The following morning, the frantic shouts of the white-robed guards had faded into a dull, rhythmic preparation.
The search for the "missing" cadets hadn't been abandoned, but it had certainly been demoted.
Baron Don Alejandro had a legacy to secure, and the wedding of the Saintess to his twin sons took precedence over a few runaway students.
The town was a fever dream of forced celebration.
Strands of vibrant marigolds and white lace papel picado were strung from every stone balcony, fluttering like the wings of trapped birds.
The scent of roasting meat and heavy incense fought against the metallic tang of the purple mist that still clung to the outskirts.
Carts overflowed with sugar skulls and fermented agave, and the cobblestones had been swept clean of the Eldritch filth that usually lined the gutters.
To the commoners, it was a day of salvation. To Soren, it was a gilded cage being locked tight.
