Chapter 77: Festival of the Silver Bloom

The road sloped gently down into the town, and as we passed through its gates, the world seemed to shift. Beyond the stone archway, the streets were alive with color and sound. Lanterns of red, gold, and pale blue swayed above our heads, strung from one timbered house to another, their light flickering softly against the weathered wood. The air smelled of roasted nuts, baking bread, and simmering herbs. Ribbons of every hue trailed from window sills, tied to doorposts, and wound around poles, fluttering in the evening breeze.


Sylvie gasped the moment she saw it all, her small hands tightening on Narissa’s sleeve. “Look! Teacher Narissa, Lord Aren—look at the lanterns! So many colors! Can we stay? Can we see the dancers?” Her words spilled over each other, too quick for her mouth to keep up.


Narissa glanced back at me, her calm eyes reading more than I said aloud. Her lips curved faintly, though there was a quiet vigilance behind the softness. “Slow down, Sylvie. There will be time to see everything. But don’t run off.”


Sylvie nodded rapidly, bouncing on her toes like a bird ready to take flight. Her gaze darted everywhere—the ribbons, the stalls, the street performers juggling torches at the square’s edge.


I kept my pace steady, letting them move ahead. The crowd around us was a tide, swelling and breaking in waves of laughter, conversation, and song. I watched. That was my role, my habit. Children chased hoops across the cobbles, their laughter breaking like bells against the deeper hum of the festival. A girl tripped, scraped her knee, and before she could cry, another child pulled her up, brushing her off with laughter. A mother leaned down to fix her daughter’s flower crown, fingers gentle, while the girl fidgeted impatiently to rejoin her friends.


A vendor adjusted the silver blooms in his stall—delicate white petals threaded on stems of wire, catching lantern light until they glimmered. His hands were deft, each movement practiced, though every so often he glanced toward the temple square as if expecting someone.


Everywhere I looked, I found rhythm—gestures, patterns, the small cadences of living. A boy selling roasted chestnuts shook his pan in a measured beat, in time with the drummer who played across the square. Couples moved in loose circles to the music, their laughter carried by the wind. Even the small animals weaving through the crowd followed the rhythm, darting between legs at just the right moments to avoid being stepped on.


“Lord Aren!” Sylvie’s voice cut through my thoughts. She pointed at a stall where pastries were shaped like tiny flowers, glazed with honey. “Look! They’re tulip like rainbow! Can I have one? Please?”


Narissa smirked but nodded. “Why not? A small treat for our brave little explorer.”


I watched Sylvie’s face light up as the vendor wrapped the bread carefully. Despite my irritation at the forced festivity, a rare warmth softened inside me watching her innocence untouched by the shadows around us.


“Here, Lord Aren! For you too!”


I allowed it to remain.


Her squeal of delight made Narissa’s lips twitch in amusement. She leaned down to help Sylvie choose, her hand brushing gently against the girl’s back as she paid the vendor.


We walked on, the streets narrowing and opening in turns, every corner revealing another part of the celebration. Jugglers tossed bright balls into the air, their hands flashing too fast for the eye. Children squealed as a man in a patchwork cloak performed sleight-of-hand tricks, pulling ribbons from behind their ears. A group of women arranged flower garlands on a table, humming in unison as they worked, their voices blending in a melody older than the festival itself.


Narissa tilted her head toward me as Sylvie skipped ahead. “They’re genuine, aren’t they? This joy isn’t a show for us. It belongs to them.”


I scanned the crowd—eyes crinkled in real laughter, shoulders eased in comfort, movements loose with familiarity. “Yes,” I said quietly.


We passed beneath a canopy of lanterns where ribbons hung low enough for Sylvie to reach. She brushed her fingertips across them, giggling as they swayed. “Lord Aren, look! It’s like the sky is falling down for me to touch!”


“Careful,” Narissa reminded her, though her tone held no sharpness.


Sylvie twirled a ribbon around her finger before letting it go. “I wish we could live here forever. Don’t you think so, Lord Aren?”


“Forever isn’t practical,” I replied, and she pouted.


Tch… what a headache. I should’ve come here alone.
All this noise, laughter, petals flying around like it’s something divine—what’s there to be so excited about? A festival, some flowers… such meaningless things.


Still… sometimes, I wonder—what does it feel like to enjoy it? To smile over something this simple.


No. That kind of distraction will only dull my edge. Joy like that… will only get in the way of my ambition.


We came to the heart of the town—a square dominated by a fountain, its waters catching the lantern light in silvery glimmers. Around it, performers danced, their motions precise yet joyous, skirts and sleeves whirling like painted fire. Sylvie’s eyes widened. “They’re flying!”


Narissa’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, steadying her in the press of the crowd. “Just dancing, Sylvie. But I admit, they make it look like flying.”


I watched, not the performance itself, but the people watching it. Children leaned forward, eyes wide, their bodies mimicking the dancers’ movements unconsciously. Old men clapped in rhythm, their hands wrinkled but steady. Couples whispered to each other between bursts of applause.


We wandered further, the crowd shifting with us. A juggler nearly dropped his apple but caught it at the last second, bowing with exaggerated flourish. The children roared with laughter, their joy unfeigned. A mother bought her daughter a candied fruit, breaking it in half so they could share. An older woman hummed as she wove ribbons into her granddaughter’s hair.


Narissa leaned close, her voice low. “Every gesture here is a story. See it?”


“Yes.” My gaze followed a merchant who offered a small charm to a boy too poor to pay, sliding it into the child’s hand with a wink before sending him off.


The square breathed as one organism—voices, footsteps, music, and laughter merging in a living rhythm. The lanterns overhead swayed in time with the breeze, their colors spilling across the cobblestones. Smoke from a dozen fires rose into the air, mingling with the scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider.


Curious, I approached a vendor arranging his wares—a lean man with sun-darkened skin and a bright, almost too-wide grin. His hands deftly shaped flower-shaped pastries with practiced ease.


“Excuse me,” I said quietly, “what festival is this?”


He paused, eyes gleaming with pride. “Ah! You’ve come at the best time. This is the Feast of the Silver Bloom, a celebration of the first spring petals after the longest winter our town has ever seen.” He chuckled, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “They say the spirits bless us when we honor the old ways. Those who keep the traditions alive, keep the town safe.”


“Old ways?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow.


He shrugged, a little too casually. “Ah, you know how it is. Stories passed down through generations. Better not to question too much—just enjoy the blessings.”


Narissa’s voice dropped to a whisper as she stepped close to my side. “Folklore to keep the children entertained and the adults distracted. But I like it.”


The vendor’s grin widened as he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Wait till night, young lord. There’ll be a show—a retelling of the story of Marcus Aldwin.”


He paused for effect, eyes glinting in the lantern light. “Not a hero’s tale, mind you. A tragedy. A man who was once ordinary… until fate turned him cruel. They say his greed and wrath brought ruin not just to himself, but to everyone who followed him.”


Sylvie’s fingers tightened around mine. “That sounds sad…” she murmured.


The vendor chuckled softly. “Sad, yes. But that’s what makes it worth remembering. The Silver Bloom festival honors both joy and sorrow—the beauty of life and the price of desire. You’ll see when the play begins.”


Narissa’s expression softened briefly, though her tone stayed calm. “We’ll stay,” she said. “But not till we can’t even open our eyes in the morning.”


“Of course, miss,” the vendor said with a polite bow before turning back to his pastries.


The smell of baked sugar and warm spice drifted through the air as laughter echoed around us. Sylvie gazed up at the colorful lanterns with wide eyes, her earlier sadness already melting into wonder.


I watched her quietly, my reflection caught in the shimmer of her joy.


Marcus Aldwin…


How familiar.


Perhaps that’s why people cling to stories like his—they remind them of the line between ambition and ruin. A line I’ve already crossed once.


I sighed, looking toward the darkening sky. “Let’s see this story then,” I murmured. “Maybe tragedy is the only thing people truly understand.”


The sky had deepened into a dusky violet, the first stars timidly appearing above as townsfolk gathered around the open square. The hum of chatter quieted as lanterns floated upward, their golden glow painting the night like scattered embers. A wooden stage stood at the center, draped with silver cloth and wildflowers—humble, yet striking in its simplicity.


A voice called out, rich and commanding, “Tonight, we remember Marcus Aldwin—the man who defied the heavens and paid the price.”


The crowd fell silent. A few children gasped as the actors stepped forward, faces half-hidden behind carved wooden masks. One portrayed Marcus—dressed in simple clothes, no different from any townsman, yet his eyes held a hollow pride that made him stand apart.


The story began with music—soft flutes and low drums echoing through the air. The stage brightened as faint lights formed patterns above the performers, casting shifting colors that painted emotion into every movement.


I watched as the man on stage laughed with friends........


Light magic, I thought, narrowing my eyes slightly. This world may not have screens like those on Earth, but it does have devices—like the one I use to speak with Claire. Magic can mimic almost anything. But these devices lack one thing—the ability to record.


The light shimmered, fading as the final act came to an end. The crowd erupted into applause, their faces glowing with awe and sorrow alike. Sylvie clapped softly beside me, her eyes reflecting the lanterns’ glow, while Narissa watched in silence, her gaze calm and distant.


I leaned back slightly, arms folded. Advanced magic like that doesn’t belong in a small town like this…


Still, I let the thought drift away with the music.


“Let’s just continue watching,” I murmured, as the lanterns floated higher, disappearing into the star-strewn sky.


And with that, the night swallowed the last glimmer of light from the stage—marking the quiet end of the act.