Every year, Malleus is entrusted with the sacred task of lighting the lanterns crafted by the people of Briar Valley and sending them into the dusky sky.

By all accounts, it is a breathtaking sight. His yellow-green flames descend like scattered stardust, setting the lanterns aglow before they rise in a slow, celestial dance.

Yet, unlike Sebek and the rest of his subjects, who gaze upon the spectacle with unwavering reverence, Malleus has never felt the same. Compared to the grandeur of other kingdoms, Briar Valley is small, its numbers modest. The task he performs is not the grand feat they make it out to be.

But this year, you wished to see it. And because he has promised you (and himself) that you will want for nothing, he grants it. He has never once doubted your uncanny ability to weave yourself into the hearts of others—after all, you have ensnared his so effortlessly—so it does not surprise him to find you already laughing and twirling with the townspeople, lost in the rhythm of the festival.

Then, night falls. The time arrives.

With your hand in his, warm and steady, Malleus breathes out, his fire cascading over the lanterns below. They blaze to life, flickering like tiny stars before taking flight. Cheers and applause swell around him, voices lifted in celebration.

Your eyes reflect the chartreuse glow of the lanterns, wide with wonder, lips parted in quiet awe. You stand beneath the painted sky as if you are part of it, something heavenly and untouchable, and suddenly, he understands.

The lanterns have always been beautiful. But never like this. Never like now.

For the first time in a long, long time, Malleus finds himself breathless.