The road wound downward into the Whisperwood, and with each step the forest grew brighter with hidden life. It was autumn, and the air carried the scent of spice and fading clover. The trees had turned to gold and copper, their leaves falling like fragments of old fire. As dusk came on, the world seemed to breathe in light itself; fireflies gathered and torches bloomed along the worn forest paths until the whole wood shimmered like a dream. Raider had not meant to stay long. Festivals were for the restless and the merry, not for those who lived by the blade and the shadow. Yet Viper’s eyes had caught the glow between the trees, and her laughter carried like wind through reeds. He found himself following before he’d even thought to protest. They came upon a clearing broad enough to hold a small village, the ground soft with moss and fallen leaves. At its heart stood a great oak, hollowed by centuries but still living, its branches hung with windchimes of smooth glass stones that swayed in the evening breeze. Around it moved the life of the festival, Veilhorns in bright paints and garlands, merchants with tables spread in neat rows of silk, glasswork, and sweet smelling tonics. The air was alive with song: fiddles, flutes, and the deep thrum of hoof against hollow log. And not only Veilhorns had come. Between the lanterns, a pair of giant otters played in a pool of reflected light, their sleek bodies twisting through the water like smoke. A stag as tall as a tree moved solemnly through the throng, his antlers strung with pale ribbons and charms that chimed softly when he passed. From above, something vast and winged, a phoenix perhaps, circled in silence, scattering sparks with every beat of its wings. “This,” Viper whispered, eyes wide as the heavens, “is the fall festival. They hold it each year to honor the last warmth before winter.” Raider watched the crowd for a long moment. The colors, the sounds, the scents, too bright, too full of joy for a creature of his cast. Yet he could not deny its strange beauty. “Seems a foolish thing,” he said at last, though his tone carried no scorn, only distance. Viper’s gaze found him, her smile small but sure. “Then be foolish with me, just for one night.” She stepped forward into the crowd before he could answer. Lantern light danced across her coat, and for a moment he thought her made of air and flame both. He followed, as he always did, quieter than his shadow. They passed through clusters of Veilhorns laughing and drinking from carved gourds, past tables laden with roasted chestnuts and apples pressed with honey. The warmth of torches painted the world in deep gold. Somewhere, a voice was singing, soft at first, then rising with the firelight into something that sounded like memory itself. Viper stopped near a stream that wound through the edge of the clearing. Tiny lights floated upon it: lanterns of thin bark and wax, each one carrying a candle no larger than a firefly’s glow. “What are these?” Raider asked. “Wishes,” she said, her eyes reflecting their light. “You set one afloat for what you hope to see again come spring.” He looked down at the water, at the slow drift of flickering hope upon its surface. For a time, they stood side by side in the glow of the river. The noise of the festival dimmed around them, distant as the stars. Raider reached into the stream, took one of the bark lanterns, and watched how its flame trembled against his breath. “What will you wish for?” Viper asked, her voice barely above the murmur of the water. He thought for a long while before answering. “For peace,” he said. Viper smiled faintly, her gaze falling on him like moonlight through fog. “I hope you find it.” He said nothing, but set the lantern adrift. It floated a moment, then caught the current and slipped away into the dark. All around them, the festival carried on, dancing, song, the rise and fall of laughter. Yet here, beside the whispering water, time itself seemed to still. And for the first time in many seasons, Raider did not think of war or shadows or the weight of the path ahead. He thought only of her. They lingered by the stream a while longer, until the last of the wish lanterns had drifted into darkness. Then, as the sounds of laughter and distant drums reached them once more, Viper’s ears pricked. “Come,” she said with a brightness that left no room for argument. “We’ve missed half the fun already.” Raider snorted but followed. The clearing had changed in their absence. The fireflies now swirled in great glowing flocks above the torches, and the air trembled with music, low drums like thunder, overlaid with flute and voice. Smoke from the cookfires hung sweet and blue, heavy with spice. Raider’s eyes, ever sharp, caught the shimmer of metal and glass in the torchlight. Merchants had laid out their wares upon hides and cloth, trinkets and talismans, weaponry too fine for battle and too delicate for use. He stopped before a stand where silver jewelry gleamed like frost. “You could fund a small army with what’s here,” he muttered. Viper only laughed. “And yet you’re staring like a colt at a sword rack.” “Old habits,” he replied. Nearby, a familiar voice rang out, a soft but lively call that made Viper’s head lift at once. “Shadow!” she exclaimed, weaving through the crowd. Raider followed, slower, watching as the bay pearl mare darted toward another, a tall black mare with moonlight along her flanks and eyes bright as polished stone. The two greeted one another like kin long parted, their laughter rising above the music. “Shadow, you remember Raider,” Viper said, gesturing back toward him. “He’s the brooding one.” Raider inclined his head slightly. “I don’t brood,” he said, deadpan. Shadow grinned. “Then you do it beautifully.” Before he could answer, Viper’s attention turned to the merchant beside them, a wiry unicorn with strings of charms hanging from her stall: beads, bells, and fine silver chimes meant to braid into mane or tail. “Oh, look at these!” Viper breathed. “Aren’t they wonderful?” Shadow’s tail flicked. “They sound even better when you dance,” she said, already choosing a few. “Come, let’s get them woven in before the next song starts.” Raider lifted a brow. “You’re not seriously—” But Viper had already pressed a few coins into the merchant’s hoof, selecting delicate chains set with tiny mirrored plates. She turned to him, eyes daring. “Don’t look so grim, Raider. You’ll ruin the light.” He exhaled through his nose but said nothing, standing sentinel while the two mares worked. The merchant’s deft hooves wove golden chimes through Viper’s mane and along the cords around her forelegs. With each movement she shimmered a little more, the faint sound of wind over glass following her every motion. When Shadow’s turn came, she chose darker metals, blued steel and silver that caught the firelight like smoldering embers. Together, they looked like living echoes of dusk and dawn. The music swelled again: a single singer’s voice carrying high and clear, joined by the rhythm of hooves drumming the earth. The song was old, one of journeying and return, of fire kept alive through winter. Shadow gave Viper a look that needed no words. “Come,” she said, and leapt into the open space at the center of the clearing. Viper followed with laughter like falling rain, her new adornments singing as she moved. Raider stood at the edge of the crowd, watching. For a time, he told himself he was only keeping guard. But when Viper spun, her eyes finding his through the light and smoke, his heart betrayed him with its steadied beat. The two mares danced to the rhythm of the singer’s voice, their steps both wild and graceful, hooves striking in perfect measure to the drum. The firelight gleamed along Viper’s neck, her mane flashing gold with each turn, her laughter clear as bells. Around them, the festival answered: more dancers joined, the phoenix’s shadow wheeling across the clearing, the great stag raising his crowned head to the stars. Raider felt the corners of his mouth lift a rare, fleeting smile. He could not recall the last time he had seen such joy, unguarded and real. And when Viper’s laughter rang again, he realized, with quiet astonishment, that some part of that light belonged to him.