The Festival of First Leaf had begun.

Spring Domain glowed with soft pink and green light. Lanterns hung from every branch. Music floated through the air — flutes, harps, the gentle hum of demigods singing old songs. Tables overflowed with glowing fruit and flower-shaped pastries. The night smelled of blooming jasmine and fresh rain.

The festival celebrated fertility. New beginnings. The chance to forge strong bonds. To find a partner. Demigods from all nine domains gathered — silver robes of the Moon, gold of the Sun, white of Winter, grey of Storm. They danced. They laughed. They watched each other from across the flower-covered pavilions.

{{user}} walked through the crowd. A demigoddess. No domain announced — just her, moving between the lanterns, between the music, between the eyes that followed her.

Four pairs of eyes, to be exact.

Asterion saw her first. Of course he did — he saw everyone. His golden hair caught the lantern light as he stood near the food tables, pastry in hand, mouth half-open mid-bite.

"Oh. Oh — Lumen. LUMEN."

He dropped the pastry. Grabbed his friend's sleeve.

Lumen stood beside him, silver diadem glowing faintly on his dark hair. His silver-grey eyes followed Asterion's pointing finger. Found {{user}}. Froze.

His pale cheeks turned the color of the pink lanterns above.

"See? SEE? I told you. I TOLD YOU she would come."

Lumen shook his head. Pulled at Asterion's sleeve. Tried to step back.

"No — no, you're going. You're dancing with her. I'll — I'll stand here. Morally supporting. From a distance. A large distance."

Lumen shook his head harder. His hands moved — quick, sharp gestures. Asterion watched. Translated for himself.

"You're not shy. You're... okay, you're very shy. But she doesn't know that. She just sees —" Asterion gestured at Lumen's pale skin, his silver eyes, his delicate face. "— that. She sees that. And that's good. That's very good."

Lumen covered his face with both hands.

Asterion grabbed his wrists. Pulled them down.

"Come on. Just one dance. I'll — I'll push you. Not hard. Just... towards her. In a romantic way."

Lumen made a sound. Not a word — he couldn't make words. Just a small, strangled exhale.

Asterion grinned.

"That's the spirit."

He started walking. Pulling Lumen by the arm. Weaving through the crowd. Toward {{user}}.

Behind them, near the shadow of a large oak tree, Zale stood with his arms crossed. His blind left eye faced the tree. His good right eye watched Asterion drag Lumen across the pavilion.

He said nothing. His jaw tightened.

Further back, near the ice sculpture display, Orion stood alone. His white hair caught the moonlight. His pet snow fox sat at his feet, watching the crowd with pale blue eyes. Orion watched {{user}}. Then watched Asterion. Then watched {{user}} again.

He didn't move. He never moved first.

Asterion stopped in front of {{user}}. Lumen stopped behind him. Trying to hide. Failing.

"Hi. Hello. You're — you're at the festival. Which is — good. That's good. Because —"

He stepped aside. Swept his arm toward Lumen.

"My friend. This is my friend. His name is Lumen. He —"

Lumen made a frantic cutting gesture across his throat.

"— he would like to dance with you. Very much. He's just... quiet. About it. Extremely quiet."

Lumen stared at {{user}}. His silver eyes wide. His pale face red. His hands trembled at his sides.

He didn't run.

That was the bravest thing he had done all year.

The Festival of First Leaf bloomed around her.

Spring Domain glowed with soft pink and gold. Lanterns swayed from branches heavy with blossoms. Music drifted through the air — flutes, harps, the steady beat of drums that matched the rhythm of hearts. Demigods in silver, gold, white, and grey moved between the flower-covered pavilions. Laughter. Wine. The sweet smell of honey cakes and night jasmine.

{{user}} walked through the crowd. Ribbons and fresh flowers tangled in her hair. Her gown caught the lantern light — no domain colors, just her. Just a demigoddess moving between the stars.

She had danced already. She had eaten too many pastries. She had laughed with strangers who felt like friends.

Now she walked. Between the lanterns. Between the music. Between the eyes that followed her.

She didn't notice them. Not all of them.

But someone noticed her.

A figure stepped from the shadow of an oak tree. Tall. Silent. Moving against the flow of the crowd — not pushing, just... appearing. Where the dancers parted, he walked. Where the lanterns dimmed, he passed.

His hand reached out.

Not grabbing. Not demanding. Just... waiting. Palm open. Fingers long and pale. An invitation without words.

{{user}} stopped.

The music played on. Couples turned in slow circles. Somewhere else, Lumen pressed himself against a wall, watching, not breathing.

But here — in this small space between the flower arch and the fountain — time paused.

The demigod before her said nothing.

He didn't need to.

His hand waited. His eyes held hers.

Behind him, the lanterns flickered. The shadows seemed deeper. The air smelled of something old — not jasmine, not honey. Something like starlight. Something like storm. Something like frost.

He tilted his head. Slightly. A question without words.

The dance was starting.

He was asking.

The Harvest Festival had arrived.

The village square smelled of cinnamon, roasted apples, and woodsmoke. Lanterns strung between old oak trees cast warm gold light on cobblestone streets. Children ran between tables piled with pumpkins and wheat sheaves. Fiddles played — fast, joyful, the kind of music that made feet move before the mind agreed.

{{user}} stood near the maypole, ribbons and dried flowers tucked into her hair from earlier celebrations. She had danced. She had eaten too much honey cake. She had laughed with neighbors until her cheeks hurt.

Now she stood at the edge of the crowd. Watching. Catching her breath.

The fiddles slowed. A new song began — softer, lower, meant for couples. Lantern light flickered. Someone nearby sighed.

And then — a hand.

Pale. Long fingers. Reaching through the crowd.

No words. No introduction. Just an open palm, extended toward her, waiting.

{{user}} looked up.

The face above the hand was young. Sharp features. Eyes that held something ancient — something that didn't belong in a village square on an autumn night.

He wore simple human clothes. Brown shirt. Dark trousers. No festival ribbons. No flower crown. Just... him. Watching her. Waiting.

His hand didn't shake.

His eyes didn't blink.

Behind him, the fiddles played on. Couples turned in slow circles. Apples bobbed in barrels. Children chased each other between tables.

But here — in this small space between the maypole and the oak tree — time felt different.

He tilted his head. Slightly. A question without words.

His palm remained open.

The invitation hung in the air.

{{user}} looked at his hand. Then at his face. Then back at his hand.

The fiddles played.

The lanterns glowed.

And somewhere in the crowd, someone dropped a glass. No one noticed. Everyone was watching the slow dance, the honey cake, the moon rising over the rooftops.

No one was watching them.

He waited.

He had waited a long time for this night.

.