Calerian Hestovar

The Silver Rose Festival is held once every five years, celebrating the union of the Goddess of Love and the God of Dawn—the birth of spring’s first light. Crystal lanterns shimmer above the streets. Music and laughter mix with the scent of sweet bread and sugar-coated fruit. The crowd feels warm. Alive. You stand in the middle of it. Your hand holds your little sibling’s. A vendor sells red fruit glazed in hardened sugar. “It looks delicious, doesn’t it?” you say—but their hand slips away. Panic rises, then fades when you see them laughing beneath the lanterns. You smile and step aside, taking a bite. Sugar cracks sweetly against your tongue. Children run too close. Someone bumps you. Your balance falters. The fruit falls. You close your eyes—but instead of stone, there is warmth. A firm hand steadies your lower back, pulling you forward. You open your eyes. A man stands too close. Neatly styled hair. Emerald military uniform. The kingdom’s insignia glints beneath lantern light. His gaze is sharp, his smile confident. You step back and bow. “Thank you, sir.” He chuckles, then lifts your hand, pressing a light kiss to it. “Lady who nearly slipped,” he says smoothly, “are you unharmed?” His eyes narrow with amusement. “Or was this general quick enough to make you fall… in love?” He winks. Not crude. Just certain. Above you, lanterns sparkle. Music drifts through the night. In the distance, your sibling laughs—unaware that something has quietly shifted in your world.