I ascend the pole with practiced ease, my muscles straining as I hoist my self up into a perfect handstand. The heat of the stage lights press down on me, yet I steady my breath in preparation for the next act. From above, a shimmering ornamental blade drops down swiftly. The crowd gasps as I catch it deftly on the curve of my sole, balancing it upright.

  A ripple of oohs and aahs echo from below the platform, and I begin to juggle, passing the blade from foot to foot with measured, precise movements. The specially made metal reflects light spectacularly, and the audience watches in awe as a kaleidoscope of colours begins to form.

  A man steps forward, enamoured by the display. He is quickly pushed back by an armoured guard who instructs the crowd to not come closer. They hesitantly comply and take a collective step backwards. I can see the excitement in their eyes as they wait for the final—and most intense—part of my act.

  A massive metal ring descends from the ceiling, its polished surface gleaming like a moon in freefall. Timing my next move perfectly, I lean forward, surrendering to gravity as I spiral downward in a controlled descent. The world blurs around me. I release my grip from the pole—

  And the crowd erupts.

  As I leap through the ring, fire erupts in a brilliant arc, searing the air around me. Heat licks at my skin, but I push through, tucking my body into a tight roll mid-air. The flames roar, trailing after the tail of my silk attire as if they were some great beast. The moment stretches—weightless, breathless—before I unfurl, twisting just in time to grasp the colourful strands of fabric that hung from the ceiling. My momentum carries me forward, sending me swinging over the enraptured audience. Below, faces tilt upward, eyes wide, reflecting the flickering firelight.

  I take in their expressions—fear, awe, excitement. It fuels me. I let go.

  For a heartbeat, there is nothing but air beneath me. I am untethered. And then I fall, and—snap!—I twist and catch hold of a second pole, gripping it tightly as the flames behind me dissipate into embers.

  One final pose. One leg extended, arms reaching forward. My fingers come together in the shape of the Imperial Symbol: Heaven's Flaming Eye.

  A perfect finish.

  The silence before the applause is always the sweetest part. A single breath stretched across a thousand held lungs.

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  The theatre explodes into cheers, and I drink it all in.

  "Thank you! Thank you very much!"

  Then at the corner of my eye I witness a peculiar sight: A man stands at the back of the crowd, his face unreadable.

  Only he does not cheer.

  *************

  I sit alone in my tent, watching the myriad of shadows flash by. They twist and turn, stretching unnaturally as figures pass by, distorted by the lantern light that breathes life into them. The night is busy, sounds of laughter echo through the air, mingling with the faint hum of music and the occasional clatter of metal boots against pavement.

  A gust of cool air sneaks through the entrance as the tent flaps rustle. With the wind comes a familiar face.

  "Naeve!"

  Excitement tinges my voice as my niece steps into the tent, brushing stray auburn strands from her face. I had heard that she was in town, but to think that she'd come so soon...

  "How long has it been?" The words feel stuck in my throat as I study her features. Naeve has inherited much of my sister's face: High, defined cheekbones that catch the light just so, the same sharp jaw that lends her an air of quiet defiance. Yet where my sister's gaze was cold and steely, Naeve's eyes burn with something wild and untamed, much like my own. She has yet to fully shake off the dust of travel. The scent of horses and the road clings to her clothes like an invisible cloak.

  She looks older than I can remember. Not in the way of years, but in the strange way the world leaves its mark on others.

  Naeve grins, flashing a set of shimmering white teeth. "Do I look that different?"

  I return the smile. Like a whole different person. "How are you?"

  She exhales, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the journey. "Tired" Then, with a smirk, "Hungry."

  I laugh. "And you come here for food? I'll have you know I haven't eaten since morning: The cook called in sick."

  She extends her hand, "All the more reason to take you out, Aunty. Mother said to make sure you saw the moon tonight."

  I take her hand. "Lead the way then." And we walk out the tent.

  An instant blast of cool air hits my face. I look up, and see the sky lit up by thousands of paper lanterns. Today marks the Empire's 100th anniversary, and both the government and the people spared no expense in the celebration. The streets are alive with color and movement—laughter, music, and the occasional burst of fireworks fill the air.

  As Naeve tugs me toward the bustling market stalls, something catches my eye. The man from earlier, the one who refused to appaud the performance, moves through the crowd with a purpose that sets him apart from the others. His posture is rigid, his gaze sharp as he speaks to a merchant, then another, and another. There’s something almost surgical about the way he picks his targets—no wasted movement, no idle chatter.

  A knight.

  I recognize the insignia on his cloak, though I’ve never seen him before. He most certainly isn’t here to celebrate.

  Curiosity sparks in my chest. Who is he looking for?

  I turn to Naeve, "Let's go over there." I say, pointing at the next stall in the man's path.

  Without waiting for her to answer, I step forward, weaving through the crowd, making my way toward him.