Music blasts from the corner of the room. Drinks are overflowing and splattering on the stone floor. People are linking arms and dancing around the hall. The contagious energy in here is affecting everyone right now. 

It's a rare occasion when I can let loose, but tonight is the exception. This is the one night a year I'm not officially working, and I'm ready to enjoy myself with my friends. As I stand in my little observation corner, I suddenly find my arm looped through another's, and I'm yanked into the heart of the celebration. The unexpectedness of it all almost chokes a shriek out of me. The sounds of muffled conversations and lingering laughter fill my ears as we bob and dance between everyone.

I look over at the woman who kidnapped me, and I recognize Miss Bourland, the teacher at the local school. Although it's been many years since I've been in her classroom, she still meets me with the same warm smile I remember. Age is starting to catch up with her; her once bright chocolate hair is now more grey than brown. It falls in tight curls around her face and shoulders. She wears it with pride, though, along with crow's feet that appear around her eyes and mouth when she laughs.

By the way she's dragging me around the room though; she seems in better shape than me. She skips us around, arm in arm, with a broad smile, and she moves us to the beat of the drum. It mixes with the tangy plucks of the string instruments and the smooth voice of the performer, filling every crevice in the room.

It's crazy chaos here in the best possible way, and I'm lapping up every second of it. This is a welcome change from the usual slow pace of my life.

It's not often we have live music in the inn, but this is a special occasion. What are we celebrating? Today marks two hundred and seventy-four years since the end of The Great War. Victory Day. The war that shaped Eldora as we know it. Every year, the entire continent celebrates to give thanks to King Aldfrith Ashblood, who turned the odds in our favour. If it were not for him, the continent would be a very different place. 

Miss Bourland spins me outwards, and I land in the arms of another townsperson. This time into head guardsman Godfrey O'Ryan's grasp. I've known him since I was a little girl. His son, Finnian, is one of my closest friends; as such, he's become somewhat of a father figure to me. He mirrors my broad grin as he bounces us around the room, one hand in mine jutted out to the side, my hand on his shoulder, and his around my back.

He's a much better dancer than Miss Bourland. He sends us skipping and prancing around the hall in time with the claps and whistles of everyone around us. We dodge and weave through the other pairs of dancers and groups mingling. People are yelling out praise to Iadon, the Guardian of music, and Camis, the Guardian of wine and ale.

There's not a single empty hand. Everyone is either holding a drink, food, or each other—or a mix of all three.

There are so many people here; even the younger ones were getting away with drinking the forbidden ale. Usually, you should wait until your eighteenth year before you're allowed the delicious bubbly. But it was also a rite of passage to sneak drinks on Victory Day. We let them think they are getting away with it, just like everyone here did with me when I was their age.

Linking Godfrey's arm with another, I squeeze his hand warmly before crashing down in the nearest chair, my chest heaving from the workout and my head dizzy from all the spinning and maybe the bubbly. My stomach feels sore from all the laughing I did while twirling around the room, so sore I feel as if I will wake up with a six-pack of abs tomorrow. 

The laughter in the inn is infectious; every clique is socializing and enjoying themselves. Everyone in the town gathers at the inn for significant events, and Victory Day is no different. I hear a glass smash to my left, followed by a roar of cheers and claps from the crowd. It's moments like these that make us feel like a united community, celebrating our shared history and victories.

Despite the inevitable cleanup tomorrow, I refuse to let it dampen my spirits. Victory Day is a time to relax, be thankful, and drink, and there's always lots and lots of drinking!

Even my mother seemed to be enjoying herself, a rare sight since my father's passing sixteen summers ago. I caught a glimpse of her earlier, talking and smiling with some guests who are here for the next few days. But her laughter, a sound I used to hear so often, has been absent for so long that I struggle to remember its melody. She only smiles now, a unique smile. One that doesn't meet her eyes.

Looking around the room, a few unfamiliar faces are dotted around, most of whom are just passing through Veritas, only staying for a day or two before continuing to wherever they are going.

I've grown up in this little valley that hosts our smallish town of Veritas. I've only left twice: the first on a visit to Nuthira's End, the capital city of Eldora, a coastal city situated in the far west. I barely remember it though I was so young. The second time was a joint family trip with Petra and Finn. We travelled the one-week ride up to Del Nolda Lake for a few days of camping. Probably the most fun I've ever had. Those were the days when life was simpler, and every moment was filled with joy and adventure. 

I began scanning the room, looking for the two of them; it's strange they haven't made an appearance yet. As I make my way out of the dining room to the entrance hall, I realize that the dizziness is definitely from the bubbly. 

It's completely packed with people. Squeezing my way through, I make it to the inn's main doors and swing them both open in a double-door exit very dramatically. I blame the liquid courage. I scan the courtyard and down the road to the houses and smaller businesses like the tailor and blacksmith.

Filling my lungs with the sweet smell of summer, I allow myself a moment to just be.

Basking in the warm rays of the low sun, there would only be a few days left of this weather; soon, snow will blanket the ground, and long days will turn into long, cold nights. Pulling my sight away from the fluffy pink clouds, my eyes light up at Finnian O'Ryan and Petra Acoff rounding the corner. She's wrapped around his back while he struggles to keep them coming straight and upright. Clearly, they have already started their celebrations somewhere else.

I can't help but laugh at the two of them making complete fools of themselves. Even though the courtyard is not loaded with people, it's not a vast area. The pedestrians come as an unexpected obstacle for them.

Gravity eventually wins, and Finn stumbles to his knees in a fit of giggles, sending Petra flying forward, landing with a thud on her hip. Both roll around on the uneven stones in a fit of silent laughter. It's a sight to see. Petra smacks Finn's back, sending a slapping sound echoing around the area, no doubt pissed he dropped her to begin with. 

"Did you save any for me?" I half ask, half yell as I run over to join them, bumping into Finn just as he's starting to regain his balance. He looks like a newborn foal trying to stand for the first time, legs straight, bent at the waist, and fingertips touching the ground for support.

Finn is a big man who usually towers over me. He's strong and eighty percent muscle. So seeing him like this is like a comedy show, and I've got the best seats in the house.

"Absolutely!" Petra exclaims while shoving an almost empty bottle of brown something in my face. Eagerly, I grabbed it from her and took the remaining swig. My face contorts from the burn. By the fates, that stuff is strong. If they drank this entire bottle by themselves, there's no hope for either of them for the rest of the night.

I am the most sober one here—and that's saying something—so that makes me the babysitter.

I could've sworn there were only three clouds in the sky, but now there are four—no, three. Let me count again.

"One...Two... Three... Four... Five... Six."

"Whatchu counting?" Finn asks with a hiccup between the words and uses me for support by leaning around me with an arm around my shoulders. I don't even realize I'm counting out loud.

"I... don't remember." I cackle as a laugh bursts from me, and my friends join me like it's the funniest joke they've ever heard.

"I love you guys! A lot! You two are like the bestest friends ever!" Petra stumbles out and joins us from the floor, finally managing to navigate which way is up. If it weren't for Finn pulling us into a three-way hug, she would take us back down with her. Finn and I return the love in messy unison. A few minutes pass while we stay like that, all collectively enjoying the moment. 

Petra's the first to break the hug, only to double over in the opposite direction and expel the contents of her stomach all over the floor. There's a collective sound of disgust from the two of us, but he steadies her while I rub her back in large circles, letting her get it all out of her system.

Once she's done, Finn and I stagger her back inside the inn. She will be sleeping it off in my room tonight. Taking the first left, carefully up the stairs and down till the end of the corridor.

Tucking Petra into my bed and covering her with the blankets, I place a kiss on her head and smooth her bright gold hair. She passed out almost the second her head hit the pillow. I grab a bucket from the closet and place it next to the bed, hoping she would use it instead of ruining my bed sheets during the night.

Creeping out of my own bedroom, I close the door behind me so gently as not to make any noise. Not that the slight sound would bother her in her state. I would bet good coin that even a giant running by the window wouldn't wake her right now. 

One look from Finn in that dimly lit hallway is all it took for the giggles to catch me again. It has always been so easy with him; I can truly be myself without fearing judgment.

Finn is a childhood friend; we grew up running through the back alleys of Veritas together, getting into all kinds of trouble. All three of us usually, but it's common knowledge that Petra can't handle her liquor.

I'll always remember the night we all got a little too carried away with the ale, and some soldier staying at the inn for the night got a little too handsy with Petra. Finn punched that asshole straight in the face for trying to sneak into her room after we put her to bed. I don't even want to think about what could've happened to her if we weren't there that night. We were young, barely even adults, and making stupid mistakes. 

Mistakes are still made by the boatload, but at least they have decreased in stupidity over the years.

Finn and I make our way back to the party. To my relief, he walks much steadier without Petra on his back. Clearing the hall, we snag up the two empty bar stools at the end of the counter. Olaf, the bartender, doesn't even wait for us to order before two cups of ale are in front of us.

"Remember what happened last Victory Day?" Finn asks, bringing the glass of ale to his lips. Sharp stubble pebbles his jaw, and I stare at him for a few seconds, questioning in my gaze until my eyes widen as the memory comes to me.

"Fates, I almost forget about that." I gasp out, my palm coming to my forehead.

Petra was in her 'I can be a dancer' stage and, like she does every year, had far too much to drink and challenged a stable hand to a dance-off. I cringe as I remember her unearned confidence. While Petra is a good fighter whose movements are fluid and smooth during our training sessions she begrudgingly agreed to, something happens when she 'dances' that just turns her into an awkward piece of jelly. She's uniquely uncoordinated; it's adorable.

"When Petra tripped over her own skirt and sent the poor stable hand flying into the table!" I sing out and hit my knee in laughter, Finn mirrors my glee.

"And him knocking over the candles on his way and almost burning the place down." He continues while I wipe tears that spring in the corners of my eyes. Petra still hasn't lived that down and I honestly don't think she ever will. She got such a lecture from my mother the next day. We all did somehow! She almost levelled a historical landmark, and I got a talking too. I can't help but chuff at the memory.

That's how it always was, though; our parents always cared and disciplined us equally. In a way, I had two extra mothers and fathers. It's not that our parents were close; it's that the three of us were so tight that we basically spent every waking moment together as children. We just became a part of each other's families. I think of them as my siblings since I don't have any real ones of my own.

We are still a close trio, but it's more challenging as you grow up. We each have our own responsibilities and obligations, but we still make time for each other.

This room is usually the dining hall; we moved the chairs and tables to the cellar for today. It was hard work; the furniture is solid wolfsbane oak, meaning it's heavy. Very heavy. But looking out over the sea of people bouncing around to the upbeat jig playing makes it worth it. I try not to think about how I will have to lug those tables back up tomorrow. With a hangover. Nevertheless, I want to be in on the action while I still can.

Taking a big swig of my ale, I bounce off the chair and do a poised, exaggerated curtsy towards Finn.

"Would you honour me with a dance, m'lord?" Smiling up at him through thick lashes.

"The honour would be mine, m'lady." He places his cup on the table and replaces it with my hand. I laughed at the forced formalities and knew he wouldn't leave me hanging. He leads us out into the mass and effortlessly blends us into the crowd, holding me like his father had earlier.

He spins and twirls me around him with such precision. Unlike Petra, he's coordinated both in training and on the dance floor. I'm glad that despite his inebriation, he keeps up with the music. We hop and dodge others sharing our space, and I'm about to tap out when a familiar tune gives me a second wind.

It's an Eldorian traditional song, The Dance of New Beginnings. Everyone knows this song, which is played at every possible holiday and dates back to the Great War. The traditional choreography involves switching partners multiple times, which is supposed to symbolize new friendships and peace.

It's chaos with everybody running to their positions; I debate quickly making a run for it. It's one thing dancing just for fun, but all attention in the inn is on the dance floor at this moment. I'm not a fan of having so many eyes on me. Especially when I have this level of buzz going on.

I have no choice in the matter, though, as Finn's already moving me into the line formed by women and positioned himself opposite in the men's line. He wears this big, goofy smile while I send daggers at him.

The string instrument strumming is our cue. I bend at the knee in a curtsy, and the men follow with a bow; both lines take a step toward each other, reaching out a hand, palm forward. The other behind our backs.

We move around each other, leading with the right. One step, two step. The drums signal it's time to switch direction. Both lines move in perfect unison. Everyone knows the dance; it's literally impossible not to. 

One step, two step. Then, the other hand is added, and the process starts again. Moving around your partner, close but never touching, your gaze never leaving the others. Finn's eyes are a deep brown. They're kind and welcoming and remind me of home.

We finish in the same position we started, and lowering our hands, we both take a step back. The melody begins to quicken and breathes life into the crowd as they start to cheer. Those of us in line start stomping our feet to the beat of the drums that have started. The men extend their hands, and the women accept. And now it gets fun. All around us, the crowd claps and roars to life, encouraging those of us on the dance floor.

Finn pulls me towards him, and I grab his shoulder and hang on for dear life. We have manoeuvred from two lines to one circle, twirling around like a tornado, creating a vortex in the centre of the room. There must be at least fourteen couples here, all moving in perfect unison like this dance is ingrained in our muscles. The wind sweeps my hair across my neck, we're moving so fast. It's exhilarating, the rush from this moment heightened by the emotions of everyone else around me. I am on a whole new kind of buzz.

We slow enough for the entire circle to join at the hip, facing inwards and completing the loop. My left arm wraps around Finn, and my right now around a warm, muscular back. I almost trace the lines I feel under the thin fabric. I want to sneak a peek, but there's no time. I choose to concentrate on the upcoming footwork and pray that my memory remains true.

Kicking out with my right, landing heel to toe outwards, my back foot kicked to my other hip, and my hand slams down to meet it. Side step right and then back. The steps come as easy as breathing, and the tempo kicks up. Our speed increases with it, and we repeat the steps a few more times. Until I feel Finn's grip leave my shoulder and the muscular arm around my waist pull me close. Time to switch partners.

Sweet berries and dark spice fill my nose as his other hand finds mine. Everyone breaks off into couples, filling out the space again, and I look up at the handsome figure holding me. Our movements are quick, but it's like the background fades away, and it's just us.

His fair skin is smooth, with the exception of the neat stubble covering the lower half of his face. His jaw is chiselled and sharp, casting a shadow down his neck. Jet black hair falls over his forehead, a little messy but, oh, fates, in the best possible way. In a way that makes me want to run my fingers through the thick waves and see if it's as soft as it looks. Smaller strands create shadows across his temple.

Golden eyes bore into mine, their captivating yellow hue drawing me in like a moth to a flame. It's a color I've never encountered before—both enchanting and intriguing, pulling me from my reality and held hostage to his gaze. My confidence nearly falters when his gaze flickers to the scar on my left cheek. In a surprising twist, he doesn’t recoil or cast a sideways glance at the imperfection. Instead, it seems he’s entirely oblivious to it, his focus solely on me. The sparkle in his eyes reminiscent of twilight stars reflecting off a still lake, calming and gentle, but beneath the surface lies a shadow, a hint of mystery that beckons me to explore what lurks within. A mystical creature from a foreign land I long to discover.

My skin ignites under the intensity of his stare, and I become acutely aware of every subtle movement I make, as if each slight shift could alter the magic of the moment. Yet, in the midst of this awareness, I feel as though I’m in a dream. There’s an unmistakable difference in him, evident in the sly, almost playful smirk he wears—like a mischievous thief who has just made off with something precious, fully aware of his cleverness and basking in his secret triumph. 

The warmth radiating from his skin, combined with his firm grip on my waist, sparks an unfamiliar fire within me, one that sends shivers through my core. As he spins us around with effortless grace, time seems to suspend. His gaze remains locked onto mine, unwavering, even as he skillfully leads us through the crowd, weaving between couples lost in their own worlds and darting children, unbothered by the chaos around us. Confidence emanates from him in waves—fluid and intoxicating—like the rippling surface of a tranquil lake. This energy collides with my own, igniting a whirlwind of butterflies flitting in my stomach. Whether it’s the electric chemistry between us or the vibrant atmosphere of the room, one thing is certain: I never want this enchanting moment to end.

Right now, I don't have a single care in the world. I have everything I could possibly want and need. I don't understand this feeling of complete contentment or why it comes over me, but I don't question it. I just enjoy the moment. I want to talk to him, to ask his name at least, but my chance is slipping away.

His expression changes as the new beat of the drums begins, signaling that our time is nearly up. He seems to share my disappointment; I feel a strong desire to know him, to explore who he is, and to learn more about him. I can tell he wants the same. Leaning down, he kisses my cheek, and I blush—that wasn’t part of the choreography! As he withdraws, the bridge of his straight nose brushes against my ear, leaving a shiver in its wake. There’s an electrical charge in the air. Whatever effect he has on me has completely sobered me.

He seems to force himself to spin me away, and like clockwork, I land in the arms of another. My new partner could be the king himself, and I wouldn't care. We have already switched directions, and I have already lost sight of him in the chaos. Music is at its peak, couples move around the room in a blur of colours, hair flowing back and skirts spinning out. No sign of him, though, no matter how carefully I look.

Like muscle memory, my feet move with the music; the climax has passed, and the beat is slowing as two lines form again. I break the rules of the dance by not looking my partner in the eyes during the formal bow and curtsy to end the dance. Instead, I scan the line for golden eyes, but he's nowhere to be seen. 

Cheers and claps flood the room with energy as everyone breaks away from each other and merges back into the crowd. I look out over the entire room. He's nowhere to be found, like he disappeared into thin air. Like he was never there to begin with. The only proof of life was the lingering smell of sweet berries.

He's gone.