Day of the Hollow Crown

This story is written base on the Lunar Awards prompt which can be found Here.

The shop of Elspeth was a curious thing, a place where the unusual and the arcane met the mundane realities of a mining city like Dûrnarn. Nestled in one of the lowest livable layers of the city’s sprawling, multi-tiered architecture, it was modest but remarkable made entirely of wood—an outdated building material in the city of stone. From its narrow windows, one could see the bustling streets of the merchants quarter, and the lights that danced in the shop windows like fireflies trapped in stone.

The sign above the door read "Elspeth’s Curiosities and Remedies", the letters painted in elegant, slightly worn gold script that seemed to shimmer faintly even in the gloom. Beneath the sign dangled a rusted lantern, enchanted to burn with a greenish flame.

The shop itself was a riot of organised chaos. The shelves lining the walls were stuffed with jars of strange powders and herbs, glowing crystals, ancient tomes, and half-finished contraptions cobbled together from mining tools and magical components. The air carried a heady mix of scents—dried lavender, bitter wormwood, and something metallic, like ozone after a lightning strike.

Near the back of the shop was Elspeth’s desk, a massive slab of wood carved with swirling runes. The desk was littered with open books, scraps of parchment covered in hastily scrawled notes, and a variety of magical instruments: brass compasses enchanted to spin in strange patterns, quills that wrote on their own, and a small brazier glowing faintly with blue fire. Behind the desk hung a wall of cubbyholes, each stuffed with scrolls, vials, and trinkets of unknown purpose.

Elspeth sat at the desk, her long fingers drumming against the edge of an open tome. Her dark skin was tattooed with intricate patterns—runes, symbols, and abstract shapes that snaked up her arms and across her face. Some of the tattoos seemed to shimmer faintly when the light hit them just right. Her green eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity, a sharp contrast to the faint shadows under them. Her hair was a wild tangle of curls, streaked with ash from a recent experiment, and it was held back haphazardly with copper pins shaped like tiny snakes.

She wore a patchwork coat made from various fabrics—some rich and embroidered, others frayed and faded. The coat jingled faintly with charms and talismans sewn into its lining. On her neck hung heaps of beaded necklaces in a rainbow of different crystals—important tools for her work.

She was muttering to herself, flipping through a thick tome titled "The expanded history of Durnarn" while a quill scribbled notes onto a sheet of parchment beside her.

Across from her sat Bell, bundled in a thick fur-lined coat. Her blond hair was tucked messily behind her ears, and her blue eyes drifted sleepily from the tome to the nearby shelves. Despite her weariness, she leaned forward eagerly, fingers tracing a diagram of a jagged crater split in two by veins of glowing crystal.

“So,” Bell asked, trying to think of anything to talk about besides the work infront of her, “this... God-King. He really just floated in one day and told people to dig?”

Elspeth snorted, reaching for a brass compass that whirred softly in her hand. “Not quite. It’s a little more dramatic than that, thank the heavens. You’re not here for boring stories, are you?” She snapped the book shut with a flourish, then opened another, this one gilded and dog-eared, its spine engraved with runes.

“Let me give you the abridged version,” she said, her green eyes narrowing playfully. “This is about Rauthvar—the God-King, the Eternal Serpent, the Almighty Floating Pain in the Neck.”

Elspeth gestured dramatically to a diagram in the book that showed the city of Dûrnarn in its early days: a small cluster of tents at the edge of a barren crater, long before the mines spiralled downward into the earth.

“Once upon a time—several centuries ago, by the way—this place was nothing but a few scattered miners hoping to strike lucky with iron or coal. Nothing remarkable. But then came the sky splitting open.” She clapped her hands together, sending Bell into a startled flinch.

“A massive serpent—yes, serpent—descended from the clouds, trailing a floating palace. It was beautiful, crystalline, and golden, but completely terrifying. People thought it was the end of days.”

Bell raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “A snake built a palace?”

“No, no, no,” Elspeth said, waving a hand. “The God-King isn’t just a snake. He’s... well, he’s sort of snake-adjacent. Lots of limbs. Glows ominously. Or so they say. Anyway, he didn’t need to build it. He came with it. And he wasn’t here to destroy, exactly. He had a... proposition.”

She leaned forward, her voice dropping theatrically. “‘Beneath your feet,’ he said, ‘are riches beyond imagining. Veins of crystal that hum with power, gems that can reshape the fabric of reality. But these riches are dangerous, and without me, you’ll never harness them.’”

Bell’s blue eyes widened slightly, her interest clearly piqued. “So... he offered to help?”

“‘Offered’ is a generous word for what he did,” Elspeth replied with a crooked grin. “He demanded obedience. He’d protect the city, make sure we didn’t blow ourselves to pieces, protect us from our enemies, and in return, we’d mine the crystals for him. And let’s not forget the part where we perform increasingly ridiculous festivals to keep him entertained.”

Elspeth’s green eyes sparkled with mischievous delight as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the cluttered desk. “Oh, Bell,” she said, a grin spreading across her face. “You’re in for a treat. One of the God-King’s favourite festivals is coming up—the Day of the Hollow Crown. You’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bell frowned, her fingers tracing the edge of a strange brass sphere on the desk. “Let me guess: more weird costumes and sweets?”

Elspeth’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s so much worse than that. The Day of the Hollow Crown isn’t just a holiday, Bell. It’s an elaborate, surreal theatre of subjugation—a mad mix of superstition, performance, and cosmic bargaining. It’s not just about thanking the God-King. It’s about keeping him entertained.”

Elspeth pushed aside a pile of enchanted scrolls, clearing a space between them. She snapped her fingers, and a tiny orb of golden light appeared, hovering above her palm. It danced with pictures as Elspeth spoke, casting strange shadows across the room as she launched into the tale, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone.

“Centuries ago, when Rauthvar first arrived in Dûrnarn, the people were desperate. The mines were dangerous, the veins of crystal unstable, and the deeper they dug, the stranger—and deadlier—the tunnels became. Rauthvar offered a deal: his protection, his wisdom, and his magic in exchange for absolute loyalty. But there was a catch.”

“Of course there was,” Bell muttered.

“Of course!” Elspeth agreed, gesturing grandly. “The God-King didn’t just want tribute. He wanted entertainment. He thrives on spectacle and absurdity. They say the Day of the Hollow Crown wasn’t something mortals created. It was his idea—a festival whispered into the minds of the city’s rulers, piece by bizarre piece.”

Elspeth gestured grandly, her tattooed fingers tracing the air as if painting the scene before them. “At dawn, the festival begins with the Unbinding of the Chain. A colossal golden chain tethers the God-King’s floating palace to the city below. And every year, that chain has to be... fed.”

“Fed?” Bell echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, fed,” Elspeth repeated, her tone dripping with dramatic flair. “The entire city lines the streets to witness this grim spectacle. At the base of the chain, a truly monstrous creature is be dragged forward—half-mechanical, half-organic, the kind of nightmare only Dûrnarn’s mines could birth.”

Bell’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and Elspeth continued with relish. “These beasts are made in the depths, stitched together from the flesh of subterranean creatures and the scraps of old mining machines. They aren’t natural, nor are they entirely magical. They are... something in between. And they’re not happy about it, let me tell you. Their shrieks echo through the city as priests feed them strange, glowing minerals pulled from the deepest tunnels. The more they eat, the brighter they glow, their bodies turning unstable.”

Bell shuddered. “And people just... stand there and watch this?”

“Oh, they watch. This is the main attraction!” Elspeth said with a wry chuckle. “As the creature becomes unstable, the golden chain starts to move. It’s not just a tether; it’s alive—or at least enchanted. It coils around the glowing, screaming beast, and then...” She paused, raising her hand for dramatic effect.

“What?” Bell asked, leaning in despite herself.

“The chain yanks the creature skyward, dragging it into the palace above, where it’s devoured.” Elspeth clapped her hands together, making Bell jump slightly. “And that, Bell, was The First Gift to the God-King.”

Bell stared at her, horrified and fascinated all at once. “He... eats those things?”

Elspeth shrugged. “I mean, probably not literally. But they disappear into the palace, and the chain comes back empty. Whatever happens up there, the people below are very motivated to keep it going.”

Bell exhaled, shaking her head. “That’s... grotesque. And they do this every year?”

“Every single year,” Elspeth confirmed with a nod. “And that’s just the beginning.” Her grin turned sly. “You should hear about what comes after. It involves puppets, dance, and a crown made of bones.”

Bell groaned, but the spark of curiosity in her blue eyes betrayed her. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into these stories.”

“Because you secretly love them,” Elspeth teased, reaching for another tome. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes—the Dance of the Hollowed. You’re going to hate it.”

Elspeth leaned forward, her green eyes glinting with mischief as she continued her tale. “If you think the Unbinding of the Chain was grotesque, Bell, you’re going to love what comes next. After the First Gift is devoured, the God-King’s second favourite pastime begins: the Human Puppet Parade.”

Bell visibly tensed, already regretting her curiosity. “Puppet? Parade? Why do I feel like this isn’t going to be charming?”

“Oh, it’s not,” Elspeth replied, her grin widening. “Charming is the last word anyone would use to describe it. But it’s unforgettable.”

“The streets clear, and the priests bring out their tools—long poles capped with enchanted strings that shimmer in the light like liquid silver. These aren’t ordinary strings, Bell. They’re alive. They slither through the air, seeking... well, seeking people to attach to.”

Bell sat up straighter. “Attach to? As in...?”

“As in, into their skin,” Elspeth said, her tone almost casual. “They pierce the hands, the arms, even the legs. The strings move the chosen participants like marionettes, jerking them into grotesque dances. They call it the Dance of the Hollowed—a tribute to the God-King’s ‘divine madness.’”

Bell’s face twisted in disgust. “People volunteer for this?”

Elspeth shrugged, her wild curls bouncing. “Some do. Others are, let’s say, strongly encouraged. Usually, it’s folks who owe debts they can’t repay or have fallen out of favour. They’re told it’s an honor, of course—a chance to ‘serve the God-King directly.’ But the truth? It’s brutal.”

She gestured dramatically, as though orchestrating the parade herself. “The strings pull them into erratic, unnatural movements. Arms bending in ways they shouldn’t, legs kicking and twisting to a rhythm only the strings can hear. And the crowd? They cheer and laugh, pretending it’s all just good fun. Because if they don’t...”

“Let me guess,” Bell interjected. “They end up in the parade next.”

“Exactly!” Elspeth snapped her fingers, pointing at Bell. “You’re catching on. The priests say it’s all about showing the God-King that we mortals can embrace his chaotic wisdom. But really, it’s just another way to remind everyone who’s in charge.”

Bell shook her head, her blue eyes narrowing. “That’s not a parade. That’s a nightmare.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Elspeth said with a chuckle, flipping the pages of the open tome before her. “After the parade comes the part where everyone gets involved: The Feast of the Fleshless.”

Elspeth’s grin grew wider as she leaned back, tapping the side of her nose. “This one’s a little more... participatory.”

Bell groaned, already bracing for the worst. “Why do I feel like that doesn’t mean something good?”

“Because it doesn’t,” Elspeth said cheerfully. “The Feast of the Fleshless is an ancient tradition where the entire city sits down for a grand meal—but not just any meal. The God-King, in his infinite wisdom, declared centuries ago that the people should create a dish that reflects the essence of their labor and sacrifice. So they did. And what did they come up with?”

Bell raised an eyebrow. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Bone Cakes,” Elspeth said, her tone both triumphant and amused. “Dense little pastries made from ground-up bones—mostly livestock, but in the old days...” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Bell’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding. People ate bones?”

“Oh, not just bones,” Elspeth clarified, wagging a finger. “The cakes are mixed with a paste made from those glowing mushrooms that grow lower in the mines. You know, the ones that might be mildly toxic? Add some spices, a dash of bitter root, and voila! You’ve got yourself a Bone Cake. They glow faintly and taste like despair.”

Bell made a face. “And people actually eat this?”

“They have to,” Elspeth said, her grin returning. “It’s a sacred part of the festival. But here’s the kicker—you can’t just pick up the cake and bite it. Oh no. The priests lower the cakes into your mouth with these long tongs made from bone, symbolising the God-King’s ‘benevolent hand feeding his loyal subjects.’ If you gag or spit it out? That’s considered a grave insult to both him and the ancestors.”

Bell buried her face in her hands. “This just gets worse and worse.”

“Oh, but it’s all in the spirit of gratitude!” Elspeth teased, her tone dripping with mock cheer. “After all, what better way to honour a giant serpentine overlord than by eating glowing bone mush while everyone watches?”

Elspeth leaned back, watching Bell’s expression shift between disbelief, disgust, and faint amusement. “So?” she asked, her tone bright and teasing. “What do you think? Ready to dive headfirst into the madness? Maybe I’ll volunteer you for the parade. You’d look great with enchanted strings.”

Bell shot her a sharp glare. “You’d better not. This whole thing sounds insane. How does anyone put up with it?”

Elspeth leaned back in her chair, her laughter bubbling up like a fresh spring as Bell glared at her, a mix of incredulity and faint anger on her face. “Oh, don’t get so worked up, Bell,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m joking. That’s just how things used to be. You don’t think we still do all that now, do you?”

Bell’s blue eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me people don’t get puppeted anymore? No glowing bone cakes? No... whatever you called that thing they fed to the chain?”

Elspeth snorted, crossing her arms as a wry grin spread across her face. “Nope. Well, not exactly. Things are... different these days. And you can thank The Year It All Changed for that.”

Bell frowned, leaning forward with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “The Year It All Changed?”

“Oh, it’s a story,” Elspeth said, her green eyes glinting with mischief. “One of the few times Dûrnarn’s people decided to push back against the absurdity of the God-King’s demands—and somehow, we all lived to tell the tale.”

Bell raised an eyebrow, resting her chin on her hand. “You mean someone actually told the God-King to shove it? That doesn’t sound like a happy ending.”

“It wasn’t... at first,” Elspeth admitted, leaning forward and propping her elbows on the desk. “But it became one. These days, the Day of the Hollow Crown isn’t about terror and subjugation. It’s... well, it’s still weird, but now it’s weird in a fun way. We’ve turned it into something our own.”

Bell’s brow furrowed deeper. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. What happened during The Year It All Changed?”

Elspeth’s grin grew wider, and she leaned in closer, lowering her voice as though she were sharing a great secret. “Oh, you’re going to love this one, Bell. It all started with a miner—a stubborn, reckless fool—who decided he’d had enough of dancing puppets and glowing pastries. His name was Kael, and he changed everything.”

Bell crossed her arms. “Let me guess: he got himself killed?”

Elspeth laughed again, the sound rich and full of mischief. “Almost. But Kael had a way of turning certain doom into an opportunity. And because of him, the Day of the Hollow Crown became what it is today. Now sit back, my friend, and let me tell you the tale of the most ridiculous, chaotic rebellion Dûrnarn has ever seen.”

Bell groaned, already bracing for the absurdity to come. “Why do I have a feeling this is going to involve glowing things and explosions?”

Elspeth winked, picking up a small enchanted sphere and tossing it between her hands. “Oh, Bell, it always does.”

Elspeth leaned forward, elbows resting on the cluttered desk, her wild curls tumbling around her face as her green eyes sparkled with the thrill of storytelling. She waved her hand lazily, as if dismissing the whole conversation so far. "Alright, Bell, listen up. Let me tell you about The Year It All Changed—the year the Day of the Hollow Crown stopped being what it was. This isn’t just history, mind you—it’s legend. And it all started with a kid named Lena and her brother, Kael."

She drummed her fingers on the desk, settling into her rhythm. “For centuries, the ritual went on without question. The Hollow Crown was just... the way things were. No one dared to question it. Not until that year. That year, the God-King made a proclamation, one that shook the city.”

Her voice dropped, low and conspiratorial. “He declared that the Chosen Vessel—the poor soul who wears the Hollow Crown and gets hauled up to his floating palace—was to be Lena Vynar. A twelve-year-old girl, Bell. A child. The youngest daughter of a dirt-poor mining family, but clever as anything. People whispered uneasily—kids were rarely chosen. But who would dare defy the God-King?”

Elspeth straightened, jabbing a finger at Bell as if to make a point. “No one. That is, no one except Lena’s older brother, Kael.”

She sat back, her grin sharpening. “Now, Kael... Kael was a hothead. A miner who worked the worst shifts in the most dangerous tunnels. He hated the God-King with every ounce of his being. And not quietly, either. For years, he watched his neighbours struggle under impossible taxes and break their backs mining those glowing crystals, all so Rauthvar could sit up there in his palace, coiled around his mountain of treasure.”

Her grin turned a little wry. “But when they came for Lena? That was the breaking point. He said, ‘I won’t let them take her.’”

Elspeth let the words hang for a moment, then continued, her tone growing serious. “His neighbours begged him not to fight it. The elders warned him, ‘Defying the God-King is suicide. Do you want to bring ruin on all of us?’ But Kael? He wasn’t hearing it. His mind was made up.”

She leaned forward again, her voice rising with the tension of the tale. “The morning of the celebration came. The Procession of the Hollow Crown wound its way through the streets, all pomp and horror, and Lena—poor thing—was dressed in those ceremonial rags they call holy robes. The crowd was silent, the air heavy with fear. And then—out of nowhere—Kael appeared.”

Elspeth’s eyes glinted mischievously. “He ambushed the guards carrying the Hollow Crown, Bell. Right there in front of everyone. It was chaos. People screaming, the priests shouting... but Kael? He fought his way through the crowd and grabbed the crown.”

She slammed her hand on the desk for emphasis, making Bell flinch. “And then he shouted for everyone to hear, ‘This is no god! No king! Just a parasite that bleeds us dry!’”

Elspeth’s grin turned wild, her voice almost a growl as she imitated Kael’s defiance. “The city froze. The floating palace—oh, it felt his words. The thing started trembling, Bell. Like it was alive. And then... the sky darkened.”

She gestured upward as if summoning the storm herself. “Rauthvar descended. For the first time in centuries, the God-King came down from his palace. And let me tell you, he was not the handsome, regal figure you see in those ancient tapestries.”

Her green eyes gleamed with excitement as she leaned even closer, lowering her voice to a dramatic whisper. “He was monstrous. A massive, serpentine creature, his body covered in glowing scales, his many arms glittering with gold and bone. His eyes burned like the crystals we mine—searing and bright. And his voice? It shook the whole plaza.”

Elspeth threw her arms wide, her voice booming as she mimicked Rauthvar. “‘You dare defy me?’ he roared. ‘This city stands because I permit it! Your ancestors kneel at my feet in the afterlife, and you will do the same!’”

Bell sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. “What did Kael do?”

Elspeth grinned, savoring the moment. “He didn’t flinch. Not even a little. He shouted back, ‘If you’re so powerful, why do you hide in your palace, leeching off our labor? You’re nothing without us!’”

She clapped her hands together, her grin sharp. “The crowd gasped. They thought Rauthvar would obliterate him on the spot. But instead? The God-King laughed. A deep, horrible laugh that made the ground shake.”

She leaned back, letting the tension in her story build. “‘You amuse me, mortal,’ Rauthvar said. ‘Very well. If you think you can break this tradition, prove it. Reject me. Defy the Hollow Crown. But know this: the weight of your defiance will fall on every soul in this city.’”

Elspeth let the room fall silent for a moment, her voice softening. “Kael had a choice: surrender the crown, let his sister be taken, and preserve the fragile balance. Or stand by his words and risk everything. And Kael? He wasn’t about to back down.”

She leaned forward again, her voice rising with Kael’s defiance. “He held the crown high and shouted, ‘We will make our own traditions! Our own gods! Your reign ends here!’”

Elspeth laughed, her tattoos shimmering faintly as she spoke. “Rauthvar’s laughter turned to a roar, Bell. The golden chain connecting his palace to the city snapped, and the floating fortress began to drift upward. The ground split open, fissures tearing through the plaza, and people screamed as the palace rose higher and higher.”

Bell leaned forward, caught up in the story. “Did it leave?”

Elspeth grinned, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Oh, it tried. The palace wobbled, Bell. It wobbled like a sulking balloon. It hovered there, bobbing slightly, then... it drifted back down. Slowly. Awkwardly.”

She let out a laugh, throwing her hands up in mock imitation of the God-King. “‘This is a strategic pause,’ Rauthvar said. ‘I am definitely leaving. Any moment now.’”

Bell burst out laughing despite herself. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not!” Elspeth said, laughing along with her. “Turns out, Rauthvar needed us just as much as we needed him. His magic, his power, his whole floating palace—everything was tied to Dûrnarn. Without us mining those crystals, he couldn’t sustain it. So there he was, the big, terrifying God-King, stuck with us.”

Elspeth leaned back in her chair, still grinning. “And that, Bell, was the day everything changed. The people realized they had power, too. They struck a new deal with Rauthvar—one that involved less terror and more... let’s say, creative compromises. But that’s a story for another time.”

Bell shook her head, still chuckling. “I can’t believe this city.”

“Believe it,” Elspeth said with a wink. “Welcome to Dûrnarn, Bell. Nothing here is ever boring.”

Elspeth leaned forward, her green eyes glinting with mischief. “So, Bell,” she said, her voice teasing, “do you want to see what the Day of the Hollow Crown is like now?”

Bell hesitated, her blue eyes narrowing suspiciously. “After what you just told me? Not really.”

Elspeth laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud! It’s not like it used to be. We’ve made it our own now. You’ll actually have fun. And the God-King? Oh, he’s still a diva, but now we keep him happy in the best way possible—by making him laugh.”

Bell raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Laugh? The giant snake-king who eats glowing monsters and judges humanity from his floating palace laughs?”

“Constantly!” Elspeth said with a grin. “Let me tell you what it’s like these days. The whole thing is absurd, chaotic, and completely ridiculous—but in the best way. You’ll see.”

Elspeth spread her arms wide as if presenting a grand stage. “It all kicks off with a city-wide dance competition. Not the creepy puppets from before—oh no. Now, people dress up in these outrageous costumes made from mining gear, glowing crystals, and whatever nonsense they can find. It’s like a parade of madness, but with choreography.”

Bell frowned. “Choreography? In Dûrnarn?”

“Surprisingly good choreography,” Elspeth countered with a smirk. “And the best part? The God-King himself joins in. He uses his magic to control this massive puppet version of himself, all golden scales and glowing eyes. Of course, he always claims his puppet wins.”

Bell snorted. “Let me guess: he cheats.”

“Blatantly,” Elspeth confirmed. “But no one calls him out on it. We just cheer and pretend he’s the greatest dancer alive. It’s tradition!”

Elspeth leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Then there’s the baking contest. Oh, Bell, you’d love this part. Remember the Bone Cakes? Gone. Thank the gods. Now, it’s a competitive bake-off. Each family makes the most ridiculous, glowing, crystal-infused dessert they can come up with.”

Bell tilted her head. “Glowing desserts?”

“Exactly!” Elspeth said, grinning. “And the God-King’s priest judges them. His critiques are brutal. If it’s bad, he’ll throw it at you. Literally. If it’s good, he’ll say something like, ‘This tastes like despair. I love it!’”

Bell burst out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not,” Elspeth said, laughing with her. “And the best part? People want him to throw the dessert. It’s basically a badge of honor.”

“Next,” Elspeth continued, “we’ve got the Climb of Chains. They coat the golden chains in this slick, glowing grease, and people race to climb them.”

Bell blinked. “And they don’t die?”

“Nope!” Elspeth said proudly. “We’ve got safety harnesses and padded landing zones now. Plus, there are prizes dangling from the chains—gold coins, enchanted trinkets, and even little plush versions of the God-King.”

“Plush versions?” Bell repeated, incredulous.

“Cute ones, too!” Elspeth said with a laugh. “They sell out every year.”

“Then there’s the Glow Parade,” Elspeth went on, her grin widening. “This is where it gets really extravagant. We have these glowing floats. They’re made by the guilds, the miners, even kids. Each float tells a story—mining life, famous ancestors, or, of course, the God-King.”

Bell raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

Elspeth nodded, her grin turning sly. “And the God-King loves seeing himself in the most ridiculous poses. Last year, there was a float of him riding a giant worm into battle. Another one had him lounging on a throne made of cake.”

Bell couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re making this up.”

“I wish I were that creative,” Elspeth said, tossing a glowing crystal from one hand to the other. “The parade is spectacular, though. You’ve got glowing lights, enchanted music—it’s like the city itself is alive.”

Elspeth’s voice softened slightly, her tone almost fond. “And then, at the end of the day, we release the Hollow Lanterns. But instead of prayers and solemnity, they carry jokes, funny stories, and little drawings. The God-King reads them aloud from his palace.”

Bell tilted her head. “And he likes that?”

“Oh, he loves it,” Elspeth said, her grin softening. “Sometimes he laughs so hard you can hear it echoing across the city. Last year, someone sent up a sketch of him wearing a miner’s hat and wielding a pickaxe. He laughed so hard a piece of his palace fell off.”

Bell snorted. “Now that’s a festival.”

Elspeth leaned back, spreading her arms as if to encompass the entirety of the strange, wonderful day. “So, Bell, what do you think? Still hesitant? Or are you ready to see Dûrnarn at its most ridiculous?”

Bell smirked, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I’m ready, but I have to see this for myself.”

“That’s the spirit!” Elspeth said, clapping her hands together. “Trust me, Bell, the Day of the Hollow Crown will change the way you see this city. And maybe,” she added with a sly grin, “you’ll even win a plush Rauthvar.”

Elspeth threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained as she leaned against the edge of her desk. “I mean, Bell, can you believe it? A floating snake-king judging a dance-off, and laughing at lantern jokes? It’s utterly ridiculous! And yet, somehow, it works!”

Bell couldn’t help but laugh along, shaking her head in disbelief. “This whole city is absurd.”

Elspeth’s laughter trailed off, but her grin remained wide. She held up a finger, as though suddenly struck by a thought. “Oh! Hang on—before I forget!” She reached down and rummaged through one of the desk’s cluttered drawers, muttering to herself as bottles clinked and stray scraps of parchment crinkled under her touch. “Where is it... ah, here we go.”

Straightening, Elspeth held up a neatly wrapped square, about the size of a book, covered in plain brown paper tied with a thin piece of twine. She set it on the desk in front of Bell, who tilted her head, confused.

“What’s this?” Bell asked, eyeing the package.

Elspeth tapped the top of the square with a finger. “It’s tradition, Bell. Gifts are part of the Day of the Hollow Crown now. Don’t ask me why—it’s probably some leftover bit of chaos from when Kael flipped everything upside down. Anyway, this is for you.”

Bell blinked in surprise, glancing between Elspeth and the package. “You got me a gift?”

Elspeth grinned, leaning her chin on her hand. “Of course. Go on, open it.”

Bell hesitated for a moment, then untied the twine and peeled back the paper. Her fingers stilled as she revealed the contents: a sleek, rectangular magical tablet, its surface polished to a faint, iridescent sheen. She recognized it immediately—it was just like the ones merchants used in the market to track their crystal sales and communicate over long distances.

Her mouth opened in surprise. “You got me a tablet?”

Elspeth leaned back in her chair, clearly pleased with herself. “Ava’s idea, actually. She insisted we both needed one so we could ‘keep in touch’ or whatever she called it. Personally, I hate these things. Too finicky. But you? You’re always running off on some adventure or other, and I figured it might come in handy.”

Bell turned the tablet over in her hands, blushing faintly as she realized the thought Elspeth had put into the gift. “Elspeth, this must’ve been expensive. You didn’t have to—”

“Oh, hush,” Elspeth interrupted, waving her hand. “It’s practical. Besides,” she added with a grin, “now you can call me whenever you’re off in some cursed ruin or lost in a maze of tunnels. Saves you the trouble of running back here with whatever fresh chaos you’ve unleashed.”

Bell looked down at the tablet, her blush deepening. She thought about all the times Elspeth had bailed her out of trouble lately—whether it was fixing a botched spell, patching up a wound, or just offering a place to rest when things went wrong. “I... thank you,” she said quietly. “Not just for the tablet, but for everything. I don’t say it enough, but I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

Elspeth’s grin softened, her green eyes warm. “Oh, Bell,” she said, her tone playful but kind. “I don’t mind. Trouble’s just part of who you are. Besides,” she added with a wink, “you keep things interesting. Can’t put a price on that.”

Bell laughed, clutching the tablet a little closer. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome,” Elspeth shot back, sitting up and ruffling Bell’s hair. “Now, let me show you how to work that thing before you break it in half. It’s not indestructible, you know.”