The city of Aethelberg had been transformed.
It happened so gradually every year that most citizens hardly noticed it until they stepped outside and found the city no longer belonged entirely to itself.
White.
Where once there had been the quiet tension of a kingdom on edge, now there was color and laughter and the gentle hum of celebration. Hydrangeas of every shade imaginable draped from balconies, lined the streets, and filled the gardens that dotted the capital. The white of unity was everywhere, but it was joined by the blues ,reds and yellows of other regions that made Aerthos whole.
People from Blackwood favored deep crimson embroidery that resembled the veins of autumn leaves. Merchants from Hoshikawa preferred elegant silver patterns stitched along their sleeves like flowing rivers. Visitors from Kartsfall decorated their hems with crimson-rown thread shaped like mountain vines, while nobles from Noctis Vale wore subtle obsidian-black designs that caught the morning sunlight with every step.
The city had become a living bouquet.
Color danced everywhere.
Children laughed as they chased floating paper lanterns shaped like flowers. Street musicians competed against one another for crowds. Vendors shouted over one another, advertising candied fruit, grilled meats, warm pastries and handmade ornaments.
Even the tension that had plagued Aerthos seemed... quieter.
The arguments over succession.
The whispers of revolution.
The rising cost of living.
The uncertainty surrounding the throne.
For one day atleast, people smiled anyway.
Perhaps tomorrow reality would return.
Today, however... today belonged to the festival.
Layl too wore white like everyone else, but her mood was anything but festive. She hated every second of it.
Not the festival.
Usually she loved it.
Today...
Today she hated herself.
She walked through the crowded streets with her hands shoved deep into her pockets, her shoulders hunched, her expression dark. The white tunic and trousers she wore were simple, practical—the kind of clothing that allowed her to blend into the crowd. Although she had made an effort to appear composed...
"...Agent Orange..."
She muttered the name like it was poison.
Ahead of her, Yulan spun once beneath a string of hydrangea bouquets. Her white dress-coat had floral embroidery running down one side, and a light green sash rested around her waist. Someone had somehow convinced her to place a tiny hydrangea ornament in her hair.
"I can't get enough of this," Yulan said, her eyes sweeping across the bustling streets.
"Every year, I think it can't possibly be more beautiful, and every year, I'm proven wrong. Look at those flowers! And the music! And the food—oh, I can already smell the cakes."
Dmitri nodded beside her.
His attire was considerably simpler.
A fitted white overcoat with gold cuffs and trim gave him the appearance of a young man attending a formal banquet rather than an interrogation.
"It does make the city feel alive."
Yulan clasped her hands together.
"First we're getting candied apples."
"Mm."
"Then grilled skewers."
"Mhm."
"Then flower tea."
"Reasonable."
"Then fireworks!"
"Acceptable."
"So many things to try out and this is just the first day of the festival."
Dmitri cleared his throat. "We're still working Yulan."
She waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, please. The City Guards are handling everything. We're just here to be low-key, remember? Keep an eye out for anything suspicious. But really, what's the harm in enjoying ourselves a little?"
She grinned. Dmitri rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"If you put it that way..."
"There's no harm at all," Yulan said firmly.
They both burst out laughing.
Then slowly...
They turned toward Layl.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Nothing.
Layl continued walking while mumbling to herself.
"...Agent Orange..."
"...Orange..."
"...Who calls themselves that..."
Yulan frowned.
"...She's still pissed off."
Dmitri nodded solemnly.
"I feared as much."
Layl would've immediately launched into one of her speeches.
"We are Inquisitors. Duty comes before pleasure.No slacking off."
She would then proceed to be the most excited person at the festival among the three of them and they would have ended up slacking off anyway.
But today, Layl just kept walking, her hands still in her pockets, her jaw tight.
Yulan and Dmitri exchanged a look.
"She's still mad about the vault, isn't she?" Yulan whispered.
"Still mad," Dmitri confirmed. "She's been like this for two days."
Two days ago, an unknown individual had broken into the Forbidden Vault and created an atmosphere of pandemonium. In the chaos, he had freed Bartholomew Voss—Blackwave, the quartermaster of the Red Maw Pirate Fleet—and disappeared into the night.
Layl ground her teeth.
'Who names themselves after a fruit? Was Red already taken? Did he spend hours thinking about that? Did he look into a mirror and decide..."
Her eye twitched.
To make matters worse.The Revolutionary cell they'd spent months tracking had chosen that exact moment to launch their own assault. Fortunately—or unfortunately depending on perspective—they'd collided headfirst with the Vault security force that had been mobilized to chase Agent Orange.
The timing had been disastrous for everyone involved.
The two groups had come face to face, and the Revolutionists had fled immediately, their cover blown.
The Vault had been secured and nobody important had died nor was anything valuable stolen.
Which somehow made everything worse.
Because afterwards...She had been summoned not to interrogate someone to be interrogated. The irony still made her physically ill. The Grand Inquisitors had questioned her for nearly three hours.
They had sat in their high-backed chairs, their expressions cold and unreadable, and asked her question after question. What had she seen? What had she done? Why hadn't she stopped the intruder? Why hadn't she anticipated the Revolutionists' attack?
The Inquisition itself functioned like a blade.
At the bottom, Novices learned doctrine.
Next, Explicators interpreted corruption and catalogued forbidden phenomena.
Then, Interrogators extracted truth.
Moving to Inquisitors who led operations.
Above them stood Senior Inquisitors—battle-hardened commanders entrusted with entire operational cells. Layl herself and her two deputies, Yulan and Dmitri were senior inquisitors.
Above even them...
The Grand Inquisitors. Who oversaw entire regions. They too shrouded their identities the only people who knew were the Lords, certain officilas and the head of the inquisition, the High Inquisitor himself.
The Grand Inquisitors had asked Layl question after question.
Unfortunately...
Their guesses were just as good as hers. They didn't know who Agent Orange was. They didn't know how he had infiltrated the vault. They didn't know how he had freed Blackwave and escaped.
But that didn't stop them from asking.
"..."
"...Agent Orange..."
"..."
"I hate oranges."
"No you don't," Dmitri said.
Layl blinked.
He had somehow appeared beside her carrying three freshly made crepes.
"I do."
"You literally ordered orange pastries last week."
"That was different."
He handed one to Yulan another to Layl. She accepted it automatically.
"Thanks."
Yulan had tried to cheer her up.
"At least they cleared things up. They opened an investigation."
Without breaking stride Yulan took a bite.
"...Mmph. Ibs mompt ebaf."(Its not enough.)
Yulan giggled.
"You sound like an angry squirrel."
Layl ignored her.
"By rebumasion...Mmph....buoined."(My reputation, ruined)
Dmitri grinned, trying to hold back a laugh.
"To be fair," Yulan had said, "the report made it clear that no one could have dealt with that situation. Agent Orange appeared out of nowhere, used abilities no one had ever seen, and vanished just as quickly. Even the vault's security team was caught off guard."
"It's still not enough," Layl insisted, her voice muffled by the crepe.
Yulan and Dmitri had exchanged another look. They'd known Layl for a long time. They knew Layl was stubborn to a fault and how big her ego was. The only things bigger than her pride were her love for sweets and her not-so-secret crush on a certain Enforcer.
"..."
"Oh?"
Yulan's grin widened.
"Speak of the devil."
Layl looked up in reaction to what Dmitri said. Her entire body froze. She turned slowly, her heart suddenly racing.
Walking toward them was Emma Gable.
Beside him strolled Pihla with both hands behind her head, humming cheerfully while admiring the festival decorations.
Emma wore a simple white festival coat with navy-blue trim replacing his usual captain's uniform.
Pihla s wearing a flowing white dress with subtle blue accents.
Layl inhaled.
Too sharply.
The crepe lodged itself halfway down her throat.
"COUGH—!"
Layl's face went red. Emma stopped.
"...Layl?"
She pointed accusingly.
"Emma...W-What are you doing here?"
"I decided to patrol the festival."
Pihla snorted. "He's lying. He was holed up in the armory polishing his sword and mumbling to himself. I dragged him out so he could enjoy some free time for once."
"Maintenance of equipment is a must as an officer."
Pihla rolled her eyes, but she was grinning.
Layl, meanwhile, was trying to maintain her dignity. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, hoping there were no crepe crumbs on her face.
Emma noticed.
Yulan bit her lip.
Dmitri looked away.
Neither wished to witness what came next. But they still watched from the corners of their eyes.
Emma stepped closer.
"...You have cream."
Layl stiffened.
"...Where?"
"There."
Before she could react...
Emma calmly produced a neatly folded handkerchief.
Then gently wiped the corner of her mouth.
"There."
"I—you—" Layl sputtered. "That was—I could have—" Layl stammered, her face the exact shade of a ripe tomato.
Pihla was grinning. Yulan was grinning. Dmitri was grinning.
"I-I could've done that myself!" She finally got the words out.
Emma blinked.
"You didn't."
Layl opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
No words came out.
Emma simply folded the handkerchief again.
"Try chewing before talking."
Pihla, Yulan, and Dmitri were practically vibrating with suppressed laughter. Pihla nudged Yulan.
"Oh..." Dmitri said covering his mouth.
"Oh that's priceless..."
"Does this happen often?"Pihla asked Yulan.
"More often than she'd like to admit," Yulan replied.
"I can hear you," Layl growled.
"We know," they said in unison.
Layl looked ready to spontaneously combust.
Emma, meanwhile barely noticed. His thoughts were elsewhere.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
'Everything is in place. Lord Alaric has almost finished his preparations. The pieces have begun moving.'
He looked toward the distant palace.
'One mistake. That's all we need. When the traitors make their move...We'll finally see who has been pulling the strings from the shadows.'
Around them...
The festival continued.
Children laughed.
Hydrangea petals drifted through the warm breeze. Musicians played without a care in the world. No one noticed the invisible game unfolding beneath the celebration.
Before this festival ended...Someone's blood would stain those white clothes.