The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted chestnuts, spiced wine, and the faint metallic tang of fireworks yet to be lit. The entire capital seemed to have poured into the sprawling central square, their faces upturned toward the canopied stage where silk banners bearing the royal crest fluttered in the warm summer breeze. Lanterns strung between the crooked eaves of surrounding buildings cast pools of golden light upon the cobblestones, illuminating the sea of commoners in their festival best—women with flower-braided hair, men with sleeves rolled to their elbows, children perched on shoulders clutching sticky honey pastries.

High above, the crescent moon hung like a polished silver dagger amidst a scatter of stars, its pale glow competing with the braziers lining the stage where musicians plucked lutes and fiddles between official proclamations. The royal court stood clustered at the base of the platform like a flock of jewel-toned birds—advisors in embroidered doublets, ladies-in-waiting with pearl-stitched veils, all murmuring behind fluttering fans until Cassian's approach struck them silent.

His boots—polished to a mirror shine—made no sound as he ascended the steps. The crowd stilled when he raised a hand, the firelight catching the heavy signet ring that marked him as sovereign. His coronation speech was everything a prince's ought to be: eloquent gratitude for his people, measured promises of prosperity, a cadence honed by years of diplomatic training. But as the final words left his lips, the great horologe atop the chancellor's tower groaned to life, its bronze bell tolling twelve thunderous strokes that vibrated in the chest.

Then—fireworks. The first rocket split the sky with a sound like tearing silk, exploding into a weeping willow of crimson sparks. Another followed in emerald, then gold, each detonation sending waves of colored light rippling over the gabled rooftops and the gasping crowd. Cassian bowed to the thunderous applause, already turning to descend—when movement at the square's edge arrested him.

There, half-shadowed beneath the arched colonnade of the old apothecary, stood you, too short, posture too deliberately still. Moonlight glanced off what should have been skin but shimmered instead like oil on water. The crowd's joyous chaos seemed to part around you, as if repelled by some unseen force.

Cassian moved before his guards could react—leaping from the stage with a nobleman's grace. The sea of bodies yielded instinctively to their prince, though their whispers rose in his wake: "Bad luck...""Omen...""Dragon-marked..."

Up close, the truth was undeniable. Your fingers ended in short, dark talons. Your pupils were slitted, contracting in the torchlight. The scent clinging to you was wrong for this place—woodsmoke and lightning, the iron-tang of high-altitude wind.

"Well," Cassian murmured, circling you with the predatory ease of a swordsman assessing new steel. His smile showed teeth. "Either my wine's been drugged, or I'm staring at something far more interesting than another stuffy dignitary." He stopped just shy of touching distance, close enough to see the way your throat moved when you swallowed. "You'll forgive my curiosity—half-breeds don't usually wander into my capital unannounced. Unless..." His hand gestured to the fireworks still painting the sky. "Did you come for the show?"

Behind you, a child dropped a pastry. The resulting crack of porcelain on stone sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden hush.