Chapter 70: More Festival Fun Times

Amaryllis wandered through the lively festival streets, her expression as impassive as ever, though the festive atmosphere seemed to soften the hard edge in her gaze. She was here on business—well, mostly. As a member of the Coral Peacocks, it was her duty to mingle and remain vigilant, even during a celebration as grand as the Star Awards Festival.

Her steps faltered when she heard a familiar, lilting voice slurring nearby.

"Why don't they just let me keep the bottle?" the voice complained. "So much walking... it's like they want me to sober up!"

Amaryllis turned her head to see a shock of messy pink hair stumbling toward her, a woman draped lazily over a bench while holding a wine glass like it was a sacred artifact.

Vanessa Enoteca.

Amaryllis stiffened. It had been years since she'd seen the charismatic witch from the Witches' Forest. Back then, Vanessa had been locked away in the Queen's cage, a story whispered in hushed tones among the witches. Amaryllis, a young girl forced into endless labor by the forest's rigid hierarchy, had pitied Vanessa but had been powerless to do anything.

Now, though... Vanessa seemed freer than anyone Amaryllis had ever met.

The drunken witch tilted her head, squinting as her hazy eyes landed on Amaryllis. "Wait a sec... I know you," Vanessa slurred, pointing vaguely in her direction.

Amaryllis crossed her arms, her expression impassive. "It's been a while, Vanessa."

Vanessa blinked, her wine-fogged mind slowly piecing things together. Then her face lit up with drunken delight. "Amaryllis! Little starflower! You've grown up!"

Amaryllis frowned at the nickname, but Vanessa staggered to her feet and flung an arm around her shoulders before she could protest.

"What brings you to the Capital? Don't tell me you're still running errands for that old hag," Vanessa teased, her grin wide but her tone tinged with bitterness at the mention of the Witch Queen.

"I'm a Magic Knight now," Amaryllis said flatly, shrugging off Vanessa's arm. "Coral Peacocks."

Vanessa's eyes widened, and then she laughed—a loud, boisterous sound that drew a few curious looks. "A Magic Knight? You really broke free, huh? Good for you, kid." She hiccupped, swaying slightly as she tried to balance.

"And you're... drunk," Amaryllis observed, unimpressed.

"Free," Vanessa corrected, waving a finger in front of Amaryllis' face. "I'm free to drink, to live, to... hic... to do whatever I want!"

Amaryllis stared at her, memories of the forest flickering in her mind—the weight of chains, the oppressive magic of the Queen, the haunting screams of those who resisted. For all Vanessa's drunken antics, she was undeniably free now, a stark contrast to the caged girl Amaryllis had once pitied.

"You've changed," Amaryllis said quietly.

Vanessa leaned closer, her grin softening into something more genuine. "And you've grown stronger, starflower. I can see it in your eyes. The forest didn't break you."

There was a long pause between them, the noise of the festival fading into the background as they shared a rare moment of understanding.

Then Vanessa stumbled, nearly falling, and Amaryllis instinctively caught her.

"Okay, maybe it's time to find you some water," Amaryllis muttered, steadying the older witch.

"Bah! Water's boring," Vanessa complained, but she allowed herself to be guided away.

As they walked, Amaryllis couldn't help but smirk. "You've changed a lot, Nessy."

Vanessa chuckled, leaning heavily on Amaryllis. "And you're still that stubborn little flower. Guess we've both got some growing left to do, huh?"

Amaryllis didn't reply, but for the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of something close to warmth.

…

Speaking of drunkards… The Star Awards Festival was in full swing, the atmosphere buzzing with energy, laughter, and music. Among the festivities, a drinking contest had caught the attention of a couple of Silver Eagles, with Lyra and Soren being the most eager participants. It was supposed to be fun—a friendly competition—but things had already started to get out of hand.

"You're going down, Soren!" Lyra slurred, her normally confident and poised demeanor completely gone. The usually serious Lava Magic user looked like he was having far too much fun, and he grinned back at her, raising his mug.

"We'll see about that, Lyra!" he countered, taking a long gulp of his drink.

Soren's face flushed slightly, but his competitive streak shone through. Lyra, on the other hand, was already looking like she had downed a bit more than she could handle, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Kian, who had been watching from the sidelines with his usual cocky grin, was now pacing back and forth nervously. Normally, he would've joined in on the chaos, urging everyone to go bigger, to go faster, but now? Now he looked mortified.

"Are you seriously doing this?" Kian muttered under his breath, glancing over at the two drinking contestants. "This is gonna end badly, I can already tell."

But despite his reservations, he couldn't take his eyes off Lyra and Soren. The two were neck and neck, slamming back mug after mug, each one encouraging the other.

"I told you this wasn't a good idea," Kian continued, now standing with his arms crossed, watching them closely as they bickered drunkenly over who was going to lose first.

Soren hiccupped and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "This is... nothing, Kian!"

Lyra's mischievous grin widened, and she leaned in a little closer to Kian, clearly on the verge of full intoxication. "You should join us! Don't be such a squiiiish," she drawled, her words slurring together.

"No chance," Kian replied firmly. He took a step back, shaking his head. "I'm not getting involved in this mess."

Lyra winked at him, and Kian just sighed, clearly knowing the situation had already spiraled out of his control.

The contest continued with escalating intensity. Soren slammed his mug down in victory—or what seemed to be victory—and Lyra immediately challenged him to another round. Both of them were more than a little worse for wear. The people around them were either laughing or cringing, and Kian was at the edge of his sanity.

"Alright, enough is enough," Kian said finally, striding over to Lyra, who had just downed yet another mug. He had his hands on his hips, visibly exasperated. "I'm pulling you two out of here before you end up in an even worse state. We've got a squad to think about!"

But before he could do anything, Lyra—already wobbling on her feet—grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the crowd.

"Hey, hey, where are you taking me, Lyra?" Kian asked, eyebrows raised in suspicion as he tried to keep his footing in the wake of her drunken pull.

With a half-crazed smile, Lyra turned to him. "We're going to celebrate our victory in private, Kian... Don't worry, you'll enjoy it."

"Wh—wait, what?" Kian's eyes went wide, now fully realizing what was happening. He knew Lyra wasn't thinking straight, but the alcohol had clearly made her way more bold than usual. "Lyra! No! This is not what I—"

But Lyra, in her tipsy haze, just grinned, her voice getting more mischievous by the second. "Come on, Kian, don't be a party pooper!" she said, nearly dragging him through the halls of the festival grounds, her steps unsteady.

Kian's heart rate shot up. "I swear to all that is good, if you do what I think you're gonna do—"

Finally, they reached a private room, and Lyra pushed the door open with all the confidence of a person who was definitely not thinking clearly.

And then it hit Kian.

"Oh, no. No way. Absolutely not."

Lyra turned to him, all the playful, teasing energy flashing in her drunken grin. "Oh, come on, Kian... I was thinking you and I could have a little fun," she purred, closing the door behind her.

Kian's brain caught up with what she said, and his eyes widened in horror. "Wait, what do you mean by—"

But before she could do anything else, Kian suddenly shoved past her, flinging the door open and sprinting out of the room. "NOPE!" he yelled as he sprinted through the corridors, his heart pounding.

"What's the matter, Kian?!" Lyra shouted after him, still a little too tipsy to comprehend the panic in his face.

"I can't— I CAN'T TAKE CARE OF SIX KIDS!" Kian shouted, his voice echoing through the halls as he bolted down the corridor.

"Wha—!?" Lyra blinked, stumbling slightly, then she broke into a fit of laughter. The whole situation was so ridiculous, so unexpected, that even in her inebriated state, she couldn't help but laugh uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, Kian just kept running.

…

Cara and Leopold strolled through the festival, the crowds around them bustling with excitement. Cara was practically glowing with enthusiasm, a wide grin plastered across her face as she took in the sights and sounds.

"I swear, Cara, I can't believe I'm here right now," Leopold muttered, his arms crossed and his usual frown firmly in place. Despite his grumbling, he followed her with a resigned sigh. "This isn't really my thing, but I guess I can survive a little while longer."

Cara looked up at him, unbothered by his lack of enthusiasm. "Come on, Leo! It's fun! The food, the games, the competitions—it's all part of the festival experience!"

"I didn't sign up for this kind of experience," Leopold replied dryly, glancing at the crowded booths. "But, you know, I suppose I could try one of those games." He wasn't exactly eager, but when Cara's excited eyes turned to him, he couldn't help but let out a begrudging chuckle.

"That's the spirit!" Cara beamed, dragging him toward a booth with a ring toss. "This'll be fun, I promise!"

As the two of them engaged in various festival activities, there was a subtle tension in the air—one that neither of them noticed. They bickered over the smallest things, like which food stand had the best snacks or who was winning at the ring toss, but there was something warm and comforting about the way they kept at it, almost as if they couldn't help themselves.

Cara, laughing after an especially ridiculous attempt to win a carnival prize, nudged him with her elbow. "You're not bad at this, Leo. Maybe you're a secret festival genius."

Leopold rolled his eyes but couldn't stop himself from smiling a little. "I'm not sure I'd go that far."

But deep inside, neither of them realized that their constant teasing, the way they enjoyed each other's company without thinking too hard about it, was a sign of something more. Something that neither of them had quite figured out.

Just as Cara reached for another prize, she glanced over at him and noticed something—something that made her pause for a brief second, but only for a second.

Leopold caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She quickly looked away, a little flustered. "Oh, nothing," she said quickly, but there was a certain warmth to her tone. She hadn't quite figured it out either, but there was no denying that this moment felt... different.

Meanwhile, deep in his coma, Fuegoleon Vermillion, ever the quiet observer, managed to form a subtle, unconscious smile.

In the depths of his slumber, Fuegoleon was aware, somehow, that the Vermillion bloodline would carry on—despite his brother's... more notable misfortune in matters of romance, and Mereoleona's rather uncompromising approach to relationships.

It was clear to Fuegoleon, with the way Leopold and Cara interacted, that there was hope yet.

…

Sharya stood in front of her carefully assembled team, her arms crossed and her sharp gaze scanning each of them. The energy in the room was buzzing with excitement, and Sharya was absolutely ready to lead them into victory.

"Alright, listen up, you bunch of maniacs!" she began with the kind of authority that made even the loudest voices in the room quiet down. "We're not just here to gamble—we're here to take over. This isn't a game; this is a mission. And when we leave this casino tonight, everyone will remember the name 'Sharya and her Squad'!"

The elite gambling lineup stood assembled in the neon glow of the Royal Capital's most vibrant casino district. Sharya paced back and forth in front of them, hands clasped behind her back, giving her best drill sergeant impression. She stopped to glare at each team member, sizing them up as if she were preparing for battle.

"All right, listen up, maggots!" she barked. "This isn't just a game—it's war. Tonight, we're not just gamblers. We're warriors! We will outwit, outlast, and outplay these smug casino fat cats, and by the end of the night, we'll be swimming in riches!"

"Woooo! Let's go!" Magna cheered, punching the air. He nudged Fani with a cocky grin. "Hair lady's got my back, right?"

"Stop calling me that," Fani muttered, her soft voice almost drowned out by the lively street noise. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of pink, but Magna was unfazed.

"Hair lady," he repeated with a shrug. "It's a compliment! Look at that flow!"

Fani groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Why am I even here…"

"Because I scouted you!" Magna said proudly, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Knew you had the spark for this!"

"You yelled at me in the middle of the street," she deadpanned.

"Recruitment is recruitment, sweetheart," Magna said, grinning.

Quinn, meanwhile, stood off to the side, wide-eyed and looking around in awe. "I can't believe I'm here," he murmured. "This is amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

"Of course, you haven't," Sharya said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You live in a tree."

"That's true," Quinn said, nodding earnestly.

"Listen up, Quinn!" Sharya barked. "Your job is to look innocent and clueless. Play the 'just-happy-to-be-here' card. No one will see you coming."

Quinn saluted. "Understood, captain!"

"And you—Luck!" Sharya turned to the spark-eyed blond, who was practically vibrating with pent-up energy. "Your job is to be a wild card. Keep morale up, and if anyone gets cocky, shock 'em. Preferably Magna."

Luck's grin widened. "Can I zap him now?"

"Save it for the casino!" Sharya snapped. "Now move out, team. Victory awaits!"

They started strong. The roulette table was their first battleground, and Quinn proved to be a secret weapon, somehow landing multiple wins despite looking like he didn't understand the rules.

"This is so fun!" Quinn said, beaming.

"Keep doing what you're doing!" Sharya commanded. "Whatever it is!"

Fani, meanwhile, underwent a startling transformation the moment she sat down at the dice table. Her timid demeanor melted away, replaced by a swaggering, sharp-tongued persona that left everyone, including her opponents, stunned.

"Are you even trying, old man?" she sneered at the dealer. "I've seen more skill from a house cat batting at string."

Magna stared at her, slack-jawed. "Hair lady, you're… terrifying."

"Shut up and deal, greaseball!" Fani snapped, her eyes blazing with uncharacteristic fire.

Luck burst out laughing. "I like her better this way."

The winnings piled up. Sharya's poker skills were unmatched, and Quinn's uncanny luck kept their coffers overflowing. Even Magna pulled off a surprise victory at blackjack, though he insisted it was due to his "gut instincts."

As they celebrated their growing mountain of chips, Sharya leaned back with a smug grin. "See? I told you this team was elite."

But as the hours dragged on, overconfidence seeped in. And then, disaster struck.

"I'm telling you, this is the one!" Magna declared, gripping his final stack of chips like a lifeline. "I can feel it!"

"Don't you dare," Sharya warned, glaring at him.

But it was too late. Magna slammed the entire stack onto the table in a dramatic "all in" gesture.

"Trust me!" he said. "This is how legends are made!"

The cards were dealt. A collective gasp rose from the table as the dealer revealed the winning hand—and it wasn't Magna's.

The group watched in horror as their hard-earned fortune vanished in an instant. Sharya clutched her head, letting out a scream of frustration.

"You idiot!" she yelled, smacking Magna upside the head. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?!"

"I had a feeling!" Magna protested, rubbing his head. "Guess it was the wrong one."

"I knew it was the wrong one!" Sharya snapped.

Quinn looked like he might cry. Fani, having reverted to her usual timid self, whispered, "I-I knew this was a bad idea…"

Before the argument could escalate, Lars strolled into the casino, glaive slung over his shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at the disheveled group. "What's going on here?"

Magna's face lit up. "Perfect timing! Luck's been itching for a fight, and you're gonna be his opponent!"

Lars blinked. "Wait—what?"

Luck's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Finally! Let's go!"

"I—fine," Lars sighed, realizing there was no way out. "But if I end up in the infirmary, I'm sending you the bill, Magna."

As Luck dragged Lars off for their impromptu battle, Sharya groaned, slumping against the wall. "This night couldn't get worse…"

Fani, however, smirked mischievously. "Oh, I don't know. I think we can turn it around."

Sharya shot her a wary look. "What are you—Fani, no. No. We're not going back in—FANI!"

But it was too late. Fani had already sauntered back to the nearest table, her fiery gambling persona flickering to life once more. Begrudgingly, Sharya followed, muttering, "This is gonna end in tears…"

Quinn leaned over to Magna, whispering, "Do you think they'll win this time?"

Magna shrugged. "Probably not. But hey, it's fun to watch."

…

Kirsch had carefully chosen a quiet spot in the Royal Capital for what he thought was a simple, peaceful date with Frida. The stars twinkled gently in the sky. He had prepared himself for a relaxing evening—something lighthearted, where he wouldn't have to worry about the usual drama of being around Frida.

But Frida was not one for lightheartedness. She crossed her arms and glared at the plate of food in front of her, clearly dissatisfied with her choice of restaurant. The pride that clung to her was palpable, and though she would never admit it, the tension between them was beginning to gnaw at her insides.

"Are you going to keep staring at your food, or are you going to eat it?" Kirsch asked with a nervous smile, trying to break the silence.

Frida didn't answer right away. Her gaze flickered over to him, her eyes narrowing. She flicked a lock of hair out of her face, clearly putting on an air of indifference, though Kirsch knew her far better than that.

"You know, I didn't think you'd be this boring," she muttered under her breath, her lips curling in that ever-present smirk.

"Not every evening has to be a battlefield," Kirsch tried to joke, but the tension in his voice was palpable.

Frida leaned back in her chair, clearly amused by the discomfort she could sense radiating off of him. "Right, Kirsch. But you… you're always so uptight. Just like always."

Kirsch could feel the heat rise to his cheeks, and he looked away to try and regain some semblance of composure. He wasn't going to let her get to him. Not tonight.

And just when he thought he could salvage the situation, a sudden, sharp voice broke through the tension.

"Well, well, if it isn't the little lovebirds," Irina's voice was smooth, with an edge that made Kirsch's stomach twist.

Both he and Frida froze, the atmosphere around them instantly changing. Frida, ever proud, didn't flinch. But Kirsch's heart skipped a beat as he instinctively leaned back, his eyes darting nervously between Irina's calculating gaze and Frida's amused smirk.

Irina had materialized out of nowhere, her pale figure cutting through the air like a blade. Her icy eyes locked onto Frida's with an unsettling intensity, as though she could strip away every ounce of pride the other woman had.

"Frida, always a pleasure," Irina said, her tone laced with a sickly sweet malice. "I see you've claimed Kirsch for yourself for the evening. How quaint."

Frida, showing no sign of backing down, chuckled. "You always make an entrance, don't you, Irina? How's your obsession with Kirsch? Still clinging to that delusion?"

Irina's smile was a razor's edge, gleaming with venom. She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Frida's. "I'm not here to talk about delusions, Frida. I'm here to remind you of your place. Kirsch belongs with me. He knows it deep down. But you—" Irina's gaze flicked to Kirsch, her eyes cold as ice, "you'll always be second best."

Kirsch recoiled instinctively, but Irina was relentless. Her words slithered like poison, curling around his resolve, chipping away at him.

Frida, to Kirsch's horror, seemed unbothered by the confrontation. She stood up slowly, her posture elegant, but her smirk widened into something much more dangerous. "Irina, darling, you've got it all wrong. Kirsch is free to choose who he spends time with, and last time I checked, he chose me."

Irina's smile faltered for a split second, the chill in her eyes sharpening. Her voice, when it came, was cold and sharp as a blade. "You think you've won? Don't kid yourself, Frida. Kirsch is mine. And you—" She turned her icy gaze to Frida, her lips curling into a thin smile, "you're nothing but a plaything to him. A temporary distraction. How does that feel?"

The words hit hard, and the air between them crackled with tension. Kirsch could feel his chest tightening, his pulse racing. Frida's grip on the table clenched. She was pissed—but she didn't show it. Instead, she locked eyes with Irina and delivered a response that could only be described as a challenge.

"You know, Irina," Frida said slowly, her voice venomous. "I would love to see just how far you're willing to go with your delusions. But tonight? Tonight, I'm here with Kirsch. And that's something you can't take from me. So, why don't you run along before I make you regret it?"

But before Irina could retort, Kirsch, his panic rising, bolted from his seat. His eyes widened in fear as he took a step back. He couldn't deal with this. He couldn't handle it.

"I-I'm sorry, I'll just—just—" Kirsch stammered, his legs nearly giving out beneath him as he backed away.

Irina's cold, calculating eyes tracked his every movement, and with a smug, satisfied smile, she glanced once more at Frida. "You can keep playing your little game with him, Frida. But don't get too comfortable. Kirsch will always belong with me. I've already marked my territory."

Kirsch didn't wait for her to finish. In a flash, he was gone, fleeing the scene like a rabbit cornered by a predator.

Irina's icy smile lingered on her lips, though it was a smile that had more malice than joy. She turned on her heel, her gaze narrowing at Frida with the full weight of her obsession.

Frida, her arms crossed, chuckled darkly. "Oh, please. Don't be so dramatic. No one belongs to anyone. Especially not Kirsch. And certainly not you."

Irina paused, her gaze flicking briefly to Kirsch's retreating figure before she spoke, her words like daggers coated in sweetness. "You know, Frida, you're more than welcome to think that. But don't get too comfortable. You wouldn't want me to remind you just how far I'm willing to go to claim what's mine."

With a final, pointed glance at Frida, Irina turned and disappeared into the shadows, her presence lingering long after she was gone.

Frida stood silently for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, she muttered under her breath, "What a mess. But it's my mess."

And though the evening had started with the promise of a simple, quiet date, Frida knew that nothing with Kirsch—or Irina—would ever stay that simple.

A/N: The Vermillion bloodline will carry on... or will it?

Also the gambling scene was so elite to write, I had so much fun doing it.