially don’t like when they waste my time.”

The man flinched. “I-I swear, it wasn’t false—”

River was on him in an instant. A blur of motion, a hand gripping the man’s collar and yanking him half over his desk. The quill clattered to the floor as papers scattered under his weight. The man was terrified. Clearly telling the mercenary he would find Lothar near Lorenzia wasn’t believable enough to keep him occupied for long. Or get him killed as he would have hoped.

“Try again.” River’s violet eyes glinted in the dim candlelight, his grip tightening. “And make it the truth this time.”

The informant let out a panicked wheeze, nodding rapidly. “Wait! Wait! I wasn’t lying, I swear! I just—maybe didn’t have the full picture before…”

River raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yes! I—I’ve got better information now. No extra charge. Completely free.” The words tumbled out in a rush, his desperation practically tangible. “There’s a ball in the main city, Montevio. Nobles, merchants, people with… connections. His connections.”

At that, River finally let go, letting the man stumble back into his chair, rubbing at his throat.

“A ball…” River repeated, adjusting his cloak. “You’re sure?”

The informant coughed, nodding. “Positive. High society types. Not sure if the man himself will be there, but if anyone knows his whereabouts, it’ll be someone in that crowd.”

River scoffed, already turning for the door. “For your sake, you better not be lying.” His hand lingered on the doorknob just a moment longer before he glanced back, voice dropping to something colder. “Otherwise, you won’t have a mouth left to spout information from next time.”

The informant paled, nodding so quickly it was a wonder his head didn’t detach.

With that, River stepped out into the evening air.

“All went smoothly,” River said as he emerged from the alleyway.

Fiora was waiting just outside, arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised. “Smoothly…” she echoed. “I heard the screams from here, you know.”

River rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, information sellers are dramatic.”

Fiora huffed, but didn’t press further as the two fell into step, heading back toward the town center.

The streets of Riena had a quiet melancholy to them. The sky had begun shifting to hues of orange and violet, reflecting off the gently rippling canals. Gondolas drifted lazily through the water, but the markets—what little of them remained—had already begun to close up. Most merchants had long since lost interest in their trade, their stalls more of a habit than a business now.

As they walked, a passerby reached out, pressing a flyer into River’s hand. He didn’t even glance at it before crumpling it up, but Fiora caught sight of the words scrawled across it just before he tossed it aside.

“The Lantern Festival – One Last Moment of Light.”

She blinked. “Wait—what did that say?”

River sighed, retrieving the crumpled paper and flicking it toward her. “Something about a festival. Doesn’t matter.”

Fiora took it, scanning the writing. Nearby, murmurs floated through the air as a few townspeople spoke in hushed voices.

“I can’t believe they’re actually doing it this year…”

“Madness, if you ask me. What’s the point?”

“I heard the council tried to stop it, but the younger folk refused to let it die…”

Fiora turned back to River, curiosity lighting up her face. “What kind of festival is this?”

River exhaled, stuffing his hands into his cloak pockets. “It’s some tradition. People light enchanted lanterns and send ‘em down the canals, some sentimental thing about guiding lost souls or whatever. Supposed to be hopeful, I guess.” He shrugged. “Don’t know much else. Don’t care to.”

Fiora’s eyes shone as she read over the flyer again. “A festival, huh…”

River saw the look on her face and immediately groaned.

“No.”

Fiora snapped her gaze to him. “I didn’t even say anything yet!”

“You don’t have to. You’re transparent like that.”

She put on her most dramatic, pleading expression. “River, I have to go.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!”

River ran a hand down his face. “Missy you—”

“I told you don’t call me that!” Fiora snapped, heads turning towards them. The noblewoman quickly regretted doing that.

Then, when the silence settled, she pressed her hands together as if in prayer, “Come on, please?”

“No.”

“It might be the last festival like this to ever be held! It’d be a crime to not experience it!”

“You say that like I care.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, you don’t have to come, then!”

River sighed, rubbing his temples. “If you get yourself into trouble, I’m not bailing you out.”

“So that means we’re going?”

River opened his mouth, then shut it, defeated. There was a pause before he exhaled slowly.

“Only for a little while.”

Fiora clapped her hands together. “Great! You won’t regret this, mercenary!”

River grumbled under his breath, turning back toward the canals. “Already do.”

River wasn’t sure what annoyed him more, the fact that Fiora could convince him so easily, or the fact that he let her. He should have been thinking about Montevio, about Lothar, about his business. Instead, he sighed and fell into step beside her. Only for a little while. 

✾

The festival was quiet.

Not lifeless, not dull—but quiet, like a whispered memory of a grander time.

Fiora had expected something else. When she had heard the word festival, she had pictured bustling streets, laughter ringing through the air, music swelling beneath the glow of a thousand lanterns. She had imagined dazzling lights reflecting upon the water, the warmth of bodies gathered in celebration, the thrill of dancing amidst a sea of strangers.

Instead, Riena’s festival was a modest thing.

A lute’s gentle melody drifted through the air, its tune soft and nostalgic. A few wooden stalls remained, offering roasted delicacies and warm drinks. The stone fountain at the square’s center had been adorned with floating lights, their golden reflections shimmering across the water.

There were no grand speeches. No cries of defiance against fate.

Just quiet, unshaken contentment.

And yet—Fiora smiled.

“This is perfect,” she murmured.

River, standing beside her with his hands stuffed into his cloak, quirked a brow. “You call this perfect? It’s barely a step above a wake.”

Fiora didn’t even look at him. She was too busy admiring the scene, watching as children chased each other between the soft glow of lanterns, as couples leaned close to whisper beneath the dimming sky. “It’s peaceful.”

River scoffed. “It’s empty.”

Fiora turned to him, tilting her head. “You expected something different?”

He huffed. “Not really. I figured most people would be too busy waiting for the world to end.”

Fiora chuckled. “Exactly. That’s what makes this special.” She gestured toward the festival, voice growing softer. “The people who came here tonight… they aren’t trying to fight the end. They aren’t chasing Oaths or running in fear. They’re here because they chose to be. To cherish what little time they have, instead of letting it slip away.”

River studied her.

He had expected disappointment. He had expected complaints. But instead, she looked more alive than he had ever seen her—eyes alight, lips curled in something genuine.

For all her noble upbringing, for all the silk and grandeur she had been raised with, she found joy in the smallest of things.

She shone brightly, like a firefly in the dark.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “You really are a strange one, missy.”

Fiora scowled. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Force of habit.”

With a small smirk, River nodded toward the festival. “Go on, then. You dragged me here, might as well make it worth my time.”

Fiora brightened, tugging his arm before hurrying ahead.