The Rain Before the Storm

The training grounds were empty except for the three of us—Asmodeus, Calamitas, and me. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the field, the golden glow doing little to mask the growing tension between us.

It had been days since Alistair Dagan's execution. The murmurs within Tomaszewski's ranks had yet to settle, and while many soldiers accepted the outcome, others remained uncertain. No formal backlash had surfaced—until now.

The sharp crack of wood against wood echoed across the courtyard. I pivoted on my heel, barely dodging Asmodeus' next strike. Lightning crackled around his fists, the heat of it singing the air just inches from my face. Too close. Too slow.

[Notice: Reaction time is delayed. Evasion efficiency has dropped by 12%.]

I gritted my teeth, Zaphkiel's calm analysis pressing against the edges of my already clouded thoughts. I knew I was off. My stance was rigid, my attacks half-hearted, and my defenses? Slower than usual. I could feel the weight of hesitation in every movement, dragging me down like an anchor.

"Are you even trying?" Asmodeus scoffed, stepping back, golden eyes narrowing in irritation. "You've been off this entire time."

Calamitas sighed, arms crossed as she leaned lazily against a training post. "You're holding back, little star."

My grip tightened around the hilt of my fan. I knew they were right. I just couldn't force myself to push harder.

Asmodeus didn't wait for a response. He surged forward again, closing the gap with terrifying speed. Instinct screamed at me to move, but the hesitation was still there—a flicker of doubt, a weight in my chest that kept me from committing to a full counterattack.

[Alert: Incoming strike. Evasive action required.]

Too late.

The impact hit before I could fully dodge. His fist caught my shoulder, electricity jolting through my nerves, sending me stumbling back. I hissed under my breath, more from frustration than pain.

Calamitas clicked her tongue. "You're thinking too much."

I forced myself upright, flexing my fingers to shake off the lingering static. "I'm fine."

"You're lying. Again," Calamitas ordered from the sidelines, her arms crossed. "Faster."

Asmodeus didn't hesitate, lunging forward with a calculated sweep. I barely managed to parry, but my stance wavered. My thoughts were sluggish—lingering too long on what had already happened rather than what was coming next.

[Notice: Reaction speed below optimal threshold. Cognitive distraction detected.]

I clenched my jaw as Zaphkiel's voice hummed in the back of my mind. "I know," I muttered under my breath, adjusting my stance.

Asmodeus crossed his arms, irritation flashing across his face. "If you keep hesitating like this, you're going to get yourself killed."

I knew that. I knew it better than anyone. And yet, every time I moved, every time I raised my weapon, the memory of Alistair's last breath clawed at the back of my mind. The way his body crumpled, the blood pooling at my feet, the look in his eyes before everything went still.

[Observation: Psychological strain detected. Root cause—post-battle trauma, unresolved moral conflict, and anticipation of House Dagan's response.]

I exhaled sharply. "I said I'm fine."

Calamitas clicked her tongue. "Tch. You're not regretting it, are you?" She pushed off the post, walking toward me with that infuriatingly knowing smirk. "Fine? No, you're not. And until you deal with whatever's weighing you down, you'll stay weak."

My grip tightened around my fan. No. I wasn't. Alistair had given me no choice.

I clenched my jaw, "I am not weak."

"Then prove it."

She snapped her fingers, and before I could process it, a burst of fire ignited at my feet, forcing me to leap back. I barely had time to recover before Asmodeus was on me again, faster than before. My body moved on instinct, dodging the first blow but missing the second. His kick sent me skidding back, breath knocking out of my lungs.

[Notice: Combat effectiveness continues to decline. Emotional instability interfering with decision-making.]

I pushed myself up, breathing heavily. Calamitas tilted her head, her eyes sharp. "What are you afraid of?"

I swallowed hard. "Nothing."

Her smirk widened, but there was something deeper in her gaze—something that told me she knew exactly what my problem was. "Liar."

Asmodeus rolled his shoulders, exhaling harshly. "If you're thinking about House Dagan, don't. They don't have proof to come after you."

I knew that too. I wasn't afraid of the accusation. I was afraid of what came after. Of what I had already done. Of what I might have to do next.

[Inquiry: Would Host benefit from strategic mental recalibration?]

I hesitated. "…What do you mean?"

[Recommendation: Controlled confrontation of psychological burden. Avoidance will only hinder combat performance further.]

I exhaled slowly. I knew Zaphkiel was right. I knew they were all right. But knowing didn't make it easier.

And as if summoned by my thoughts, a stewardess clad in the deep crimson of House Dagan's livery stepped into the courtyard, flanked by two neutral house guards. Her expression was carefully composed, but I could see the contempt beneath it.

"Lady Tomaszewski," she called, her voice carrying an air of forced civility. "House Dagan demands your presence at an official hearing regarding the murder of Alistair Dagan."

The word murder rang out like a blade against stone.

I kept my expression neutral, but I could feel Asmodeus bristle beside me.

"Murder?" he scoffed, stepping forward. "That wasn't murder. That was a sanctioned duel."

The stewardess barely spared him a glance. "The noble houses will decide the proper wording."

Calamitas chuckled darkly. "Oh, this is rich."

My fingers curled at my sides, my pulse steady despite the slow, creeping tension. "And how exactly does House Dagan claim to know what transpired here?"

The stewardess' lips barely twitched. "House Dagan is not blind to the whereabouts of its own blood. Alistair was expected to report back. When he did not, his family made inquiries. It did not take long for us to discover the truth."

[Analysis: Alistair Dagan's absence created a natural inquiry. House Dagan has turned this into a controlled accusation. Their claim is not based on evidence, but on the assumption that silence equates to guilt.]

A chill ran down my spine. They had no proof. But they didn't need proof. They had something else.

A spy.

I glanced toward Asmodeus, then Calamitas. If House Dagan knew of the duel in such detail, someone had been watching. Someone within Tomaszewski had reported back before we could control the narrative.

And that meant House Dagan had crafted their own version of events long before this summons arrived.

I exhaled slowly, schooling my expression. "What are the terms of the hearing?"

"The heads of the noble houses will convene," the stewardess replied. "You, as the accused, must be present. House Dagan is seeking full reparations for the life taken."

Asmodeus stepped forward, his aura crackling. "And what, exactly, do they consider adequate reparations?"

The stewardess' lips curled ever so slightly—a glimpse of the venom lurking beneath her formality. "Blood."

The weight of the word settled over us.

[Notice: The probability of a peaceful resolution is less than 4%. This is a staged execution.]

My heartbeat remained steady, but I could feel the weight pressing down. They weren't calling for justice. They were calling for a sacrifice.

Reilan's voice cut through the tension as she approached from the estate's main hall. "What's going on?"

She took one look at the stewardess and stiffened.

"Rei," I said evenly. "Go get my father."

She hesitated for only a second before nodding and disappearing inside.

The stewardess tilted her head. "Will you comply, Lady Tomaszewski?"

I met her gaze unflinchingly. "Tell House Dagan I will be there."

Satisfaction flickered behind her eyes before she turned on her heel and left.

As the doors to the courtyard shut behind her, Asmodeus exhaled sharply. "They aren't just after you."

"No," I murmured. "They want House Tomaszewski to bleed."

[Correction: They do not seek blood. They seek an example.]

We went to the War Room, where the tension thickened immediately.

Satoshi stood at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he examined the official summons in his hands. Unc-, I mean Lord Hinata Saegusa was next to him, arms crossed, gaze sharp. Across from them, Mistress Andromeda Fontaine and Lord Wyndham Albrecht sat, their presence cementing just how serious this was.

And then there was Mom.

She should have been resting. Even without looking at her, I could feel the wrongness in her presence. There was a faint sheen of sweat on her brow, her posture just slightly off—too rigid, too controlled, as if holding herself together through sheer will. But it was more than that.

There was something in the air around her. A presence. A pressure that shouldn't have been there.

Calamitas was the first to react.

She turned her head slightly, her lazy expression sharpening. Her gaze locked onto mom, her usual amusement absent. It wasn't just scrutiny. It was anticipation.

I swallowed.

[Notice: Unidentified energy anomaly detected. Similarities found with recorded fluctuations in celestial distortions.]

[Notice: Unidentified energy anomaly detected. Similarities found with recorded fluctuations in celestial distortions.]

I stiffened. Zaphkiel's warnings were always precise, but this one felt different—urgent. I swallowed, my mind racing. Celestial distortions? What did that even mean?

Zaphkiel, I thought carefully, what exactly am I looking at?

[Analysis in progress… Readings suggest an external influence merging with Lelyah's biological mana. Presence is unstable.]

Merging? My stomach twisted. That wasn't normal. That wasn't possible. And yet, I was standing here, feeling something I couldn't define rippling beneath the surface of her presence.

"Lelyah," Satoshi's voice cut through the room, firm but careful. "You should be resting."

"I will rest when my daughter isn't being summoned to a trial meant to slaughter her." Her voice was sharper than usual. More raw.

Rei's expression darkened. "House Dagan is calling for a hearing. They claim Alistair was murdered in cold blood."

"Murder?" Asmodeus scoffed, stepping forward. "That's rich, considering he was the one who challenged Chiori to a duel."

Mistress Andromeda folded her hands together, her piercing eyes unreadable. "That does not matter. They are not looking for justice. They are looking for a spectacle."

Hinata let out a slow breath. "They do not seek blood. They seek an example."

The words sent a chill down my spine.

"Then we turn it back on them," Asmodeus said, his voice laced with defiance. "We prove that this was a lawful duel—"

"They won't care," Lelyah interrupted.

The room went still.

I turned to her fully, but my breath caught in my throat. The air around her had thickened more, pressing against my skin like something unseen was curling beneath the surface. Her golden eyes flickered, not with sickness, but with something deeper. Something dangerous.

The wrongness clawed at my instincts. My hands curled slightly at my sides.

[Notice: Elevated mana flux detected in target. Readings inconsistent with standard physiological responses. Potential correlation with recorded symptoms of Cosmic Inhibition. Prior records indicate similar anomalies preceding full manifestation. Urgent analysis required.]

I stiffened. Cosmic Inhibition? The name alone sent a ripple of unease through me. My mind raced, trying to recall everything I knew about it—but the information was scattered, vague. Whispers in old texts. Theories spoken only in hushed voices. A condition tied not to sickness, but to something far worse.

[Clarification: Cosmic Inhibition—a rare affliction recorded in certain people that commune with the Deep. Symptoms include progressive instability in mana control, heightened fluctuations in energy signatures, and eventual cognitive fragmentation. Prognosis: irreversible, no known cures at this time.]

I swallowed hard. If that was true—if my mother was showing signs—

"Zaphkiel," I asked silently, pulse quickening. "Are you certain?"

A pause. Then—

[Certainty: 78%. Additional observations required for full confirmation. However, readings strongly suggest high-risk categorization.]

My throat tightened. This wasn't just exhaustion. This wasn't just an illness.

This was something far, far worse.

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to focus on the summons before us. If House Dagan wanted me guilty before I even spoke, then I had to be ready. But even as we planned, one truth loomed over me like a shadow.

Lelyah wasn't just sick.

She was becoming something else.

And I didn't know if anyone else had noticed—or if they were just refusing to see it.

"Lelyah." Satoshi's voice was softer now, but firm.

She inhaled sharply. And then—just like that—the presence vanished. The room settled. The air became breathable again.

I saw the way Satoshi looked at her. How his fingers had subtly curled, as if he had been ready to intervene.

Only he, Hinata and Calamitas had noticed the full extent of whatever that was.

Lelyah exhaled slowly, shaking her head before turning to me. "You will not walk into that trial unprepared." Her voice had regained its control, but the earlier slip was not forgotten. "House Dagan wants you guilty before you even speak. The only way to fight that is to take control before they do."

Lord Wyndham tapped his fingers against the table. "We need leverage."

Mistress Andromeda hummed. "We need to remind the noble houses that House Dagan is not untouchable. They are calling for blood, but they are not as unified as they pretend to be."

Rei frowned. "But how do we prove it? They'll dismiss our word as self-preservation."

"That," Hinata said smoothly, "is why we don't rely on our word."

Satoshi's gaze sharpened. "Hinata."

The Feudal Lord gave a slow, knowing smile. "Give me the night."

The room was filled with unsaid things. Plans forming. Lines being drawn.

[Observation: The battlefield has shifted. This is no longer a duel of strength. It is a war of perception.]

I clenched my fists.

This wasn't just about me anymore. It was about the family itself. And if House Dagan wanted to make me a symbol, then I would make sure they regretted it.

I straightened my shoulders, meeting the gazes of everyone in the room.

"Then let's make sure they don't control the story."