Carnival

By the time dusk settled on Varia the next day, the city had utterly transformed. What had been merely lively before was now positively raucous—streets overflowing with costumed revelers, music pouring from every quarter, lanterns and fairy lights strung across plazas in garlands of color. The annual Carnival had arrived in full force, and with it a feeling that anything might happen.

Vita and I ventured out from the inn just as the first stars blinked into the purple sky. We had spent the day resting and preparing. Albrecht had kindly provided us with a pair of masks from his shop’s eclectic stock.

I now wore a blank silver mask that covered my face from forehead to nose—a simple, shining oval with no features except eye holes. In the mirror, it was disconcerting how it erased my identity; I became a walking reflection, the silver surface catching fragments of light and color from the surroundings. Albrecht had said with a wink, “A blank mask for a man seeking to define himself.” It felt appropriate, if a bit exposing in its own way—no persona to hide behind except nothingness.

Vita’s mask was a dramatic contrast to mine. She wore a beautifully crafted half - mask of an amber - gold bird. Delicate feathers fanned out around her temples, and a slender beak, gilded and etched with tiny symbols, curved over her nose. When she tied it on, the effect was mesmerizing: the warm hue brought out the gold flecks in her brown eyes, and the bird’s serene expression gave her an aura of otherworldly grace. She laughed when she first tried it, saying, “I feel like some ancient sun phoenix.”

“A bird of dawn amid night’s revelry,” I had replied softly, struck by how fitting it was—Vita, who always brought light to others, now literally wearing the visage of a radiant bird.

On the thronged streets, anonymity reigned. Every passerby was cloaked or masked in some way—harlequins in checkered costumes, devils with curling horns, dancers trailing silks, mythical beasts and cartoonish animals. Some wore elaborate full - face porcelain masks like Venetian carnival - goers; others had simple domino eye - masks with flamboyant hats. Laughter and shouts filled the air, and a dozen languages intermingled in a joyous cacophony. In the Carnival’s democracy, it was impossible to tell beggar from prince, scholar from fool. All identities blended into one teeming, dancing mass.

We held hands tightly at first to avoid losing each other. The city had been chaotic before, but this was another level entirely—a deliberate chaos, a licensed madness. We were both giddy from the energy of it, but also cautious, remembering how easily one could vanish in such a crowd.

Music drifted from every direction: a brass band blaring on a street corner, drums and chanting from an impromptu circle of masked people dancing around a bonfire in a vacant lot, violins and flutes on a balcony playing a lilting waltz for anyone who wished to twirl beneath.

At a plaza we passed, a troupe of performers on stilts dressed as towering angels wove through the crowd, their wingtips brushing the heads of onlookers. One of them bent down and wordlessly offered Vita a white lily from a basket. She accepted with a curtsey, and the stilt - angel touched its mask in a gesture of blessing before loping onward.

Vita slipped the lily into my coat buttonhole, smiling. “For luck,” she said.

We pressed deeper into the Carnival night. In the back of my mind, I remembered Corvin’s note: “Meet me among the masks when the moon is full.” Tonight the moon, nearly at its fullest, peered down like a silver coin, occasionally visible between drifting clouds and rising fireworks. We both kept a lookout for any sign of Corvin—perhaps a raven mask or some signal only we would recognize.

An hour in, amidst the laughter and flow, something like a procession swept us apart. A troupe of masked drummers swathed in blue came parading through, and the surge of spectators behind them jostled between Vita and me. Our hands were torn apart. I was pushed one way by a throng of exuberant youths, while Vita was caught in the eddy of dancers around the drummers. I caught a last glimpse of her amber bird mask bobbing among feathered costumes and then she was gone from view.

“Vita!” I called, but my voice was lost in the roar of a particularly loud drumbeat and a cheer from the crowd.

I tried to push against the flow, but it was like swimming upstream in a river of merrymakers. Before I knew it, I was spun out into a side street by the momentum.

When the press of bodies eased, I found myself in a narrower lane glowing with lantern light. Masked figures mingled more sparsely here. A pair of clowns were juggling oranges; a group of women in shimmering veils danced in a circle around a delighted child wearing a cat mask. The revelry was a touch gentler on this street, giving me space to breathe and collect my thoughts.

I realized I still had the silver lily Vita gave me, miraculously not crushed. It peeked from my buttonhole, a reminder of her. I vowed to find her again as soon as I could navigate back to the main square.

But as I turned to attempt that, a man in a half - mask of a grinning satyr clapped me on the shoulder. “Brother, your cup is empty!” he exclaimed, though I held no cup at all. He thrust a clay goblet into my hand filled with some foaming amber liquid. The satyr - mask had a mischievous gleam; even through his disguise I could tell he was quite inebriated but good - natured.

Before I could refuse, another reveler—a woman in a peacock mask with a train of colorful cloth—linked arms with me on the other side. “Dance with us, silver face!” she sang, using my blank mask as my identity.

I was swept along between the two of them into a courtyard strung with more lanterns. A lively jig played from somewhere. A dozen people were dancing with wild abandon. My satyr - masked friend whooped and dove into a clumsy jig, and the peacock - masked woman spun me around. I nearly spilled the drink.

For a moment, I let myself be taken by the current. I drank a sip of the ale or whatever it was—sweet, spiced, and very strong. The warmth of it spread through my chest. The peacock woman twirled and I twirled with her; others laughed and clapped in rhythm.

It struck me that no one here knew who I was. Under the anonymity of the mask, I could be anyone, or no one. The blank silver face revealed nothing—people projected onto it whatever they imagined. Perhaps they thought me mysterious or intentionally minimalist. In truth, I felt a strange freedom in that blankness. Lucius could set aside his burdens for a few minutes and just be a silver mask dancing under lanterns.

As I danced, a figure in a jester’s motley passed by, juggling glass orbs that caught the light. When he saw my mask, he gave a mock bow. “Ah, the faceless one! How bold, to wear the mirror of souls!” he cackled, and then moved on.

The mirror of souls… his offhand joke lingered in my mind. My mask did reflect those around me faintly. For an instant, as the peacock woman spun close, I saw my mirrored mask filled with the image of her bright plumage and laughing eyes. Then another dancer in a devil mask whirled by, and their image too skated over my face.

Is that all I am? I wondered. A mirror to others, with nothing of my own behind it? The thought unsettled me, and I abruptly felt the need to step away from the dance.

Politely disentangling myself, I retreated to the courtyard’s edge, breathing hard more from the swirl of emotions than exertion. The satyr called after me, “Come back, friend!” but I shook my head with a wave. The ale and frenzy had left me lightheaded.

I set down the goblet on a ledge and decided to continue my search for Vita. The night was only growing more intense; I heard an eruption of cheers from the next street and saw sparks from fireworks painting the sky.

It took some weaving through alleyways to get back toward the main thoroughfare. I was somewhat lost, but I followed the music and the densening crowd. I turned onto a broad avenue that led to one of Varia’s central squares. Here the Carnival was at its peak: food stalls giving away steaming pastries and roasted meats, acrobats performing flips over bonfires, costumed families laughing together, clusters of masked lovers strolling arm in arm.

As I edged through, a sudden hush fell over part of the crowd. I looked up to see why: on a balcony above, a lone figure had appeared, dressed in a sweeping black cape and wearing a stark white mask that covered their entire face. The mask was blank like mine, but white instead of silver. The figure held up a hand, and to my astonishment began to recite in a clear voice a fragment of poetry that I knew:

The figure intoned:

“At the threshold between darkness and light, a seeker stands, unformed and contrite.
Only a step: the abyss or the flame, only a choice to transform or remain.”

My breath caught. Those lines—they were from the poem in Corvin’s manifesto back in Part I, the very poem that had first drawn me to his circle! The crowd listened, puzzled but respectful at this unexpected performance from above.

I instinctively moved closer, craning to see any detail. Could it be Corvin himself, choosing this dramatic way to reach us “among the masks”? The white mask gave no clue. The voice… it was hard to tell, echoing slightly off the buildings. It could have been Corvin’s timbre—or it could have been anyone’s.

Before I could push further forward, the figure finished the recitation with a flourish of their cape. A smattering of applause came from those around me (who likely thought it part of the Carnival entertainment, not recognizing the significance). Then a flash of colored smoke erupted on the balcony, obscuring the figure. When the smoke cleared a moment later, the balcony was empty. The mysterious poet had vanished.

“Corvin,” I whispered under my breath. It had to be. Who else would know that poem and choose such a theatrical delivery? It was just like him—appearance and disappearance like a magician.

If it was indeed Corvin, he had kept his promise in the most indirect way: a brief encounter, a clue, then gone. I felt a surge of both excitement and frustration. I longed to talk to him properly, introduce him to Vita here in this city, ask him a hundred questions. But perhaps that was not to be, not yet.

The crowd resumed its chattering and movement. I stood there in a daze for a moment, until a new sound jolted me alert: the ringing of a bell, frantic and near.

Down one side street, I saw a small cluster of people gathered and the bell’s clang came from within. Curious and concerned, I made my way there. The crowd parted to reveal an elderly man collapsed on the ground, wearing a simple domino mask. Over him knelt a figure in an amber bird mask—Vita.

She was leaning over the man, checking his pulse while with her other hand she had been clanging a hand - bell likely snatched from a nearby fruit cart to get attention. Relief flooded me at the sight of her, alive and seemingly unharmed. I rushed to her side.

“Vita!” I breathed, dropping to a knee opposite her. Her eyes met mine through her bird mask, filled with concern.

“Lucius,” she exhaled, clearly relieved at seeing me too but focused on the crisis at hand. “This man fainted. Possibly a heart issue. We need to get him some air and water.”

A couple of bystanders helped lift the man to sit against a wall. Someone brought water. Vita worked methodically, loosening the man’s collar and patting his wrist. Gradually, the old man came around, coughing and then breathing steadier.

He mumbled an apology, embarrassed perhaps to have collapsed during the festivities. Vita shushed him kindly. “Don’t try to speak yet. Just rest. Does anyone here know him?”

A younger woman in a moth mask stepped forward, claiming to be his niece. She thanked Vita profusely and promised to take him home straightaway. As the small group led the man off, Vita finally stood, dusting off her dress and letting out a long breath.

Only then did we properly face each other. For a moment, in the swirl of costumes and flicker of torchlight, we simply took each other in—silver mask to amber mask.

“Are you alright?” we both asked at once, then shared a laugh of relief.

“I lost you in the crowd,” I said. “I looked everywhere.”

“Me too,” she replied. “I got pulled into a dance, then… well, I saw that man go down and couldn’t leave him.” She hesitated. “For a while I was with a group of performers—they thought I was part of their ‘aviary’ troupe because of my mask.” She managed a small laugh. “They were very welcoming. We danced and they offered me wine and told me stories. It was fun… but then I heard the bell and saw someone call for help, and I had to come.”

Of course she did. The image of Vita dancing, attempting to enjoy the revel for herself, then immediately shifting to caregiver mode at the first cry of distress, touched me deeply. It was exactly who she was.

“I should have known you’d be saving someone,” I said gently.

She tilted her head. “I did let myself enjoy the Carnival a little, you know. But… yes. Old habits.”

“I don’t think it’s a habit,” I said. “It’s your heart.”

She fell silent for a second, then reached out and squeezed my hand. “And you? What did you confront in this chaos?”

I gave a wry chuckle. “A bit of everything. I danced with strangers, nearly lost myself in it. I saw a mysterious poet appear on a balcony reciting lines from that poem—possibly Corvin.”

Her eyes widened behind the mask. “Corvin? Here?”

I recounted the apparition. Vita listened with a frown. “He does love his riddles. Perhaps that was his way of saying he’s watching, or that he’s pleased?”

“Maybe,” I sighed. “I wish he’d actually talk to us.”

Vita nodded. “He likely will when the time is right. He tends to orchestrate things more than participate directly.” She looked around; the crowd on this side street had thinned now. “This is all so overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I agreed. Now that the urgency was over, I felt the accumulated sensory overload of the night weigh on me. My head buzzed from the distant music and the ale and the adrenaline of losing and finding Vita. The narrow street suddenly felt confining, hot with torchlight and press of people.

Vita must have sensed it. “Let’s get some air,” she said, looking upward. A wooden fire escape ladder led to a low rooftop nearby, its bottom rung conveniently close to the ground for Carnival celebrants who often watched the procession from above. Without hesitation, Vita hiked up her skirts slightly and started to climb. I followed, ensuring her footing was secure as we ascended.

We emerged onto a flat rooftop terrace, mercifully empty except for some laundry lines (the sheets and clothes already taken down, probably to avoid stray sparks from fireworks). From this vantage, the city spread out beneath us in a patchwork of flickering lights, moving flares, and undulating crowds. The music became a distant tapestry of sound rather than an onslaught. A cool breeze kissed our faces, a welcome relief from the heat below.

We walked to the edge and looked out. In one direction, we could see the glow of the main carnival parade edging along a boulevard, a river of light. In another, the quieter canals reflecting the moon and distant bursts of color. From up here, Varia truly looked like the City - in - Flux incarnate—shifting patterns of revelry across its districts, alive and breathing as one colossal being.

Vita removed her bird mask, setting it down on a ledge. I did the same with my silver mask, wiping sweat from my brow. It was a relief to have our faces uncovered to the night air. When I turned to her, seeing her face fully again under the moonlight, I realized how much I had missed it even during those masked hours.

She smiled at me, eyes tired but content. “Hello, stranger,” she teased softly. “You have a lovely face under that blank slate.”

I laughed. “And you, my dear phoenix, are radiant without your plumage.”

For a moment, we simply stood together, side by side, not touching, but a comfortable closeness humming between us. The city roared below, but up here was our sanctuary.

“I almost lost myself down there,” I admitted quietly. “In more ways than one. At one point I felt… what if I become just another mask among many, nothing beneath it?”

Vita looked at me, her expression serious. “I don’t believe that’s possible. I know you, Lucius. Even if you doubt yourself, there’s a true spark in you. I heard it last night when you spoke your poem in the plaza. And I saw it tonight when you realized that blank mask wasn’t the sum of you.”

I inhaled sharply—her words were so steady, so convinced. “I saw you, too,” I said. “Stepping out of your caregiving role to dance. I was so glad to hear you did that, even briefly. You deserve joy for yourself.”

She turned her face away slightly, gazing over the city. “It was… nice, for a while. They twirled me around and I laughed like I hadn’t in a long time. But—” she shrugged lightly—”old habits, as you said. When I saw someone hurt, I couldn’t ignore it.”

“I know. It’s one of the reasons I—” I stopped myself.

She looked back at me. “One of the reasons you what?”

I felt suddenly vulnerable, but this quiet rooftop and her earnest eyes invited honesty. “One of the reasons I admire you,” I finished, though that wasn’t the original word in my heart.

Through all we’ve shared, I’d carefully held the language of love at bay, uncertain if it was the right time or if she felt the same. But in that moment, with the city swirling below and tomorrow’s uncertainties ahead, I realized life was too fluid to hold such words forever.

“And love you,” I added, my voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’ve come to love you, Vita.”

Her breath caught. In the silver moonlight I saw her eyes glisten. For a heartbeat she said nothing, and I feared I’d overstepped. But then she reached up and touched my cheek—lightly, tracing where the mask had sat—as if to reassure herself that I was real and present.

“I love you too, Lucius,” she murmured. “I’ve felt it growing in me for so long. I was afraid to say it aloud… I’m glad you did.”

A weight I hadn’t known I carried slid off my shoulders. We moved together in the same instant, her arms coming around my neck, mine around her waist. In the privacy of the rooftop shadows, we kissed—tentatively at first, then with a deepening warmth that kindled through me. Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of spiced wine and sweet pastry from the Carnival treats she’d sampled. I closed my eyes and let the sensation wash over every doubt and worry, at least for this timeless moment.

When we finally parted, both slightly breathless, we remained entwined, foreheads touching. The noise from below seemed to recede further, as if we occupied a bubble separate from the world.

Vita laughed gently, a wet laugh as she blinked away tears of happiness. “This has been quite the journey,” she said.

“And it’s not over yet,” I replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The realization sobered me a little. Soon, the night would wane, and with it the carnival. Tomorrow would come with all its tests: whatever decision Caius would demand of me, whatever next step Corvin had in store, and the unpredictable nature of Varia continuing to challenge us.

But right now, on this rooftop, I allowed myself to simply be a man holding the woman he loved, both of us unmasked in every way.

Down in the distance, a clock tower chimed midnight. Fireworks suddenly crackled overhead, painting the sky in gold and white. We looked up, arms still around each other, and watched the sparkling embers drift and extinguish.

“Happy Carnival,” Vita whispered, pressing her cheek to mine.

I held her close as the final bouquet of fireworks blossomed into a thousand tiny stars. Beneath that dying illumination, we stood on the threshold of the night’s end, not wanting to let go. We both knew this was the calm before whatever storm might come. But together, we had faith we could face it.

Tomorrow, the masks would come off, the city would return to its daily flux, and choices would demand to be made. But for now, in the height of Carnival’s embrace, we let our hearts be unguarded and our hopes intertwine, shining quietly for each other in the darkness, like two candles protecting each other’s flame.