Stolen Glances - JunHao

Fireworks

The night shines with two bright moons, and a carnival unfolds as carnivals normally do. The arena glows with a thousand lamps burning every two steps. Overlaying shadows move fleetingly on every face, for each one that sits in the arena is simply too buzzed with the energy of a magical night. Every ten years, on a date mapped somewhere between the stars, comes the festival of luck. On such a night, a bigger moon recedes from the shadow of the earth and becomes visible for about a month. It steals the spotlight from the distant and regular one for thirty days, for who would spare a glance towards something that one has been seeing every day of their lives, especially in the presence of its more charming sister.

Every minute or so a fleet, representing some smaller region of the Queendom, enters the arena through its north gate, from where it does a full circle around the pit, to applause and cheers that erupt through the crowd. Each fleet leaves through its west gate, where it would be paraded onto the streets of Inchon, for its residents, packed on the pavements, and peering through their balconies, to get a glimpse. Even the inky blackness of the heavens lights up because, at any given moment of time, there is a colourful bouquet of fireworks going off in the sky, bursting against the rather pinkish and humongous background of the guest moon.

Over the constant clamour of a multitude of noises, Mingyu leans into Minghao's space and has to shout in his ear, so much so that he is engulfed by a rather elaborate scent Mingyu seems to be wearing for the occasion. "Doesn't it give the impression that it could fall off from the sky at any moment?" asks Mingyu, mirroring Minghao's thought process.

Minghao nods, glancing up at the burgeoning celestial object. "I certainly thought so when I first saw it ten years so."

Mingyu opens his mouth to continue, but both of their heads turn at the same time, their attention grabbed by an awkward silence that slowly descends upon the crowd. Minghao's eyes travel southwards, from his top box seats to the north gate, and he immediately understands the cause of everyone's spirits deadening.

A fleet, comparatively smaller than the others before it, but lavishly decorated nevertheless, enters the arena. The colours of black and gold are smeared on every surface of the fleet, which has the eyes of the entire populace on it. Undeterred by the silence that surrounds it, it goes on its way around the pit, ever approaching the Queen's box. Everyone watches with bated breath. Something strange settles on Minghao's chest as he gets a close look at the fleet's top, which very conspicuously forms the map of a united northwest. It is the most subtle form of propaganda, it seems. As the fleet finally glides right in front of the Queen's box, located exactly halfway across the north gate, the entire arena watches the Queen, a few rungs above and rightwards from Minghao's perspective, but distinguishable nevertheless.

And she claps. A brief moment of hesitation later, the entirety of the arena follows suit. Minghao lets out a breath.

"Look at that, clapping for a bunch of terrorists," says the voice of Baek Minha, who sits beside Minghao. She has the most malicious look on her face, as her hawk-like eyes follow the black and gold fleet which has now almost left the arena.

Minghao understands, of course. Black and gold are treacherous colours, the northwest is a treacherous land. Anything related to them, sparks rows and threats of carnage.

Mingyu, however, forever the advocate speaks up, almost yelling to get his point across to the lady with Minghao caught in the middle. "Come now, Baek Sa, we cannot draw conclusions on an entire populace based on the actions of a small section of it."

Baek Sa only scoffed. "Small section, my foot. Even children are killers there."

Minghao froze involuntarily at her words. People like Beak Minha had their reasons for being untrusting of the northwest; almost everyone that hailed from that side of the land had lost someone or the other they knew to the hands of the rebels that ruled with impunity in the temperate forests of the northwest. Even people far away from the civil war, living in cities or near the shore shivered at the stories of terror, that, though laced with exaggeration, were not very far from the truth. To say that even children were trained to kill in secret hideouts under cliffs and over crooks of small hills would not be an overstatement. Minghao knew; he knew all too well.