Festival

The festival was already buzzing with activity, the entire population of the small village gathered together in one bright, humming knot of life. Lanterns had been strung between the houses, throwing warm light over the bustling street of stalls. Every food stand was free, each one displaying dishes made by someone from the community. Even Jere and Ylfa had unknowingly contributed - Jere with some of the leftover meat from the pigs slowly roasting over an open flame, and Ylfa with her careful planting, her flowers arranged throughout the square to offer pockets of quiet for anyone who needed a rest from the noise.

Alcohol made its rounds in jugs and cups, generous hands offering it first to Ylfa and then to Jere. They both refused with soft smiles. Ylfa’s reason was simple.

“I don’t want to forget tonight.”

Jere nodded as they continued walking arm in arm. She didn’t need to ask why he refused; she already knew. He wouldn’t drink something she didn’t, and besides, alcohol had no effect on him. It burned well enough, but to power his reactor he would have needed gallons of it every second. Magic was a far cleaner fuel.

They wandered deeper into the crowd - creatures of all shapes, sizes, species and identities mingling together, laughing, sharing food, embracing. It was astonishing to witness so many who were once enemies now standing shoulder to shoulder. A few even kissed openly, their differences forgotten in the glow of celebration.

Jere had to remind himself that many people looked at him and Ylfa the same way: two opposites, inexplicably drawn together. The thought lingered only a moment before Ylfa tugged sharply at his hand, excitement sparking in her eyes. She pulled him to the side and pointed at a nearby stall where someone was serving meat wrapped in a circular bread.

She beamed up at him.

“Have you ever tried a kebab, darling?”

He shook his head. He hadn’t tried much, though he’d learned a surprising number of recipes from her before they’d ended up in the village.

“Well, now you’re going to.”

She dragged him toward the stall, already placing the order before they even came to a stop. Moments later, two steaming kebabs were handed over. The aroma alone felt like it could melt steel - warm bread packed with roasted meat, fresh vegetables, and a sauce he didn’t recognize.

He watched how she took her first bite, and then copied her exactly.

Flavour detonated across his senses, ricocheting off every tasting node in his mouth. His eyebrows shot up, the sheer intensity of taste almost startling. Ylfa grinned at his expression.

“Good, isn’t it?”

He could only nod, too preoccupied with taking another bite. She laughed softly and ate her own, though her eyes stayed fixed on him, her tail giving a slow, happy wag.

They wandered deeper into the village square, where a band was setting up on a makeshift wooden stage. Ropes snaked across the planks, lanterns hung from hastily tied ropes, and musicians tuned their instruments with the easy confidence of people who had done this a hundred times for the same beloved crowd. Ylfa immediately brightened, turning to Jere with her arm linked through his once more.

“Looks like we will get to dance.”

Jere smiled and nodded, though he didn’t quite know what “dance” meant beyond the vague references in the songs stored on his MP3 player. The lyrics often talked about it - celebrated it, even - but never explained it. So he surrendered himself fully to whatever Ylfa had planned, letting her guide him as a crowd began to form around the stage. The band moved faster now, hurrying to finish their setup.

Some of the instruments were familiar in shape, but Jere couldn’t recall from where. It hardly mattered. The moment the band began to play - a slow, low, melancholic tune threaded with a deep romantic undercurrent - everything else fell away. Ylfa sighed in contentment beside him.

A few couples stepped forward, joining hands as they began a slow dance. Ylfa leaned up and whispered to him.

“I hope you're analysing all that, or whatever you do to remember things, because that’s what we’re going to do.”

Luckily, he had been. He had already predicted this outcome with high probability.

The song drew to a close, and the first group of dancers began to drift out of the circle to make room for the next. Before Jere and Ylfa could step forward, both felt a sharp tap on their backs. They turned to find Eny standing behind them, grinning so wide her cheeks puffed up.

“Auntie Effie says I can have a sleepover with the other kids!”

Effie herself came rushing up behind her, rabbit ears bouncing wildly with every frantic step. A small armada of children followed in her wake. Ylfa’s brow pinched with concern.

“Are you alright, Effie?”

Effie nodded - or attempted to. She was panting too hard to manage much more than a jerky bob of her head.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. I… I…”

“If it’s too much, please don’t hesitate to say no,” Ylfa said gently.

Eny’s face crumpled in protest, but Effie waved her hand insistently.

“No… I’ll be fine. I’m… I’m great with kids.”

Ylfa’s expression shifted into amused disbelief, but before she could comment, Effie thrust a finger toward the dancing circle.

“If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss the dance!”

Without waiting, she gave them both a firm push. Ylfa hesitated.

“Are you sure?”

Effie flapped her hand again. “I’ll be fine. Go on, you two deserve the peace and quiet.”

Ylfa finally relented and seized Jere’s hand, dragging him into the circle. He stumbled at first, but his processors snapped back to attention and corrected his balance. She laughed at his startled recovery, but then the next song began.

His mind spun as the recording of the previous dancers played back internally. His processors compared their movements to Ylfa’s as she wrapped one arm around his waist, interlaced her fingers with his other hand, and began to step in time with the music. His systems adjusted instantly, matching her pace and rhythm with perfect precision.

It left his organic mind free to simply… be.

Here he was - an artificial Angel built for killing, a machine forged for war - slow dancing in a circle of warm light with a woman he was unimaginably lucky to call his own. He smiled with her, listening to the melody, to her breathing, to the soft rustle of her clothes as she moved.

He watched her eyes, bright and beautiful, focused entirely on him.

For a moment, the world belonged only to them.

High above the forest-hidden village, Jaka circled in widening loops, his sleek silver wings catching the moonlight as the festival lights burned bright below. Music rose faintly to his sensors, distorted by altitude but unmistakably joyful - an emotion he did not understand, let alone recognize in such density.

Many things confused him tonight.

The first was simple geography. This settlement should not have existed. Not here, this close to the Kingdom. Not so obviously alive. The only explanation he could conjure was carelessness - no-one had ever thought to fly a scouting route over this particular stretch of forest, assuming anyone was able to. They had simply missed it.

His second question, however, drew nothing but errors and blanks across his processors.

Down below, in that circle of warm lamplight, an Angel stood.

The Angel.

Designation J-1. A name so feared that even humans in this world whispered fragments of it in rumour. A model whose combat record dwarfed Jaka’s own, whose rank stood higher, whose destruction tally was so severe it had spawned stories.

By every protocol, Jaka was to address him as superior.

And yet… there J-1 was - hands on the waist of a demon woman - moving in slow, rhythmic sweeps around a circle of people. Demons. Creatures Jaka understood were irredeemably malicious. Even the scattered humans down there showed no fear, no hatred. Only… comfort. Companionship. Unstructured interaction that did not match any behavioural profile in his memory banks.

It made no sense.

He felt the surge of instinctive aggression rise - capacitors along his spine humming as the temptation crawled over him, whispering how easy it would be to erase the entire place. One dive, one strike, and the contradiction before him would vanish.

But that wasn’t his mission.

His orders were clear: observe, collect information, and return.

Destroying the village would not answer the questions clawing at him.

So he continued to circle, wings glinting like sharpened blades against the sky, watching the celebration below with the patient, predatory stillness of a hawk. The villagers danced and laughed beneath him, unaware of the silent machine above - an Angel built for war, tracking their every movement as if assessing potential prey.

And he did not blink once.