After a long day of wandering through winding streets and getting elbowed in the rush of the Middle Ring's chaos, the group finally stumbled upon a place that wasn't outrageously priced—or at least, not by noble standards.
It was a quaint three-story inn tucked between a calligraphy shop and an incense merchant, with its name painted in cheerful gold brushstrokes on a deep crimson sign:
The Laughing Lantern.
Despite the playful name, the rates were no laughing matter. Especially when divided among seven people.
"It's a lot for just a few days," Astra grumbled, eyeing the total written in graceful script on the innkeeper's scroll. "We could stay somewhere simpler eat street food, sleep in one room. Done."
"No," Shion said without looking up. He was already leaning casually on the polished counter, flipping through the room catalog. "I'll take the top room with the moonlight balcony. Private bath, please."
Astra blinked. "That's the most expensive one!"
He shrugged. "It's my money. My will."
"You're impossible."
"And you're broke," Shion added with a smirk.
"Book a separate one for me too," Seiya chimed in, stretching his arms. "I'm done sharing a bed with Seirou."
"You're lucky I haven't smothered you in your sleep," Seirou muttered, elbowing him sharply. "I should be the one complaining listening to your sleep-talks is a form of torture."
In the end, after an argument that Seirou wisely sat out from and Kaen pretended not to hear, they settled on five rooms at The Laughing Lantern—one for Astra and Xue, one for the twins, while the remaining three each claimed their own space. Naturally, Shion took the inn's most luxurious private suite, complete with silk sheets, lacquered wood furnishings, and a moonlit view over the glowing rooftops dotted with flickering lanterns.
Later that evening, Astra still grumbling about "wasting coins on scented pillows," tossed her pack onto the floor of their modest room and sank onto the edge of the bed with a sigh, "Next time, I'm finding a stable and a pile of hay. That's what I call affordable."
She flopped back with an exaggerated groan. "Honestly, it hurts my eyes to watch us burn through everything we earn on inns like this. At this rate, if we got refunded for every overpriced stay for years, we could've bought three whole estates by now."
Just then, a burst of soft giggles drew her attention. She turned to see Xue climbing up onto the bed, rolling across the covers with unfiltered delight. Astra's complaints faded as a smile tugged at her lips, watching his tiny hands flail and his joy fill the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Meanwhile,
Back in the dim solitude of the hidden chamber, the Emperor still knelt before the towering portrait, his hand resting on the carved base of the frame. The scent of old sandalwood lingered faintly in the air. His eyes bloodshot, swollen from grief and years of silence fluttered open, gaze locked on the painted smile that would never return his.
For a moment, he didn't speak.
Then, voice low and hoarse, he murmured, "The day I felt the most alive… the most at peace… was the day the mist carried music instead of mourning. That day… when the Fourth Bloom lit up the skies… the palace was bathed in a kind of light I had never seen before. Not from the sun. Not from any fire. But something gentler. Like the heavens breathed on this place." He swallowed thickly.
"That was the day I became a father."
His fingers tightened on the base of the portrait frame. "The day she was born… the wind carried music instead of orders. The courtyards bloomed early. Even the guards forgot their posts to smile. Something divine touched the palace that day and I believed it was her."
His breath caught, a shiver running down his spine. "It's coming again," he whispered, almost to himself. "That same feeling… blooming like a memory I dare not hold too tightly."
A long breath left his chest, more like a sigh weighted by years than anything else. He let his eyes roam the soft brushstrokes of the face he once held close. His jaw clenched, words escaping like a confession.
"If she were here… she would've grown into a radiant woman. Graceful, clever… just like you."
His hand curled into a trembling fist against his robes. "But now… every year, the Fourth Bloom arrives not with joy, but with silence. No celebrations. No warmth. Only shadows of what was because of that cursed prince."
The wind howled faintly outside, almost as if mourning with him.
"I was once a husband and father, clothed in nothing but joy. Now I wear a crown so heavy, it crushes everything and leaves only guilt behind… guilt, as my only heir."
——————
The chamber was bathed in the warm, golden hue of lanternlight, its soft glow dancing across silk-draped windows that swayed gently in the night breeze. A faint trace of sandalwood lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet hush of twilight.
She sat before a tall mirror framed in lacquered wood, its surface so polished it held her reflection like still water clear, precise, almost too honest.
Her long, damp hair clung to her bare back as she guided a carved ivory comb through the strands with slow, practiced strokes. Draped in robes of deep crimson, embroidered with golden thread that caught the light like flickering fire, she moved with the grace of someone who had learned long ago how to be still even when her heart wasn't.
Her amber eyes, deep and unreadable, met her reflection—but didn't truly see it.
One by one, she adorned herself in silence. A necklace of blood-red stones resting like coals on her collarbone. A pair of earrings that shimmered with an old, forgotten elegance. Then her hand moved to a small velvet box resting on the dresser's edge. Inside, nestled like a secret too sacred to speak aloud, lay a ring simple, but exquisitely forged, its metal worn soft at the edges by time. She lifted it gently, holding it between her fingers as if it were a fragile truth.
She stared at it for a long moment, the silence thick around her.
A breath escaped her lips half-sigh, half-prayer.
"If only I could return to the days when everything was still right…" she whispered, as if saying it aloud might summon the past from where it slept.
A quiet voice interrupted the silence soft, familiar.
"Kaen? Are you still awake?"
Her breath caught. The door slid open a crack with a gentle scrape of wood.
She flinched, her fingers instinctively closing around the ring. Her eyes snapped to the door—Ryoma. His silhouette stood frozen in the doorway, caught in the hesitation between entering and retreating. Before he could pull the door shut again, her voice cut through the stillness.
"Come in," she said, calmly but firmly, leaving no room for refusal.
Ryoma hesitated, then stepped inside with quick, quiet steps, sliding the door shut behind him. This time, it clicked with a lock. His voice was low, a little awkward. "…Sorry. I didn't mean to come this late. I didn't think you'd still be—"
"It's fine," she cut in gently, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she turned to face him.
But he still wouldn't meet her eyes. His gaze lingered somewhere near the floor, uncertain, guarded.
She sighed, the tension between them thick and aching. "I'm still Kaen, Ryoma. Don't look at me like I'm someone else."
His shoulders eased at her words, just a little. After a quiet pause, he finally turned to face her. Their eyes met and held.
"Is she asleep?" she asked, her voice softening.
He nodded once. "Yeah. She settled down a while ago."
"And Xue?"
Ryoma let out a faint breath, half a sigh. "I left him in Shion's room. Didn't want him to hear her cry again… those dreams are getting worse."
She nodded, her brows pulling together with concern, her fingers still absently brushing over the chain around her neck. "So…?" she asked finally, stepping closer, her eyes searching his face. "Why did you come by this late?"
Ryoma inhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as if weighing words too heavy to speak aloud. His hand drifted toward the hem of his sleeve, fingers curling there—then stilling. He met her eyes again this time with a shadow of something deeper behind them. Regret. Worry. Or something harder to name.
"I couldn't sleep," he said at last, his voice low, barely above the hush of the wind stirring the silk curtains. "Also… I thought about that argument. And figured we should settle it before it festers into something worse."
Kaen blinked. "What argument? The one at the temple?" She stepped a little closer, the ring in her palm now forgotten. "Ryoma… is that why you came at this hour? There was no need to carry it so heavily. Losing sleep over it isn't worth—"
"Happy birthday… Kaen."