Aroma amber yang terbakar dan akar manis mengalir di udara malam ketika tiga orang itu berjalan melalui jalan-jalan yang diterangi oleh lampu festival.
Lentera-lentera melayang di atas kepalah, seperti kungguk api yang menggantung di antara menara tua dan atap pedagang, cahayanya dihias supaya berkelip dengan merah hangat dan emas dalam. Setiap lentera dinyalakan sebagai penghormatan kepada Kekaisar Lysandra, pembawa api pertama, yang menjadi penyatukan pendiri kerajaan yang telah membentuk Kekaisaran dari debu dan singa-singa yang retak.
Festival Api Pertama selalu berupa campuran penghormatan dan spektakel, dan tahun ini, dengan Uji Kandidat Akademi disiarkan secara pertama kali selama minggu suci, terasa kurang seperti kebetulan dan lebih seperti upacara yang mengenakan armor.
Anak-anak kecil berlari tanpa semacam sepatu di halaman, mukul mereka tepukan gula kue, meninggalkan pita ajaib yang bersinar ketika mereka bergerak. Para penari jalan berlari di atas triplek yang mengangkat udara, menertawakan bola-bola cair yang tak pernah benar-benar membakar. Dan lonceng—lonceng yang selalu jauh, yang selalu menakutkan—berdering pelan dari atas gerbang katedral, menandai setiap fase senja yang berubah menjadi malam api penuh.
"Apa kamu masih ingat festival terakhir?" tanya Aurelian dengan santai, melihat ke arah Selphine saat mereka berjalan melewati barisan topeng kaca yang dijual dari kereta terapung.
"Kapan mereka melepas semut api?”
Selphine memutar mata sedikit.
"Saya tidak ingat. Dan kamu tidak ada, ingat."
"Ya, lumayan," kata Aurelian, tidak terhalang oleh penolakan datar dari Selphine. "Saya mungkin tidak secara teknis ada di sana, tapi aku dengar dengan sangat rinci sehingga hampir seperti sama."
"Kamu membuatnya terdengar seperti kamu yang secara pribadi negosiasi dengan foenix untuk meminjam bulunya."
"Bukan bulu," jawab Aurelian dengan nada pura-pura serius. "Api. Asap api yang jatuh seperti air mata api di atas sungai. Seluruh langit terang seperti kain kain yang menghias Tuhan."
"Mereka adalah lentera dengan rune ilusi dan mantra kabut. Setengahnya rusak dan menempel pada jaring-jaring nelayan."" koreksi Selphine dengan kering.
"Elowyn," Aurelian berbalik ke arahnya, kaget. "Kamu lihat ini? Kamu lihat bagaimana sejarah disembopori secara langsung.?"
Mata Elara telah mengalihkan pandangannya ke atas, ke arah lentera-lentera yang berkelip di atas kepala mereka. Main-main cahaya di wajahnya sulit untuk dibaca—hangat dan jauh.
"Apa sih api foenix?"
"Fenomina sihir langka—dalam legenda festival. Dikatakan muncul ketika garis impiar dipertempatkan dan tanah dipertemukan dengan perkehen. Simbolik, kamu tahu. Kecantikan yang lahir dari api."
Selphine memutar mata. "Konstruk ilusi hiasan. Benang tembaga, api mana ambient, dan sedikit kemenyan. Dia hanya suka hal-hal yang mengapung dan bersinar."
"Mereka melambangkan kebangkitan dan ketahanan," Aurelian bersikeras, mengangkat tangannya. "Kamu tahu jika kamu pernah memperhatikan kuliah simbologi."
"Aku sibuk memperhatikan yang tidak termasuk dalam berlian dan cerita pengbabys."
Elara menekurugkan senyum, memutungjung ke palan tangan di belakang punggung, tangan-tangannya. Ritme akrab dan aneh dari mereka yang berkelam-jiran telah menjadi salah satu hal yang paling nyaman di kota ini.
Jalan ini ramai, tentu saja, tapi tidak kacau. Itu adalah keadaan yang indah—di mana energi festival terasa tetapi belum benar-benya melayang. Di mana bahkan orang asing di sekitarmu terasa seperti peserta dalam sesuatu yang terikat bersama.
Mereka telah meninggalkan hotel mereka lebih awal, kebanyakan karena Uji Kandidat telah menjadi basa-basi.
Malam pertama telah menjadi kekacauan—sebagian indah, dengan makhluk aneh dari lubang runic yang gagal berkelana melewati area luar dari ruang ujian, kandidat melawan ilusi dan ancaman nyata.
Tapi sejak itu?
Tidak banyak.
Sekarang, bahkan tiang api ilusi di kawasan telah menjadi hening, dikelilingi oleh wisatawan yang hanya melihat ke atas antara gigitan apel panggang atau gelokan cider pedas.
"Aku memberitahukan kepadamu," Aurelian bersembunyi, saat mereka melewati satu lagi umpan ilusi yang menampilkan sekelompok kandidat yang berkelahi tentang wilayah. "Seluruhnya berhenti. Seperti menyaksikan anak-anak bangsawan mencoba bermain perang di sebuah taman."
"Beri mereka ruang," bisik Elara. "Mereka telah bertahan melintasi dua ronde dari format ujian paling brutal yang pernah ada di Akademi."
"Mereka seharusnya membuatnya menarik," tembak Aurelian.
Dan di situlah mereka menyadarinya.
Perubahan.
Tegang.
Seperti ripples di bawah musik.
Suara jalan tidak berubah, tidak persisnya. Tapi ada jenis bisikan yang berbeda—lebih konsentrasi. Orang-orang bergerak dengan tujuan ke sesuatu, tertarik seperti jarum ke magnet.
"Apa yang terjadi?" tanya Aurelian, nada suaranya tajam saat ia mendekat ke kelompok penonton yang bergema.
Mereka tiga-tiga orang yang menyelinap melalui pinggir kerumunan, hangat festival tiba-tiba terdiam di lubang ketegangan yang terfokus. Puluh-puluh orang telah berkumpul di sekitar tiang api ilusi—di samping, mata dinaikkan, seseorang bahkan condong ke depan seperti dekat mungkin dapat pemahaman yang lebih baik.
Pandangan Elara mengarah ke atas.
Dan di situlah.
Makanan ujian telah beralih.
Quadran baru.
Dan di tengahnya—
Sebuah figur, dikelilingi.
Tiga lawan berkumpul di sekelilingnya—dua dengan pedang tertarik, satu berdiri di belakang dengan tombak runcangan panjang. Postur mereka adalah sengaja, fokus, disiplin. Ini bukan perkelahian liar atau serangan pengasing. Ini terhitung. Sebuah pengambil alih yang terencana.
Tapi satu di tengahnya?
Dia tidak terlihat khawatir.
Jika ada, dia terlihat senang.
Figurnya ramping, kurus, dengan rambut yang sudah terbakar matahari yang melengkung di ujung-ujungnya seperti dia pernah mencoba untuk menahan dan kemudian menyerahkan setengah jalan. Lengan-lengan tangannya terbuka, mengungkapkan cincin logam yang ketat di lengan-limanya—diukir dengan cara kuno yang menuntut sengatan-sengatan api listrik.
Aku tidak pernah punya kekasih, seperti yang kuduga.
The scent of burning amber and sweetroot drifted through the evening air as the three of them moved through the festival-lit streets.
Lanterns swayed overhead, strung like fireflies between ancient towers and merchant awnings, their light enchanted to flicker with warm reds and deep golds—each one ignited in honor of Empress Lysandra, the first bearer of the flame, the uniting founder whose reign had forged the Empire from dust and fractured thrones.
The Festival of the First Flame had always been equal parts reverence and spectacle, and this year, with the Academy's Candidate Trials being broadcast for the first time during the holy week, it felt less like coincidence and more like ceremony dressed in armor.
Children ran barefoot through the square, faces smudged with pastry sugar, trailing enchanted ribbons that sparkled as they moved. Street performers danced on planks of rising air, juggling molten spheres that never quite burned. And the bells—those ever-distant, ever-haunting bells—chimed softly from high above the cathedral arches, marking each phase of dusk as it gave way to full flame-night.
"Do you remember the last festival?" Aurelian asked idly, glancing at Selphine as they passed a row of glass-blown masks being sold from a floating cart. "When they released phoenix motes over the river?"
Selphine rolled her eyes faintly.
"I don't. And you were not there, remember."
"Yes, well," Aurelian said, undeterred by Selphine's flat denial, "I may not have technically been there, but I heard about it in such vivid detail that it's almost the same."
Selphine snorted. "You make it sound like you personally negotiated with the phoenix to borrow its feathers."
"Not feathers," Aurelian replied with mock solemnity. "Motes. Blazing, golden motes that rained down over the river like fire tears. Whole sky lit up like a divine tapestry."
"They were lanterns with illusion runes and mist spells," Selphine corrected dryly. "Half of them malfunctioned and caught on the fishing nets."
"Elowyn," Aurelian turned toward her, scandalized, "You see this? You see how history gets butchered in real time?"
Elara's eyes had drifted upward, toward the flickering stream of lanterns dancing above their heads. The play of color across her cheekbones made her expression hard to read—part-warm, part-distant.
"What are phoenix motes, exactly?" she asked, half-curious, half-amused.
Aurelian straightened immediately. "Rare magical phenomena—at least in festival lore. Said to appear when the imperial line is strong and the land is at peace. Symbolic, you know. Beauty born from fire."
Selphine rolled her eyes. "They're decorative spell constructs. Copper threads, ambient flame mana, and a bit of incense. He just likes anything that floats and glows."
"They represent rebirth and endurance," Aurelian insisted, lifting a hand. "You'd know if you ever paid attention to the symbology lectures."
"I was busy paying attention to the ones that didn't include glitter and bedtime stories."
Elara smothered a laugh, shaking her head as she walked a step ahead of them, hands folded lightly behind her back. The familiar rhythm of their banter, dry and oddly affectionate, had become one of the few things in the city that felt like solid ground.
The streets were crowded, yes, but not frantic. It was that lovely in-between state—where festival energy hummed but hadn't yet boiled over. Where even the strangers around you felt like participants in something shared.
They had left their inn earlier, mostly because the Candidate Trials had grown stale. The first night had been chaos—some of it beautifully so, with strange creatures from failed runic rifts roaming the outer quadrants of the trial space, candidates fending off both illusions and very real threats.
But since then?
Not much.
Now, even the illusion broadcast pillars in the square had grown quieter, surrounded mostly by idle festival-goers glancing up between bites of roasted apple or sips of spiced cider.
"I'm telling you," Aurelian muttered, as they passed another illusion feed displaying a group of candidates arguing over territory. "The whole thing's stalled. It's like watching noble children try to play war in a garden."
"Give them a break," Elara murmured. "They've survived two rounds of the most brutal trial format the Academy's ever used."
"They should at least make it interesting," Aurelian shot back.
And that's when they noticed it.
The shift.
The tension.
Like a ripple beneath music.
The street noise hadn't changed, not exactly. But there was a different kind of buzz ahead—more concentrated. People moving with purpose toward something, drawn like iron filings to a lodestone.
"What is going on?" Aurelian asked, his tone sharpening as he nudged closer to the cluster of murmuring watchers.
The three of them slipped through the edge of the crowd, the festival's warm hum suddenly muted in this pocket of focused tension. Dozens of people had gathered around the illusion pillar now—shoulder to shoulder, eyes raised, some leaning forward as if proximity might grant them greater understanding.
Elara's gaze flicked upward.
And there it was.
The trial feed had shifted.
A new quadrant.
And at its center—
A single figure, surrounded.
Three opponents fanned out in a loose triangle around him—two with swords drawn, one bracing behind a long, rune-carved spear. Their stances were deliberate, focused, disciplined. This was no wild skirmish or desperate ambush. This was calculated. A coordinated takedown.
But the one at the center?
He didn't look concerned.
If anything, he looked delighted.
The figure was lean, wiry, with shaggy, sun-bleached hair that curled at the edges like he'd once tried to tame it and then given up halfway through the attempt. His sleeves were torn at the elbows, revealing metallic bands fastened tightly to his forearms—etched with volatile glyphwork that sparked erratically with flickers of electric-blue mana. A battered scarf was tied loosely around his neck, fluttering despite the absence of wind. Dirt smudged his jaw, and he wore the kind of grin that looked borrowed from a tavern brawl three drinks too deep.
And gods, he wouldn't stop talking.
"I mean, really," his voice echoed over the scrying feed, laced with crackling static, "three on one? I'm flattered! Usually I need dinner first—maybe a little wine, some light manipulation—"
"Is he joking?" Selphine muttered.
"Looks like it," Aurelian said. "Or he's lost his mind."
"I don't think he ever had it to begin with," Elara said under her breath.
Onscreen, the three opponents were circling tighter. One lunged forward, sword arcing fast and clean.
The center figure didn't block.
He twisted, slipping just under the blade with all the grace of a circus acrobat and then, with a flick of his wrist, slammed his bracer against the ground.
BOOM.
A burst of lightning erupted outward in a ragged circle—less refined spellwork, more barely-contained chaos. The blast staggered two of his attackers, the third managing to leap backward in time—but not before his hair stood on end from the residual charge.
"Okay," Aurelian breathed, impressed. "That's not amateur work."
"Unstable lightning core," Elara murmured, watching the way his bracers glowed. "Too raw to be standard-issue. He's channeling spell-scrolls through a fixed focus. That's risky."
"Effective," Cedric said, finally speaking.
The figure in the illusion rolled to his feet, sparks dancing around his boots, and raised his hands as if addressing an invisible audience.
"Thank you, thank you—please, hold your applause. I'll be here all trial, possibly electrocuted, possibly exploded. No guarantees!"
Another lunge. This time from behind.
He ducked, then twisted his body in a wide spin, one bracer flaring with jagged glyphs that sent a streak of lightning arcing sideways—an erratic bolt that bent mid-air like it had a mind of its own and slammed into the spear-user's side.
The crowd in the square gasped.
"Who is this lunatic?" someone muttered nearby.
Aurelian shook his head. "No name tag showing. Must've been wiped during the last formation collapse."
"I didn't even know you could team up in this phase," Selphine added.
"Why not?" Elara replied. "There's no rule against it. Just none guaranteeing it'll last."
Back on the feed, the man—boy, really, now that you looked closer—was grinning even wider.
And talking. Always talking.
"I mean, if you really wanted to impress me, you could've brought snacks. Or a dragon. But nooo, just steel and grim expressions—how predictable!"
The remaining two attackers looked rattled. One charged again, more desperate now.
He let the blade come within inches of his chest before shifting sideways and grabbing the edge of it with a glyph-etched glove that should not have been able to catch it.
The spell-glyph ignited at contact. There was a flash, a hum, and then—
The sword was ripped from the wielder's hands, flung backwards by a magnetic burst that scorched the surrounding grass.
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