"Why are you looking at me like that?" Momo, pnted before Burn, couldn't help but notice his eyes on her more frequently of te.
"Desensitization. I o get used to your face already," came Burn's reply. It was as emotionless as a voice-mail greeting, but it did the job.
"Ah! Good job," winked Momo, fshing him a thumbs-up. It was a gesture as i as a Sunday school teacher, but with her doing it, even the birds in the sky might fall to the ground from a momentary loss of focus.
There she was, the celestial beauty, able to distrad disorieh a mere thumbs-up. It was as if she had a secret code to the universe's ws of gravity. And Burn blurred his vision on purpose, fog it on the object behind her.
“Oh, your eyes look empty again,” Momo waved her hand in front of his expressionless faotig that would sometimes happen wheared at her.
“If you hate my fauch, should I cover it with a veil? I usually did anyway. I still have the dress and hood Vd gave me along with the veil and everything,” Momo said.
"You sweat easily, aren't you?" Burn recalled. "Those clothes were fashioned for the frosty north, not for our balmy climate. Perhaps it's time you tell Gahad to whip up something more weather-appropriate. You wouldn't want to melt now, would you?"
“It’s because your body temperature is high and that cursed chariot of yours—”
“The chariot is gone. And it wasn’t designed for two people anyway.”
“That’s what I said!”
What was he thinking earlier?
He fot.
Well, no matter. He was bae now, after what felt like a lifetime. He would e back to it ter.
***
Iernoon, Yvain arrived. Edensor's unfinished affairs had him trailing behind Burn and Man, but now he was here, sauntering down the grand hallways of the Soulnaught pace for the first time.
He had Gahad trailing behind him like a faithful shadow, the picture of royal loyalty.
"A victory wele party?" Yvain asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Would you like to attend?" Gahad offered, like he roposing a casual tea party with a bunch of gossiping housewives, instead of a grand, all-out victory bash.
"But aren't I kinda a nuisance? I'm just a kid too," came Yvain's response, a genuine question stemming from his past experiences of being the you atte grown-up parties.
"e juid mocktails are popur here, sir," Gahad replied, a chuckle esg his lips. "We, the knights and generals, have been waiting to spend more time with you too."
It kinda felt like he'd just invited Yvain to a sleepover.
Yvain bli him, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Okay, if you insist."
"Thank you, sir," Gahad responded, probably mentally adding 'party pnning' to his knightly duties.
Meanwhile, the pace of Soulnaught was a hive of aristocratic bees buzzing with activity. It was as if someone had switched ourbo mode.
A victory party was on the horizon, and the pace was being spruced up like a debutante for her first ball. The kits resembled a whirlwind of ary chaos, with white-hatted chefs ing out dishes so divihey could make Zeus himself swoon.
The ba hall was being transformed into an opulent wondernd, draped in the most luxurious silks and glimmering deliers, ready to py host to the empire's upper crust.
The knights were busy buffing their armors to mirror-like perfe, eager to parade around like proud roosters in a henhouse.
Down iy, the air was simirly electrified with anticipation. The on folk were just as eager to let their hair down and bask in the glow of victory.
The cobblers were mending shoes for a night of dang, the tailors were measuring for suits and gowns, and the taverns were stog up on ale and cider for a night of merry toasting.
They were ready to ugh, cry, and celebrate the dual emotions of survival and loss. The soldiers, from high-ranking generals to the gree of grunts, were all prepared to let loose, to s their swords foblets, and their battle cries for hearty ughter.
In both the pad the city, the atmosphere was thick with a heady mix of relief and celebration. Victory was in the air, and it was iious.
From the haughtiest o the humblest oner, everyone shared the same goal: to throw caution to the wind and celebrate like there was no tomorrow.
Because for some, there almost wasn't.
The fallen foe might be mourned, but tonight, life was to be celebrated. Because, as they say, ughter is the best medie, especially when served with a side of victorious revelry.
"Don't fet, okay?"
"I won't."
Two figures swathed in the shadows, dressed in the most unremarkable of attire, the kind that would make a wallflower feel like a tropical bird, lurked in a ed er of the pabsp;
They exged an object, their hands moving with the speed of a pickpocket on a caffeine high. What the item was, remained as mysterious as the dark side of the moon. A jewel, a scroll, a vial of uni tears? Well, yuess is as good as mine.
In the gilded world of the pace, where every er was aglow with celebration, this dim pocket was like a secret chapter in an otherwise open book.
The atmosphere was as tense as a tightrope walker with vertigo. The energy alpable, a stark trast to the bubbly merriment that frothed iher parts of the pace.
The two figures seemed to be orchestrating something as dangerous as juggling fming swords while riding a unicycle. From their shadowy hideout, they could hear the distant ughter and king of gsses, the sounds of a kingdom celebrating victory.
But here, in this destine er, they were plotting a different kind of victory. Or defeat, depending on which side of the chessboard you were on.
“Go.”
One of them offered a curt nod, the universal nguage for a deal sealed. As smooth as practiced dancers, they drifted apart, each taking a different path, the shadows swallowing them whole. No backward gnces, no lingering goodbyes.
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