The walk to the uptown district in the northern end of the city was like trudging through another world. Dahlia kept her head down, her hands fidgeting with the frayed edge of her cloak. The sandstone buildings around them grew taller with every step, their walls decorated with carvings and mosaic tiles of spiders that sparkled under the midday sun. Even the air smelled cleaner here, tinged with the faint scent of dried herbs and roasted spices from distant street vendors. There wasn’t as much sand just flying around.

  Soon, they arrived at their destination, and Dahlia’s breath caught in her throat. The ‘cafe’ stood like a beacon against the cityscape, its white, lighthouse-like tower gleaming in the sun. It was flanked by two more modest sandstone buildings, making its ornate design stand out even more. The large rectangular windows were stained in rainbow colours, and delicate floral patterns were etched into the circular walls, climbing toward the spiraling roof. It didn’t really look like a cafe. It looked like something out of a storybook, the kind of place where people who belonged here sipped tea and spoke in hushed, sophisticated tones.

  The garden outside the entrance was just as extravagant. Flowers bloomed in neat rows of pots, their petals impossibly bright shades of red, yellow, and violet. A fountain bubbled softly in the center, the water sparkling in the sunlight.

  “See? Isn’t this a fancy place?” Emilia said, throwing an arm around Dahlia and Otto’s shoulders as if to stop them from bolting. “Come on! It’s even better inside!”

  The receptionist at the entrance was a tall, dark-skinned woman with a neatly tied bun and sharp features. She looked at Emilia first as the three of them approached the glass doors, her face softening into a polite, tired smile. “Miss, I’ve told you already,” she said in a measured tone. “You need at least three people to enter—”

  “And now I have three!” she declared, pushing Dahlia and Otto forward like proof.

  The receptionist’s gaze barely lingered on Dahlia, but when it shifted to Otto, her polite smile turned warmer as she studied him from head to toe. In particular, her eyes lingered on his rifle slung over his back, the monocles hanging around his neck, and the fur coat he never seemed to take off even in the hottest of climates.

  “Might you be from the northeast, good sir?” the receptionist asked, her tone turning friendly all of a sudden.

  Otto nodded slowly, his posture stiffening as he glanced at Emilia. “Yes. I am Otto Glasbrenner, a Pioneer from the Rampaging Hinterland Front.”

  The receptionist’s smile widened even further, and if she had any reservations about letting Dahlia and Emilia into the high-class establishment, she didn’t show it on her face anymore. “Welcome to ,” she said, stepping aside to pull open the glass doors. “Please come in, good sir. You came just in time—we have one free seat on the topmost floor right now.”

  As Emilia grinned and ruffled Otto’s hair, Dahlia followed the two of them into the cafe reluctantly. The receptionist led the way, and a second receptionist immediately swerved out from inside to take her place.

  Kari explained.

  Her shoulders hunched slightly as they stepped inside. Her hands felt sweaty, and she adjusted her grip on her hammer, trying not to think about how out of place she looked walking into the cafe alongside Emilia and Otto.

  She tried her best not to damage the pretty floorboards as she dragged her hammer in.

  The air in the cafe hit her first: cool, fragrant, and impossibly clean. It carried the faint, sweet scent of honey mixed with something floral and sharp, like crushed petals and… blackberries. Dahlia blinked, her gaze sweeping across the space, and she felt her heart jump. The interior was like she’d expected. It was built like a lighthouse on the outside, but it was decorated like a greenhouse on the inside, with tall glass windows and a ceiling that let sunlight pour in from every angle. Sunlight refracted through the top, casting rainbows across the many bustling tables and floors. Greenery climbed along trellises and spiralling stairs, and flowers bloomed in every color she could imagine—and a few she couldn’t.

  She stopped walking for a moment, staring at a cluster of blossoms shaped like tiny lanterns, their soft blue petals glowing faintly in the light. They didn’t look .

  “Dahlia, come on!” Emilia called, already a few steps ahead. She snapped her head over and immediately skipped forward, lifting her hammer slightly off the ground as she tried really, hard not to damage the place.

  As the receptionist gestured for them to follow her up a spiraling staircase in the middle of the lighthouse, servers and waitresses with shimmering butterfly wings flitted between tables on different floors, carrying trays of steaming teapots and plates stacked high with delicate pastries. Their wings glimmered with iridescent blues and greens, leaving faint trails of light behind them. Dahlia’s fingers itched to reach out and touch one of their wings—to see if they’d feel like silk or something more fragile—but she shook her head, trying to focus.

  she told herself.

  The place was already crowded enough. Most people were dressed nicely with high collars and unwrinkled shirts, and they didn’t look like they were from the desert. Most, in fact, wore the same well-fitted attire as Otto did—so maybe they were from the northeast? She couldn’t understand a word they were saying, anyways, as the receptionist led them to the topmost floor just below the dome-shaped roof.

  The uppermost floor was a circular platform with round tables scattered around and windows encircling the walls, offering a panoramic view of the district right outside. Emilia laughed, Otto mouthed a quiet ‘cool’, and Dahlia’s eyes widened. The sandstone rooftops stretched out like an uneven patchwork quilt, earthy tones glowing in the golden midday light. It was easily the best view she could ever ask for in the city, and the receptionist gestured towards the only empty table near the last window, bowing slightly.

  But then Emilia said “ah” and pointed at one of the tables already seated with customers—just one customer, actually. The rest of the seats were taken up by the giant stag beetle helm, and for a second, Dahlia couldn’t help but wonder how the man had even gotten the helm to fit through the tiny glass doors downstairs.

  “... Ah,” Muyang said, pointing back at the three of them. He was sitting at a table by one of the wider windows, looking relaxed and leaning back in his cushion with an air of quiet amusement. Judging by the menu he was holding in his hands, he’d arrived just a bit before them.

  The receptionist lingered around the three of them, glancing at Otto. “Do you know each other, good sir?”

  Otto nodded. “Yeah, we do.”

  The receptionist’s smile softened. “I see. Then please, feel free to join him. I will have a waitress personally assigned to your table.”

  Emilia needed no telling twice. While Muyang frantically lifted his giant beetle helm off the soft cushions to make room, the cicada girl dragged both Dahlia and Otto forward, practically throwing them onto the cushions around the round table. The receptionist swerved by to drop off three additional menus, and Dahlia felt the other patrons on the top floor were certainly looking at them strangely as Emilia patted Muyang’s shoulder, but then the receptionist left, and so did the gazes on their backs—the usual chatter filled the air again, and Dahlia finally felt comfortable enough to let go of her of hammer right by her feet, confident that it wouldn’t just sink through the wooden floorboards.

  It probably wouldn’t.

  She hoped it wouldn’t.

  The cushions beneath her felt softer than she expected, their silk covers cool against her palms. The table in the middle of their little circle gleamed with a dark polish, its surface already decorated with tiny bowls of sugar cubes and a vase holding a single, vibrant desert bloom. Not a dahlia. It would’ve been funny—or creepy—if it a dahlia, but if that were to happen, it’d most likely be because Muyang requested it.

  Her gaze flicked to each of her companions as they all made themselves comfortable. Muyang was the picture of ease, leaning back with one arm draped over the cushion behind him, while Otto sat stiffly, his rifle resting against the table’s edge. Emilia, as usual, was a flurry of movement, adjusting the cushions behind her and grinning like she’d just won a prize.

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  Otto broke the silence first, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity. “What are you doing here, Muyang? How’d you know we’d be here?”

  Muyang smiled politely back, sliding their menus over to them. “I did not know the three of you were going to be here. It was nothing but pure fortune that led us to meet again so soon. I merely came here because this cafe has a reputation for its lunch menu, so I thought I would check it out.”

  “Famous for what?” Otto pressed, leaning slightly forward.

  Emilia’s eyes sparkled, and she leaned in too, her voice dropping as if sharing a grand secret. “This cafe once served the Worm God and his friends!” she said excitedly. “After they killed an Insect God somewhere around here, they stopped back in the City of Feasts for a quick bite, and of all the restaurants they could have chosen, they came here. It's a sacred ground that be visited if you’re a fan of the old heroes of humanity!”

  Dahlia blinked, her fingers tightening slightly on the edge of her cushion. She glanced around the room, trying to picture the scene Emilia was describing.

  “You’re making that up,” Otto said flatly, though his gaze wandered to the walls as well.

  “I’m not,” Emilia shot back, her grin never fading. “Look around. The story’s in the walls. Or maybe the ceiling? I haven’t been here myself, either, but people say the history’s all over this place.”

  The four of them turned their eyes around, searching the walls, the windows, and the ceiling. Sunlight streamed through the designs etched into the glass, creating patterns of light and shadow that danced across the lighthouse, but… eventually, all of their eyes were drawn to the very centre of the dome-shaped ceiling.

  There, in the highest part of the lighthouse, was a mural. The details were impossibly fine, the colours vivid even after years of exposure to sunlight. It depicted a group of people posing together against a black backdrop.

  A young white-haired, pale-skinned boy with a rifle stood at the very front, his eyes starry blue, his stance poised to act at any moment. Considering he was the only person out of the twenty or so clad in pure white—with no other colour to give him any depth, any real shape—he was definitely the most eye-catching.

  Kari murmured.

  She frowned, her gaze lingering on the boy.

  Kari paused. Dahlia tilted her head, her brow furrowing even further. The pale-skinned boy wasn’t in the center of the mural. Her eyes shifted to the figure that was—an amber-cloaked man with closed eyes, his hands clasped behind him. It was safe to say that he was the centrepiece. Everyone was gathered around , and not the Worm God.

  She was about to ask Kari when Otto looked at Emilia and pointed up, his finger aimed at the figure with closed eyes.

  “That’s your dad, isn’t it?”

  Everyone at the table seemed to hold their breath. For a moment, Emilia didn’t say anything—even as Dahlia whirled and looked at her—but then she smiled, quite softly this time, and nodded.

  “Mhm,” she said, her voice filled with pride as her hand flew to her chest. “That’s my dad. The one and only.”

  Everyone looked back up at the mural in various states of shock, disbelief, and acceptance.

  Dahlia didn’t have any one of those reactions.

  Kari said,

  While Kari explained, Emilia’s gaze was still fixed on the mural. Her expression was different now—softer, more thoughtful—but the silence stretched again as they all simply stared, the mural’s vibrant colours casting a glow over their little group.

  Dahlia’s thoughts were swirling, a mix of awe and uncertainty, but mostly the latter. Maybe she feel a little more impressed, but the fact was, she hadn’t known who Emilia’s father was until just now—so rather than the blind man Otto and Muyang seemed enamoured by, it was Emilia herself Dahlia was more interested in.

  Evidently, Muyang thought so, too, because he spoke up a moment later.

  “Miss Emilia,” he said, “are you taking this exam because you want to be a hero just like your father?”

  The question hung in the air, and Dahlia glanced at Emilia, curious. Strangely, Emilia’s usual carefree grin faltered just for a moment before she shrugged casually.

  “Yeah.”

  And there was enough hesitation in her voice to make anyone else think twice before asking her more.

  Ever since the death of the sun moth, Emilia always sounded so sure of herself—so confident—but now, it sounded, there was a flicker of doubt.

  Dahlia had no idea what had brought it on, but before anyone could push further, the sound of footsteps echoed up the spiral staircase. A waitress appeared by their table, her silhouette framed by the golden midday light pouring in through the windows, and she said something about taking orders before her voice trailed off.

  All of them blinked as their heads swivelled slowly around.

  “… Huh,” Emilia said blankly, pointing at the waitress’ face. “Five out of five.”

  The waitress was Wisnu.

  Dressed in an outfit that looked like a fusion of traditional and exotic Sharaji Desert designs—layers of thin, flowing fabric adorned with wavy embroidery—the young Noble-Blood looked like she’d just stepped out of a painting. Her limbs were adorned with gold and jade bracelets. Ornamental chains and cuffs jingled on her ethereal skirt. Her belly was showing, and her shoulders and back were bare. Her face, however, was a mix of dread and resignation as she backed away from their table, her cheeks turning beet-red with embarrassment.

  Emilia started grinning from ear to ear. “You look… nice.”

  Wisnu’s cheeks flared an even deep crimson. She tugged at the hem of her skirt as if trying to make it less noticeable. “I had no choice!” she snapped, her voice tight with embarrassment. “I did not have any funds when I arrived, so I needed a job, and this… was the best I could do!”

  “You look pretty,” Dahlia offered quietly, hoping to ease the tension.

  Otto smiled faintly, nodding in agreement. Muyang, ever the gentleman, looked away, studying the mural on the ceiling really, really hard. Wisnu’s blush somehow deepened.

  “Just... order something already,” she muttered, pulling out a small notepad and pen.

  Emilia was still snickering as she rattled off her order, and while the others quickly followed suit, Dahlia scrambled for the menu and picked something simple, something familiar: lamb skewers glazed in honey and sweet spices. She felt a twinge of guilt, still, as Wisnu hurried away the moment she finished writing, though Emilia was laughing and Muyang was still staring very intently at the mural over their heads. At least they were having fun.

  Quite naturally, then, it was like they’d forgotten everything they were talking about prior. The conversations shifted. They flowed from one topic to the next as they chatted about what they’d been doing. Muyang described the massive market he’d visited earlier, full of rare goods and strange artifacts. Otto mentioned a blacksmith’s shop he’d stumbled upon, its walls lined with gleaming weapons and armour, all Swarmsteel. Emilia chimed in with tales of daring adventurers she’d overheard boasting in one of the city squares, and though Dahlia listened more than she spoke, she didn’t really mind.

  It was… nice to just be there, soaking in the moment.

  Halfway through one of Emilia’s stories, her thoughts were interrupted by a distant explosion. The sound rumbled through the air, faint but distinct, like a thunderclap rolling over the horizon, and every patron on the topmost floor whirled to look outside the window.

  Nothing.

  “... What was that?” Dahlia asked.

  Emilia waved a hand dismissively. “Eh, it happens all the time here. Probably just some idiots fighting outside the city.”

  Otto frowned, glancing out the window. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “It’s fine,” Emilia said, before leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Speaking of fights, though, would any of you happen to know what stage two of the exam is going to be?”

  They all exchanged glances, but no one spoke up.

  “Not a clue,” Muyang admitted, shaking his head.

  Emilia sighed dramatically. “Great. Guess we’ll have to wing it.”

  Wisnu returned, balancing a tray laden with their dishes. She placed each plate carefully in front of them, avoiding eye contact, but Emilia was an absolute fiend. “What about you, Sand-Dancer Wisnu?” she asked, putting on a teasing smile as the noble set down the last plate in front of her. “Got any info on stage two?”

  Wisnu stiffened, her cheeks tinged pink. “No. And I do not want to know. I will pass with my own strength and my own strength alone. I do not want insider information should you have any.”

  “Are you sure? I heard we’re going to be fighting an Insect God.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m kidding, but you want to know, don’t you?” Emilia leaned over and grabbed Wisnu’s arm as she tried to leave. “Come on, sit with us! Eat! Didn’t you see I ordered an extra dish? That’s for you!”

  Wisnu blinked, startled. “I cannot. I am in the middle of work—”

  “Otto’s paying for the meal, you know? Just sit for a bit! If you don’t, you’ll be disrespecting him!”

  Wisnu looked like she wanted to argue, but something in Emilia’s grin made her relent. Reluctantly, the waitress sighed and sat down as well, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she looked left and right nervously.

  Dahlia watched as the conversations kicked up again, a soft warmth spreading in her chest. This—this felt nice. The laughter, the teasing, the shared plans. It wasn’t something she’d had in a long time, and she didn’t realise how much she’d missed it until now.

  It was like they weren’t bug-slayers in training at all.

  But then her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Alice. The warmth in her chest dimmed, replaced by a quiet, stinging ache.

  Alice was the same age as Emilia, so where was she?

  Why wasn’t she here with them?

  Why’d she leave Dahlia alone in the bazaar?

  And that explosion out there just now… Dahlia had no reason to believe it had anything to do with her, but—

  “Dahlia?”

  She blinked, snapping back to the present. Emilia was watching her, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

  “Sorry,” Dahlia said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”

  “Well, stop thinking and start eating,” Emilia said, grinning. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us. We’re talking about whether we should all go out and get some points together so we can prepare for the second stage of the exam.”

  The conversations then pivoted to they were going to get points for the exam, because as far as everyone knew, the Hasharana and the Long March and a dozen smaller bug-slaying organisations were currently guarding the City of Feasts, so there weren’t going to be many bugs for them to hunt in or out of the city.

  That was when Dahlia’s thoughts drifted back to Alice again, and she suggested a little lesser-known tavern on Eighth Mantid Street to all of them, rumoured to serve bug meat dishes to anyone who had the coins to pay.

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