I was finally going to attend the last day of the year as a proper adult who could look people in the eye without catching fire, and now that I as there I felt like gnawing on my elbows.

“Where is she, dammit,” I groaned, biting my nails as I walked back and forth. I wanted her to be there. To enjoy the sights and the scents. This year the town really went all out: candles at every step, yellow and green ribbons, ripe lemons that spread their zesty scent in the evening air, and everyone seemed to have at least three reasons to smile.

“Lugana!” Someone called my name.

It was Milk Dude.

I groaned inwardly as I really was not in the right mood for more advances.

“You see, I am-”

“That herbal infusion you shared – it was amazing! My grandmother wants the recipe!”

“Ah, that’s uh, great. I don’t think I am ready to share it yet, though…”

Also, I was all out of blue flowers for it. An unfamiliar face peeked next to him – a blonde young woman I haven’t met before.

“Make sure to, once it’s finished! Thanks again for the gift, and enjoy the night!” He waved his hand and the girl who was with him did as well. She shot him a quizzical look.

“Who was that girl?” She asked, a tinge of jealousy rising into her words.

“Ah, just a returning customer…” he explained, trying to save the situation.

I chuckled. I got worked up over nothing.

But I wanted my returning customer.

I paced back and forth at the entrance to Bùrian’s main square, taking a look at the decorations, rows and rows of hanging lemons figures made out of carved peel, just to try and distract my mind.

I had only been here when I was really young, and I did not like the music, the noise or the people. Back then I had kicked and pleaded to go back home, where I could relax away from the crowd.

Now it was… I couldn’t say it was pleasant. I still felt like disappearing into the wall behind me, and an undercurrent of anxiety still bit into my stomach. But from time to time someone waved at me, and I recognised them and waved back.

It was as if the concept of ‘home’ had expanded from my room to the walls of the city itself. I had made a lot of those decorations hanging up there, after all. A few had been made by Kishirra herself. I was sure that someone in the crowd was looking up at a particularly-perfect ribbon and wonder how someone could make something so beautiful…

“I’m such an idiot in love,” I muttered, sitting down against the wall. “Is she even going to come? I hope she’s safe…” I looked up at the silver ring cleaving the night in two. She did not even have her armour with her. What would happen when she was overwhelmed again?

But no – she was a Knight, and she was an Elf. She could hold her own.

I was so focused on these thoughts that I almost missed when the crowd began to murmur and part. It was probably the flower chariot, but it was supposed to appear only at the festival’s climax, so why now…

“Apologies for my tardiness,” said Kishirra, her dark skin glistening like burnished wood under the shivering candle-light. Her cheeks so flush it looked like she was wearing foundation, she held her silvery eyes down as she passed a hand through her blonde tresses. I blinked.

This couldn’t be true.

She was wearing a dress.

But it wasn’t made of fabric. She had collected together thousands upon thousands of lemontree leaves and she had fashioned a robe out of them, falling gently against her shoulders, showing off her arms and her physique, while also making it look like she had come out straight out of a fairy tale. Each leaf attached seamlessly onto the next and somehow it seemed to be much more resistant than anything made out of leaves had any right to be.

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At some point I even remembered to reattach my jaw to my mouth.

“Kishirra!” I yelped, standing up and walking towards her. “You are here!”

“Yes, of course I came. How could I not?” She smiled again, though her eyes shifted awkwardly to the right for a moment. “It has been a long while since I wore anything different from battle garments. I hope this one is to your liking?”

“You look stunning!” I exclaimed. “Did you make this on your own?”

“I must have been a seamstress in one of my previous lives, because it did come to me quite naturally. Given the theme of the festival, I thought it would be appropriate.”

“It’s incredible. You will have to tell me how you created it. Ah, but first, let’s go the festival! I want to let you try the flower infusion I made! You know, the one with the flowers from the other day!” I held her wrist and she let me pull her forward. Everyone was still looking at me, the shut-in daughter of the Delebasse family bringing such a wondrous beauty into the festival.

Most of these people had never seen Kishirra even in her usual fighting attire, so she was a vision.

I felt a little greedy, pulling her forward like this. As if she was mine and mine only.

Kishirra wasn’t the only selfish person here. But I did not mind!

I showed her around the stands, where people were enjoying lemon-scented liquor and other similar drinks. For the festival we usually went all-out, so everyone prepared everything they could spare from the remnants of summer, to get ready for the winter rigour: each family brought their secret recipes for vegetable pies, pumpkin or eggplant roasts, and of course any kind of sausages, soups, creams and cakes.

I had earned some good money with the amount of commissions at the workshop for the last few days, so I could treat myself and Kishirra.

“Here, try this as well,” I said giving her a slice of pie. It had never felt so good to part with well-earned silver as when Kishirra picked it up and took a bite, gently moving one of her golden locks behind her leaf-shaped ear.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Hmm. That is indeed delicious,” she replied in her usual polite tone. So aristocratic. “Maybe one day I will let you taste what they can do in Madua. The land is different over there, and while this is good, water and soil are just different when blessed by the light of Ansàrra.”

As if on cue, the golden pendant on her chest glinted at the light of the candles.

“How is it over there?” I asked as we walked between the stands. We were still receiving a few shocked glances, but by now, with the festival well on its way and people inebriated, most were far too preoccupied with each other or drinking one more glass of wine and toast to the definite end of Summer.

Too preoccupied even to gawk at a blonde Elf dressed in lemon leaves.

Kishirra’s features relaxed.

“The sea gently embraces shores of pearl, where sand glitters like snow. On the inside, verdant roads entwine into terraced cities where marble gives way to blue rooves and gilded towers. The sound of the bells calls you to the prayers of the morning and the eventide. Each day passes as a gift, and by the end, everyone has given and received a present.”

She spoke as if in a dream, her eyes growing dull.

“And then raising your gaze you can see the floating dais that is the palace of Ansàrra. Like a marble cloud, it gazes from above, reminding us of who is looking out for the Seven Kingdoms of Madua.” She let out a sigh and came back to the present. “Apologies. Sometimes I get a little too caught up in memories.”

“No, no, it sounds incredible. To think there are places like those out there. I have always lived here, all my life. I wouldn’t mind going there. If it is with you, I mean…”

If it is with you I could go anywhere, I wanted to say, but I did not.

“Then perhaps after all this is finished.”

“From leaving my room to leaving my city,” I whistled. “That’s some progress.”

Kishirra grinned.

“Sometimes the dawn comes before we expect it.” Her hand reached for mine and she entwined her fingers. “And we are caught in its golden majesty.” She hesitated. “Thank you for giving me a way out of my malaise. I still feel like I have failed, but perhaps not all I have gathered so far amounts to regret and wasted efforts. In fact…” she trailed off.

I gulped, nodded, feeling like choking.

I was saved by the flower chariot.

“Ah!” I pointed at it for Kishirra’s benefit. “That’s for the bonfire! It’s the height of the celebration.”

A dozen people pushed it towards the centre of the main square. The flowers of an entire summer made a pile as tall as two men, wavering under the torches.

As it reached the centre, the chanting began – dancing and singing, praising the spirits for the year that was about to end and the one that was about to begin.

I held onto Kishirra’s fingers as the dancing continued. I did not know the words, I did not know the steps, so I just leaned back and forth following the music. Kishirra hummed some melody from her own land and held up her other hand and her three middle fingers in a sign of blessing.

Feeling more brave than stupid, I turned to look at her, and slowly tilted my head upwards. My heart thundered like a rumbling river in my ears. Kishirra smiled, reached for my side and-

And then the market square exploded.