[Galadriel: Capital City]
The Festival of Octavia raged on with unrelenting vigor, the city's grand avenues pulsing with life, the air thick with laughter, song, and the rich aroma of roasted meats and sweet confections. Streamers of violet and gold danced in the wind, strung between towering buildings. The devotion was evident in the details.
Despite the grandeur, Mikoto moved through the festivities with an air of detachment, his appearance a contrast against the bright, jubilant world around him. His helmet obscured his expression, but the weight in his steps, the way his fingers drummed idly against his forearm, showed his disinterest.
At the very least, the overwhelming density of people meant he was no longer the center of attention. No longer did prying eyes linger on his darkened figure; no longer did whispers follow his every step. He was just another shadow among many—and he preferred it that way.
