The "Family Gathering"

The flickering images danced behind my eyelids. Shadows of movement, echoes of possibilities. Every dodge, every feint, every misstep I could make—laid out before me in fractured glimpses. Celestial Foresight was active, but imperfect. It wasn't the first time I had used it, and the strain was overwhelming. It's been 7 years since Calamitas has been training me and tensions between mom and her have still been at an all time high.

I pivoted just in time to avoid Calamitas' strike, my body moving before my mind could process the action. Another feint—another burst of heat curling dangerously close to my skin. My breath came quick and shallow as I forced myself to adjust, to react.

Too fast. Too much.

[Notice: Cognitive strain detected. Predictive pathways operating at maximum safe limit.]

I know that! You'd think in 7 years I would get this down already! I snapped mentally, ducking just as a bolt of fire shot past me.

[Suggestion: Reduce reaction delay. Prioritize high-probability evasions over unnecessary countermeasures.]

Great Sage's logical analysis grated against my nerves. "It's not that easy!" I hissed aloud, frustration leaking through as I twisted away from another strike.

Celestial Foresight flickered—too many predictions, too little clarity. I saw multiple futures but couldn't discern which was real until it was almost too late.

Calamitas chuckled, circling me like a predator. "Talking to yourself mid-fight? That's new."

I clenched my fists. "Shut up."

She smirked. "Then tell your little voice to keep up."

The next strike came without warning. Not fire—force. A raw blast of energy sent dust and gravel flying up from the courtyard floor. It was too sudden, too erratic for Celestial Foresight to catch in time. The impact hit before I could react, knocking me off balance.

I barely managed to roll to my feet, heart hammering. My vision swam, the overload of predictions straining my already worn-out mind. Celestial Foresight blurred, the fractured glimpses failing to keep up with reality.

[Notice: Neural fatigue increasing. Recommend disengagement.]

I gritted my teeth. No. Keep going.

Calamitas tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "You look like you're drowning."

I didn't answer. I couldn't afford to. My mind was too full of shifting images, flashing warnings, premonitions that tangled and overlapped. Every movement held a thousand possibilities—too many for me to process all at once. My inexperience with Celestial Foresight was becoming painfully clear.

[Error: Host unable to filter unnecessary predictions. Overload risk detected.]

Calamitas lunged again, and this time, I didn't dodge in time. A flicker of fire surged toward my arm. The heat licked against my skin before I willed mana through my body to shield myself.

Not fast enough.

Pain flared, but I forced myself to stand firm.

Calamitas let out a slow whistle. "You're overthinking it."

"I—" My breath came too short. Too fast.

Lelyah's voice cut through the air like a blade. "That's enough."

The training came to an immediate halt. The oppressive heat faded as Calamitas withdrew, amusement flickering across her face as she turned toward my mother.

Lelyah stood at the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed, her presence suffocating in a way that had nothing to do with magic. Her golden eyes—so similar to my own—locked onto me, assessing, measuring.

"I told you not to push her into another collapse," she said, her tone calm but biting.

Calamitas shrugged. "She's not broken. Just tired."

Lelyah exhaled sharply through her nose before turning to me. "You have a noble gathering to attend."

I blinked. "What?"

"The Family Gathering," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "It's the annual meeting of the heads of the Noble Families. You will be there. No debate."

I barely suppressed a groan. "Do I have to?"

"Yes."

I searched for any possible way out. Any leverage. "Can Calamitas come?"

Calamitas let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly uninterested. She leaned against a pillar and folded her arms, glancing toward the sky. "You expect me to understand nobles?"

Lelyah turned to me slowly, her golden eyes flat with disbelief. "No, Chiori, I'm just summoning you to this extremely important gathering for fun." Her voice dripped with sarcasm before hardening. "Yes, you have to. You're the next head of the Tomaszewskis, get dressed."

Which meant she wasn't budging.

I sighed, already resigned to my fate, when Lelyah's voice cut through my thoughts one last time. "And Chiori—don't ever ask me anything about her again."

Her tone was cold. Final.

I swallowed back any retort. Pushing my luck wasn't worth it.

The grand hall of the Rellmont estate was adorned with banners of the noble houses, their sigils woven in silk and gold. It was an overwhelming display of status, a reminder of the power that each family held. Today, however, this hall was not just a space of grandeur, but of unspoken war—a meeting of the next generation of noble heads, overseen by their caretakers.

Despite my reluctance, I knew this gathering was an opportunity. Knowledge was power, and every interaction today would shape the political landscape I had to navigate. As I entered the hall with Rei at myside, the murmurs began. Some were veiled behind raised glasses and hushed tones, others were spoken freely.

"She looks human, but those eyes..."

"A disgrace to both sides."

"Why is she even here?"

I kept my posture even, my expression unreadable. They wanted a reaction. I wouldn't give them one.

[Inquiry: Why do they express hostility toward you despite no direct confrontation?]

Because they don't see me as one of them. Great Sage never understood the subtleties of human behavior. Facts and logistics were its strengths, but its understanding of human behavior was... lacking. Not that it needed to but it wanted to understand behavior to better assist me.

Across the room, Asmodeus lounged against a column, golden eyes scanning the nobles with the disinterest of a predator unbothered by lesser creatures. He had no patience for etiquette, and it showed in the way he sat—relaxed, unbothered, but undeniably present.

The opening formalities dragged on. One by one, the heirs introduced themselves, each name a declaration of power.

House Saegusa. House Albrecht. House Fontaine. House Valeria. House Dracis. House Eisenhardt. House Venstara. House Caelthorn. House Myrvandis. House Rellmont. House Kervan. House Marceau.

Each noble house held dominion over something vital—espionage, military strength, trade, arcane research, agriculture, law, airship transport, alchemy, historical preservation, culture. Each had a stake in shaping the world.

And then, the name that had held weight for generations. House Tomaszewski.

I kept my head high as my name was spoken. The weight of their scrutiny pressed against me, but I had long since learned to bear it. Great Sage was already filtering through reactions, categorizing them.

[Notice: 36% of attendees express open disdain. 24% neutral or indifferent. 40% analyzing potential alignment shifts.]

That last number was the most important. The ones watching, calculating, waiting for weakness.

The meeting launched into discussions of border security, trade disputes, and internal conflicts. Nobles debated alliances and resource allocations, all while maneuvering for dominance beneath carefully crafted words. I said little, watching, listening, absorbing everything.

[Notice: House Dracis is shifting focus toward maritime security. Possible attempt to secure exclusive trade rights with Fontaine.]

House Dracis is shifting focus toward maritime security. That's not surprising, considering they've always thrived on controlling the flow of trade. But the way they're maneuvering now suggests something bigger—an attempt to monopolize routes. If they secure exclusive trade rights with Fontaine, the other houses relying on imports will be at their mercy.

[Notice: House Eisenhardt's representative hesitated before supporting Albrecht's proposed defense expansion. Possible internal dispute.]

House Eisenhardt's hesitation before supporting Albrecht's proposed defense expansion was brief, but noticeable. A house that thrives on military contracts should have been eager to solidify its position. That hesitation means conflict—either within their ranks or from an external force influencing their decision. If someone is getting to them, I need to find out who.

[Notice: House Rellmont's phrasing suggests dissatisfaction with current noble power balance. Potential prelude to political maneuvering.]

And then there's House Rellmont. Their phrasing was deliberate—less of a complaint, more of a signal. They're not just dissatisfied with the balance of power; they're laying the groundwork to reshape it. The real question isn't whether they're moving—it's who they're moving with.

By the time recess was granted, I was exhausted, though I refused to show it.

"You've been quiet," Asmodeus remarked as I approached him. He leaned back lazily against a pillar, arms crossed. "Holding your tongue or sharpening it?"

I exhaled. "Why not both?"

Before he could reply, Celeste Fontaine and Edric Albrecht joined us, their presence shifting the air between us. Celeste, ever the political mind, gave me a knowing look. "I imagine you have thoughts."

I did. Many. But I wasn't about to spill them all. "Too early to draw conclusions. But the room is divided, more than usual."

Edric nodded grimly. "The others are testing the waters. Trying to see where the cracks form."

"And pushing for a response from Tomaszewski," Celeste added. "They won't stop until they get one."

I knew that. Neutrality was a shield, but today, it was being tested for weaknesses.

[Inquiry: If House Tomaszewski provides stability, why is its neutrality under attack?]

Because stability isn't always beneficial to those seeking control, I thought bitterly.

[Analysis: Neutrality should provide strategic flexibility. Why is it seen as a flaw?]

Because power in this room is defined by action. And if you are not moving, you are perceived as standing in the way. Great Sage wouldn't understand that—it calculated risks, not ambition. It saw numbers, not the weight of names.

[Notice: Multiple entities assessing Tomaszewski's influence. Subtext detected: Political maneuvering to challenge standing.]

I already knew that. Every movement, every shift of posture, every fleeting glance was a chess move. House Valeria's group spoke in quiet tones, watching the room with casual interest, but I could see the way they leaned in when certain topics were broached.

"Have you heard? The Dagans have been getting bold lately. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried something reckless." Huh, a new name I haven't heard. Maybe an outside house trying to move here. I'll keep that in the back of my mind for now.

House Rellmont's representative murmured to an attendant, the faintest smirk on his lips. Meanwhile, House Dracis' head tilted ever so slightly as Celeste mentioned trade instability. I knew their game—they were seeking leverage, and I refused to give it to them.

Then came the whispers, sharper now that they thought I wasn't paying attention.

"A child of monsters pretending to be noble."

"If Tomaszewski falls, she goes with them."

"They should never have let her in."

I kept my face impassive, but I felt Asmodeus shift beside me. His body tensed, his fingers twitching at his side.

"Don't," I murmured, barely moving my lips.

His glare was dark, full of heat. "You hear them."

I did, but I wasn't the one at risk of doing something reckless.

Asmodeus pushed off the column, his movements slow and deliberate, but his entire posture screamed barely restrained fury. "You think you're untouchable because you're born into power? Say that again, and I'll make sure you feel what it's like to be beneath someone's heel."

A ripple passed through the gathered nobles. Some turned, intrigued, while others feigned disinterest, though I could see the glint of satisfaction in their eyes. They had baited him, and he had bitten.

I snapped my fingers. "Asmodeus."

His breath hitched mid-step. That single sound froze him more effectively than a blade to the throat. His hands clenched into fists, shaking with restraint, but he stopped.

I kept my voice low. "You're the Feudal Lord's son. Your words don't belong in the gutter with theirs. If you want to fight, do it on your own terms—where they can't twist it into proof of their righteousness."

His jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring, but the moment passed. His hands uncurled. His shoulders relaxed by degrees. A slow, forced exhale.

[Notice: Immediate conflict defused. However, the probability of further provocation remains high.]

No kidding.

The nobles who had spoken—those smug, self-satisfied cowards—watched, waiting to see if they could provoke another reaction. I met their eyes, one by one, memorizing their faces, their tells, the flicker of satisfaction quickly masked under disinterest.

They thought they had won a battle here.

They had no idea they had just put themselves on a list.

[Inquiry: Would open confrontation not deter further hostilities?]

No. That's what they want. They want us to lose composure, to give them fuel for their narratives.

[Analysis: Maintaining composure strengthens perceived control. Political stability of Tomaszewski reliant on restraint.]

Exactly. That was the difference between those who held power and those who let power control them.

Celeste, aware of the tension but wise enough not to acknowledge it outright, shifted the conversation. "Regardless of where this meeting is going, you both need to remember something." She tapped a gloved finger on her arm. "Your responses dictate your influence. Not just in this meeting, but in the long term. If you react too strongly, they'll twist it. If you say too little, they'll assume weakness."

Edric folded his arms. "They're looking for an excuse to dismiss Tomaszewski. Don't give them one."

I already knew that. And yet, knowing didn't make the weight on my shoulders any lighter.