The spring festival had always been a delicate balance—tradition and celebration intertwined with something deeper, something ancient. Jorvik’s light burned brightest now, pressing back the lingering shadows.

Perhaps that was why Sabine had come.

You saw her immediately. Sabine never hid—never had to. She stood at the edge of the festivities, arms crossed, gaze flickering over the crowds with something close to amusement. But not the warm kind. The calculated kind. Like she was watching pieces move on a board only she understood.

The chatter between you and the other soul riders quieted before you were volunteered to confront her. You stepped into her line of sight, steady. “Here to make a mess of things again?”

Sabine turned, slow, deliberate. “Oh, please.” A smirk curled at her lips. “As if I need this feeble little festival to remind you of what you are.” Her gaze flicked over them, appraising. “It’s almost funny, really. You’re the fifth rider. The culmination of every element, every power. The grand design.” Her tone was mocking, but beneath it, something else lingered—something begrudging. “And yet, here you are, wasting it.”

You didn’t react. You’d long since learned not to.

Sabine scoffed, exhaling a quiet, amused breath. “You’re the most dangerous thing Jorvik has ever seen. And the worst part?” A smirk, sharp and knowing. “You don’t even realize it.”

She didn’t linger—Sabine never did. Just a last glance, something unreadable flashing behind her eyes, before she turned and vanished into the crowd.

The music carried on, uninterrupted. The lanterns burned bright, men and women riding carefree. But somehow, the festival didn’t seem as welcoming anymore.