Back at the stalls, Adam noticed her departure and scowled.

"Figures. She's going to start a fire."

Azalea smirked. "And you won't? Honestly, I'm impressed she lasted this long watching him flirt."

Adam's jaw tightened. "I'm not jealous. Just saying she's too hot-headed for her own good."

"You sound jealous," Azalea teased, sipping delicately from a crystal glass of angelic wine she had just bought. "Don't worry, little dwarf. No one's stealing your man."

Adam sputtered, nearly choking. "He's not—! By the Ancestors, you're insufferable!"

Blake trailed behind them, hands still tucked lazily behind his head. His golden eyes half-lidded, he muttered, "You two sound like a married couple. Can't decide if I'm annoyed or entertained."

The princess and the dwarf prince both froze, glaring at him in unison.

"We're not!" they snapped together.

Blake's smirk widened. "Exactly what a married couple would say."

Meanwhile, Nero and Khione continued down the lantern-lit street. Neither spoke much, but their silence wasn't empty. The faint brush of shoulders when the crowd pressed in, the way her ice-blue gaze occasionally lifted to meet his red one, only to dart away—every moment carried weight.

A group of children ran past them, tossing tiny enchanted orbs into the sky. The orbs exploded into showers of sparkling light, painting the night with fleeting constellations. Khione stopped briefly, her expression softening at the sight.

"You like that?" Nero asked casually.

She nodded once, almost imperceptibly.

"It's… calming."

Nero tilted his head. "Then stay calm. You'll need it for our date."

Her lips parted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she masked it with her usual composure. "…Bold words."

"Always." His smirk curved faintly.

The tension between them was different from before the fight—sharper, closer, unspoken but undeniable.

Back at the duel arena, Elreth unleashed herself.

"Spiral Blaze!"

Her spear whirled in a devastating arc, flames spiraling outward in a torrent that sent her opponent crashing against the barrier with a resounding boom. The crowd erupted in cheers, but Elreth's face remained twisted in fury. Another opponent stepped forward, and she didn't hesitate.

Each clash sent sparks flying, her strikes sharper, her aura heavier. She wasn't just fighting challengers—she was venting, purging the humiliation that still clawed at her chest. Every time Nero's smirk flashed across her mind, every time she saw Khione's cool composure, her strikes burned hotter.

"Next!" she demanded after every victory, her breath ragged, her eyes wild.

From afar, Blake leaned against a marble column, yawning. "She's going to burn herself out. But I'll admit… watching her rage is kind of fun."

Adam frowned. "We should stop her."

Azalea smirked again. "No. Let her fight. Maybe it'll teach her humility."

Adam glared. "You just want to watch."

"Of course," she admitted without shame.

The festival continued around them—lanterns rising, music swelling, laughter echoing—but beneath it all, unspoken rifts deepened.

Nero and Khione walked side by side. Neither said much, yet the silence between them carried more than words ever could. The crowd pressed around them, people haggling at stalls, children chasing glowing orbs that burst into sparks of light overhead. Each brush of a shoulder, each faint glance exchanged, was its own conversation.

They stopped at the first stall, where a vendor roasted skewers of angelic beast meat over shimmering coals. The aroma filled the air—sweet, smoky, faintly spiced. Nero reached out without hesitation, tossing a coin across the counter and taking two skewers. He offered one to Khione without a word.

Her icy-blue eyes lingered on the food, then on him. Finally, she accepted.

The two ate quietly as they continued walking, the meat's warmth mixing with the cool evening breeze. Khione chewed slowly, her lips faintly glistening with oil. Nero glanced once, then smirked faintly and turned back toward the lanterns. She noticed, but didn't react.

The festival spread across multiple districts, each street with its own marvels. At one square, acrobats soared through the air on wings of light, leaving behind trails of glowing feathers that drifted down like snow. Khione tilted her head slightly, following their arcs through the sky. Nero's gaze, however, wasn't on the performers—it was on her.

Further ahead, children clustered around a game booth where enchanted bubbles floated upward, each containing a tiny illusion of stars. The goal was to pop the bubbles with a small dart before they floated too high. A child stumbled, missing repeatedly, until Khione stepped forward. She didn't ask. She simply lifted her hand and flicked her finger—the dart shot out like lightning, striking the bubble cleanly.

The child's eyes lit up with delight as the illusion burst into a miniature galaxy of sparks. Khione allowed the faintest curve of a smile. Nero caught it. His smirk deepened.

"You're good with kids," he said casually.

Her smile vanished, her expression smooth once again. "…You're imagining things."

He didn't argue. He didn't need to.

Later, they passed a line of stalls selling crystal confections—sugar frozen into intricate shards that shimmered like diamonds. Khione's gaze lingered longer than usual. Nero noticed immediately. Without asking, he bought one and handed it to her.

She blinked, then accepted, her fingers brushing against his. For the first time that night, her lips curved into a genuine smile as she bit into the sweet, frost-like treat. The crystal cracked with a satisfying snap. The cold sugar dissolved into something soft, leaving behind a trail of frost on her lips.

Nero chuckled under his breath. "Fits you."

Khione glanced at him, her gaze sharp but her cheeks faintly flushed from the sugar's chill. "…You talk too much."

But she didn't hide the smile this time.

The streets grew livelier as night deepened. Fireworks—crafted not from powder but pure mana—exploded above the city, painting the heavens with dragons of flame, phoenixes of light, and cascading waterfalls of gold.

Nero and Khione found themselves standing at the edge of a fountain square, where the water reflected the spectacle above like a mirror. They stood side by side, gazes lifted to the sky, their reflections rippling together in the fountain's surface.

The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that only came when words were unnecessary.

Khione's breath misted faintly in the cool night air, while Nero's aura radiated subtle warmth at her side. Fire and Ice—contradictions standing close enough that their edges blurred.

For a brief moment, as golden light bathed the square, her icy-blue eyes flicked toward him. His crimson ones met hers instantly. Neither looked away.

The world moved around them—laughter, music, fireworks, cheers—but in that instant, none of it mattered. Only the silent pull between fire and frost.

Khione broke the gaze first, looking back to the fountain. Her hand, however, brushed faintly against his as though by accident.

Nero didn't move away.

That evening, they experienced everything in silence. Games, sweets, fireworks, wandering through crowds and quiet alleys lit by lanterns. They didn't need to speak. The festival itself spoke for them—every sound, every light, every fleeting smile caught at the corner of their lips.

And when the last firework exploded into a golden star that lingered above the Angel's city like a blessing, Nero finally let the silence break with a low murmur.

"Next time," he said, his voice calm but certain, "it won't be a festival. It'll be a real date."

Khione turned to him, her gaze unreadable, her lips pressing together as though to hide something. Finally, she nodded once, a single wordless answer.

And for Nero, that was enough.

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