1 day before festival begins.
Cadnaloupe was no longer just the empire's capital—it was now a hub of politics, trade, and hidden agendas. Travelers, dignitaries, and factions poured in, each with their own ambitions. Markets were packed with rare goods, and the city pulsed with both excitement and tension.
From the palace, Alex watched through the windows, taking in every movement. He couldn't act yet, but he could observe—and observation was power.
His mother, Aliena, sat beside him, listening as a palace official gave his report.
"The first wave of dignitaries has arrived," the official said. "Prince Aldric of the Lorien Federation has settled in the Trade District. The Celestine Theocracy's delegation is staying in the Temple Quarter. The Yokai Tribes refused palace lodging and set up along the outer markets. As for Drakvoss Dominion's princess... she's made quite an entrance."
Aliena smirked. "Kaelin?"
The official hesitated before nodding. "Yes, Your Highness. She arrived in full battle armor and demanded an immediate audience with the Emperor. Subtlety is not her strength."
Alex filed the information away. The festival wasn't just for celebration—it was a show of power. Each faction had influence, and each arrival carried an unspoken question: Who would leave stronger than they came?
The city had transformed overnight. Stalls lined the roads, filled with rare materials and futuristic enchantments. Artisans demonstrated tools powered by both magic and science, alchemists sold enhanced potions, and mercenaries engaged in public sparring to attract clients.
For the locals, the festival brought both prosperity and change. Shopkeepers marveled at the sudden increase in business, their stalls flooded with eager buyers.
"I've never seen so many foreign coins in my hands before!" one merchant laughed, handing a Yokai traveler a bundle of enchanted silk. "Might be time to expand."
His companion, a weaver, adjusted a shimmering tapestry behind him. "Expand where? The moment this festival ends, the city will return to normal. Besides, I hear some of these foreign traders aren't here just for business."
"You're always worrying," the merchant replied, counting his coins. "Security is tighter than ever. Palace guards are buying in bulk, and even the underground market is quieter than usual. Whatever happens, I plan to make a fortune."
Nearby, a group of blacksmiths huddled around a glowing forge, debating the sudden demand for custom weapons. "With so many warriors visiting, we can charge double the price," one of them said, hammering a blade. Another shook his head. "Short-term thinking. If we forge weapons that leave an impression, nobles and generals will commission us long after this festival ends."
Across the street, a group of young men and women gathered, their eyes filled with ambition. One of them, a traveling sword-for-hire, spoke in hushed excitement. "This is our chance. With so many factions here, someone is bound to need fighters. A contract here could set us up for life."
A scholar, fresh from an academy in the eastern provinces, shook his head. "You're thinking too small. The real power is in knowledge. Do you know how many rare tomes are circulating right now? Information is more valuable than gold. I intend to leave this festival with more than just coin—I want connections."
Further down the main road, an older woman haggled with a potion vendor. "That's twice the price from last week!"
The vendor, a young alchemist, sighed. "That's because the ingredients are harder to get with so many visitors. Supply and demand, lady. You won't find better quality anywhere else."
An armored city guard strolled by, nodding in satisfaction at the well-patrolled streets. "No disturbances yet," he muttered to his colleague. "That's a miracle."
His fellow guard chuckled. "Give it time. With this many powerful guests in one place, something is bound to happen."
Nearby, an alchemist stood on a raised platform, holding up a glowing vial. "One sip, and you'll move like lightning! Reflexes sharper than the finest blade!" he declared.
A skeptical onlooker crossed his arms. "And what's the price? My soul?"
The alchemist grinned. "Nothing that dramatic. Just enough to fund my next batch. Supply and demand, my friend."
Jorik Venn, the Hollow Trader, leaned against a wooden post, scanning the market crowd with an amused smirk. A robed figure beside him spoke in a low tone. "The Lanternborn have taken an interest in the festival. The Evernight Clan has sent an observer."
Jorik sighed. "So even the recluses are watching now? This just got more complicated."
Across the way, Nyasha, the Mhondoro Seer, pressed her hand against an ancient tree in the temple gardens. Her golden eyes flickered as she listened to unseen voices. "Something is shifting in this city. A story waiting to unfold."
At the imperial palace gates, a lone figure stood, his presence heavier than the armored guards flanking the entrance.
This was not an assassin. Assassins crept in shadows, hidden and unnoticed. But this man? He needed no cloak, no secrecy. His mere presence carried weight, enough that even the most hardened royal guards stiffened at his approach.
A towering figure wrapped in a dark, high-collared coat, he walked with deliberate steps, his every movement radiating purpose. His face, angular and expressionless, bore the signs of a man who had long since abandoned fear. His hands, clad in reinforced gauntlets, rested loosely at his sides—not as a man at ease, but as one ready to act at any moment.
A captain of the palace guard swallowed hard and stepped forward. "Sir, His Majesty is expecting you."
A short distance away, Woden Finch stood with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes taking in the man's approach. The tension in the air was unmistakable, but Woden did not falter. Instead, he gave a slow nod, a silent acknowledgment between warriors.
The figure returned the gesture, an unspoken recognition of mutual respect before stepping past him. Woden watched for a moment longer before turning to Cecilia Finch, who had remained quiet but observant.
"He rarely comes," Woden muttered, his voice low.
Cecilia exhaled. "That means whatever brought him here is not to be taken lightly."
Within the palace walls, the tension was palpable. Servants whispered among themselves, some daring to steal glances at the man from behind marble pillars. Even the high-ranking officials awaiting their audience with the emperor muttered amongst themselves.
"I never thought he'd come in person," one noble said under his breath.
"He rarely does," another murmured. "The fact that he's here means something bigger is at play."
In the throne room, the Emperor sat with a composed expression, though his fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair. The doors opened, and the figure entered, his footsteps echoing through the vast chamber. The guards at the entrance bowed instinctively—not out of duty, but respect.
Emperor Samuel Finch exhaled, rising to his feet. "I was told you would come."
For the first time, the man spoke, his voice smooth yet weighted with an undeniable authority. "This festival has drawn too many players onto the board. Some move in plain sight. Others remain in the dark."
The Emperor nodded. "And which of them concerns you the most?"
The man took a few steps forward, his gaze unwavering. "All of them."
The festival's real dangers had begun.