Lelyah stood by the wardrobe with her arms crossed, surveying the options with a tactician's focus more suited for battlefield maps than clothing.
"You're not wearing black," she said without turning around.
I blinked from the edge of the bed. "I always wear black."
"Exactly. And today, you're not."
She pulled out a folded ensemble from the second drawer—a muted deep indigo robe trimmed with silver thread, the Tomaszewski crest embroidered delicately at the collarbone. Underneath it, a sleeveless high-collared top and loose dark pants that shimmered faintly when moved. Practical, but refined.
"This is formal," I said, frowning.
"It's diplomatic," Lelyah corrected. "And it makes you look approachable without making you look soft."
I narrowed my eyes. "So I need to be friendly but ready to duel at a moment's notice?"
She smirked. "You catch on quickly."
She turned, holding the robe up to my frame. "This is what nobles wear when they want to imply power without stating it. The House crest is visible but subtle. The design suggests strength without arrogance."
"What if I want to look arrogant?"
"Then wear red."
I rolled my eyes.
She stepped back, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the shoulder of the robe before handing it to me.
"Remember," she said, softer now. "They're not just here to play nice. They want to see what the Tomaszewski heir looks like. They want to measure you. So give them something sharp enough to cut on."
I ran my fingers along the fabric. Smooth, heavier than it looked.
"And the earrings?" I asked.
She tilted her head. "You'll wear one. Left ear. Silver. Not gold—it signals formality without suggesting wealth. You're not trying to look rich, you're trying to look competent."
We went through four outfits in under twenty minutes. Each one was met with Lelyah's mild grimace and a subtle shake of her head.
"Too stiff. Too casual. Too much shoulder. Not enough presence."
I stood barefoot by the mirror, holding a folded sash in my hands while the last rejected outfit was tossed back onto the chair.
"This would be easier if you just let me wear black," I muttered.
"And let you look like a miniature Satoshi? No. Absolutely not."
Before I could respond, a gentle knock came at the door. Lelyah didn't flinch.
"Enter," she said.
The door eased open to reveal Levy—her head attendant. Graceful, composed, always aware of her place in the room. Her crimson hair was tied back, and she carried herself with the quiet elegance of someone who made everything function without fanfare.
"My Lady. I apologize for disturbing your moment," Levy said with a respectful bow. "But I believe I have something that may resolve the current fashion dilemma."
Lelyah arched a brow, but gestured for her to continue.
Levy stepped forward, her hands unfolding a wrapped bundle of soft fabric. With delicate care, she revealed a two-layered ensemble—one part traditional, one part strikingly modern. The inner layer was a fitted sleeveless bodice dyed in midnight blue, subtle patterns of feathered ink etched into the weave. The outer robe was a sheer gray mantle with silver-threaded hems and small, almost invisible mana-thread embroidery that shimmered faintly under light.
"It was designed years ago for a diplomatic envoy to the Saegusa Clan," Levy explained. "Meant to honor both strength and refinement. We tailored it for a younger silhouette, in case the family ever needed to present an heir who didn't want to look ornamental."
She held it up for both of us to see.
"It's meant to flow with mana presence. Light, breathable, defensive if enhanced with a basic barrier enchantment. Formal enough for politics, but it moves like combatwear."
I blinked.
That… actually sounded perfect.
Even Lelyah took a moment longer than usual to answer. She stepped forward, brushing her fingers over the weave of the mantle.
"I forgot we commissioned this," she murmured. "It was never used."
Her eyes flicked to mine. Then to the garment again.
Chiori Tomaszewski. Not ornamental. Not soft. But still presentable.
Lelyah slowly nodded.
…This might work."
Levy bowed her head. "Shall I prepare the accessories?"
"Yes," Lelyah said. Then, after a pause, "And bring the silver cuff. The one with the etched rings."
Levy inclined her head once more and glided out of the room, quiet as always.
I finally spoke. "So. We're dressing me like someone who might be forced to smile and duel in the same breath."
Lelyah smirked faintly. "Now you're starting to understand diplomacy."
—
Levy returned shortly after with the silver cuff and a matching pair of hairpins. The robe and mantle had been carefully laid out on the dressing screen. I stepped behind it as instructed, feeling the weight of the moment settle onto my shoulders with the cloth.
The inner bodice hugged snugly, but not tightly. It moved with me. The mantle draped softly across my arms, catching the light with every breath.
I stepped out slowly.
Lelyah stood waiting, eyes narrowing with inspection—not criticism, just… calibration.
Her lips parted slightly.
"It suits you," she said.
I looked at myself in the tall mirror. For a long moment, I didn't recognize the girl staring back.
Still me. But refined. Controlled.
A blade in silk.
…It doesn't feel like armor," I said.
"It's not supposed to," Lelyah answered. "But it will serve the same purpose."
Levy smiled quietly from the side. "Sometimes appearances are sharper than steel."
I adjusted the silver cuff around my wrist.
"Then I hope they bleed," I muttered.
Lelyah chuckled. "They will."
I lingered by the mirror a moment longer. Then, softly, I asked, "Mom?"
Lelyah tilted her head. "Yes?"
"Where's Father? I haven't seen him since..."
I didn't finish the sentence. I didn't need to.
Lelyah's eyes darkened. Not in anger. Not entirely. There was something under it—a quiet restraint.
"He's... been handling some internal matters. Away from the estate. I asked him not to return until things were more settled."
I blinked. "You asked him to leave?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. For your sake. And his."
Her voice was tight. Controlled.
"He agreed," she added. "Eventually."
I looked down at my hands again, unsure of what I felt.
Lelyah stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"He needs time. And so do you. That's all I'm going to say."
I nodded slowly, accepting it for now. But something inside me still stirred—a question unanswered, a door left ajar.
I glanced back toward her as I adjusted the mantle. "…What about Rei?"
Lelyah raised a brow. "What about him?"
I hesitated. "He's been quieter lately. A little… off."
Her gaze sharpened slightly, but she didn't look surprised. "He's under strain too. More than he lets on."
I waited.
Lelyah sighed, folding her arms loosely. "He hasn't told you, then."
"Told me what?"
She studied me for a long moment, then shook her head. "It's not mine to say. If he wants to tell you, he will."
That didn't exactly ease my mind.
She stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Just be patient with him. He's trying to protect you, even if he doesn't know how. Some people carry burdens they don't have words for yet—and Rei's always been better at shielding than sharing."
Her voice dropped slightly, more memory than instruction.
"I've known that kind of silence before. It's not cowardice. It's a calculated pause—the kind people use when they're still trying to understand what parts of themselves are safe to show. He's trying not to break under it, but also trying not to burden anyone else with the weight."
She exhaled. "It's the kind of silence I once lived in. Before I became someone people feared instead of someone they dismissed."
My brows lifted slightly.
"I wasn't always a healer," she continued. "And I didn't start out fighting. But I learned what it meant to be underestimated. To be dismissed. To be told I was ornamental, not essential."
Her eyes found mine again.
"Rei is not weak. He's watching everything right now. Every shift. Every word. He's calculating not how to protect himself—but how to make sure you never have to go through what he fears is coming."
I swallowed.
Lelyah gave a small, tired smile. "And that… is a weight even silence can't hold forever."
A knock came then. Sharp. Polite.
Levy's voice followed on the other side of the door.
"My Lady. The guests have arrived."
Lelyah's gaze didn't shift right away. She turned toward the door only after a long breath.
"Call for Rei," she said over her shoulder.
Levy's voice hesitated. "I already tried, My Lady."
Lelyah turned slightly, her tone cooling. "And?"
"I believe he's… preoccupied. He did not respond."
Lelyah closed her eyes briefly. "Of course he didn't."
Then, calmly but firmly, she straightened her shoulders. "No matter. Go find your twin—Revy. She'll accompany Chiori in his place."
Levy bowed again, already turning to go. "Yes, My Lady."
The moment the door closed again, Lelyah turned back to me, her tone brisk again. "You'll have Revy by your side. She's sharp, quieter than Levy, and knows the formal routines."
I raised a brow. "She doesn't talk much."
"She doesn't need to," Lelyah replied. "She listens better than most people speak."
A few minutes passed, heavy with silence and the soft rustle of fabric as I adjusted my cuff.
Then came another knock—lighter, rhythmic.
The door opened to reveal Revy, dressed in a sleek black-and-gray formal coat, lined with silver accents to match my own ensemble. Her long silver-white hair was pulled into a high, practical braid, and her face was unreadable as always.
She stepped in without a word, bowed once to Lelyah, then turned to me.
"You look presentable," she said softly.
I blinked. That was high praise coming from her.
"So do you," I offered back.
A ghost of a smile touched her lips.
Lelyah gave a nod of approval. "Perfect. You'll walk behind Chiori, not beside her. Eyes open, ears sharper. Speak only if necessary."
Revy nodded once.
Lelyah looked to me. "Are you ready Star?"
I took a slow breath. The mantle settled comfortably around my shoulders.
Ready? No.
Prepared? Maybe.
But I gave a small nod.
"Then let them see the heir of Tomaszewski," she said.
We walked toward the grand hall. And I didn't look back.
The doors at the far end of the corridor stood open—tall, arched, and carved from deepwood imported from the central isles, each panel engraved with faint silver inlays of the Tomaszewski crest. Morning light spilled through the wide windows along the hall, casting fractured glimmers across the polished stone floor like shards of a broken mirror.
This wasn't a throne room.
It wasn't meant to be.
The Tomaszewski estate's diplomatic chamber had been designed generations ago with a different kind of power in mind. No banners, no towering statues, no ostentatious displays of wealth—just symmetry. Precision. Balance.
The ceiling rose high above us, supported by clean marble columns etched with old treaties and accords. The walls were painted in calming neutrals—grey-blue, muted ivory, a touch of deep umber at the edges—soft, unassuming tones that didn't speak of dominance, but of calculated presence.
Everything about the space whispered strength through subtlety.
"This hall was built for listening," Lelyah said beside me, her voice low. "Not for speeches."
I walked a step behind her, Revy flanking the opposite side in near-silent lockstep. Her eyes scanned everything—attendants, position of guards, lighting angles—like a practiced bodyguard.
Ahead, the main receiving platform sat slightly elevated by two steps, not high enough to tower, but enough to shift perspective. The furniture had been rearranged—two long guest benches across from one another, and three intricately carved chairs placed behind a smooth blackwood table with lacquered finish. I felt the weight of it as we approached. Not just the room. The expectation.
"The moment they step in, they'll be watching for cues," Lelyah said. "Posture. Word choice. The way you look at their heirs. Every breath will be measured."
"I'm used to being measured," I muttered.
"Not like this," she replied, glancing sideways. "Not by people who will shape the world your name walks through."
She stepped forward first, ascending the platform without breaking stride.
I followed, and stepped onto the platform.
Not heavy-footed. Not hesitant. Just… present.
The stone beneath me was cool through the soles of my shoes. Smooth, like it had been worn down by a thousand negotiations before mine. The weight of the mantle across my shoulders didn't pull—it settled. A reminder of where I was. Who I was expected to be.
[Notice: Elevated heart rate. Cortisol levels rising. Recommend steady breathing pattern—4 seconds in, 6 seconds out.]
I inhaled slowly through my nose.
Held.
Exhaled.
It helped. Not a lot. But just enough.
I took the second seat beside my mother. Straight-backed, hands folded in my lap. Revy remained just behind me—stationed to my left like a silent shadow.
The empty third chair sat beside Lelyah. Unfilled. Unclaimed. A deliberate choice.
One for the heir. One for the matriarch.
And one left open—for the man who no longer knew which name to answer to.
My eyes dropped to the table in front of us.
Polished blackwood, no visible grain.
Flawless.
Deceptively simple.
Much like the politics to come.
[Observation: Mana signatures approaching from corridor—four confirmed sources.]
I straightened instinctively.
Here we go.
[Advisory: Display calm body language. Avoid prolonged eye contact during introductions unless challenged. Assess social hierarchy through heir deference and maternal tone.]
"You sound excited," I muttered mentally.
[Clarification: I do not experience excitement. I am optimized for adaptive response based on your performance.]
"…That's somehow worse."
[Noted.]
Lelyah shifted slightly beside me, placing one hand lightly against her lap. Not a signal to anyone else. Just for me.
A simple reminder.
We're not alone—but you're not unarmed.
I kept my expression neutral. A single breath deeper. The indigo robe moved faintly against my skin—soft, confident, structured.
The doors opened with slow, measured grace.
Not the kind of entrance made for pageantry.
The kind made to be watched.
Two adults. Two children.
All dressed to signal one thing above all else:
Legacy.
Lady Aria Fontaine entered first—her Kitsune heritage impossible to miss. Golden-red hair swept up and twisted with gleaming combs, each step marked with a subtle sway of the nine silver-tipped tails behind her. Not a single motion was wasted. She didn't walk. She moved. Like wind around stone.
At her side, a small girl no older than five. Half-human, half-Kitsune by the look of her. Her hair was paler, almost silvery, and her amber eyes flicked across the room with sharp curiosity. She moved with elegance—but not obedience. Every step was intentional.
Lady Camilla Albrecht followed. Taller. Human. Stern. Her dark coat bore the sigil of her House—an antlered wolf etched in bronze thread. Her eyes were steel, but her posture was all control. She wasn't here to charm. She was here to observe, to measure, to memorize.
Her son stood beside her. Seven years old, at most. Broad-shouldered already, dark hair clipped short, and eyes that flicked over the platform the moment they entered.
[Scanning... Identification confirmed: Celeste Fontaine. Edric Albrecht. Mana levels—within expected ranges. Both show early mana discipline development.]
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just watched.
I stood with Lelyah. Revy stepped back.
The children's gazes locked on me almost immediately.
Celeste tilted her head, blinking once at my mantle. Then at my eyes.
Edric's expression shifted slightly.
Not hostility.
Curiosity.
[Notice: Both heirs fixated on ocular anomaly]
"Lady Tomaszewski," Lady Fontaine said with a smile dipped in grace and calculation, "thank you for receiving us."
Lelyah inclined her head. "Your presence honors us, Fontaine. Albrecht."
Lady Albrecht nodded once. "We're here for conversation. And… potential futures."
I didn't flinch. But I caught the weight of that phrasing.
Potential.
Futures.
Children as bridges, alliances as currency.
The children stepped forward, rehearsed but not robotic.
"I'm Celeste Fontaine," the girl said, voice sweet but sharp-edged. "And you're the human with the stars in her eyes."
I raised a brow. "Chiori Tomaszewski. And you're the Kitsune who speaks her mind."
Lady Fontaine laughed softly behind her hand.
Edric stepped forward next. "Edric Albrecht," he said with a respectful bow. His gaze lingered a second too long. "You don't look like a summoner."
My smile was thin. "I suppose I'm not what people expect."
"Good," he said, straightening. "Expectations are boring."
I caught a flicker of Lelyah's amusement beside me.
[Analysis: Both heirs exhibit high levels of perceptiveness and natural charisma. Risk factor: manageable.]
I said nothing.
Just offered a small nod in return.
And let the game begin.
Edric shifted his weight and gave Celeste a sidelong glance. "You talked first."
Celeste flipped a lock of her silvery hair over her shoulder. "You blinked first."
"That doesn't count."
"Says who?"
"Everyone with eyes."
I blinked.
They were bantering already. Not just trained noble heirs—but actual children. Sharp, proud, and too young to know how carefully they were being watched.
Celeste turned her attention back to me. "Do your eyes always look like that? Or do they change when you get angry?"
I blinked again. "They're always like this."
She leaned closer. "You sure?"
"I'm the one who has them."
She scrunched her nose like that wasn't a good enough answer.
Edric crossed his arms. "They look cool. Not normal. But cool."
"Is that your expert opinion?" I asked dryly.
"I spar," he said proudly. "With wooden blades and mana chalk lines. I won last week."
Celeste rolled her eyes. "You cheated."
"It was a tactical advantage," he muttered.
"You used dust."
"And it worked."
I couldn't stop the faint twitch at the corner of my mouth. They were impossible. And oddly... normal. Normal in a way that didn't feel fake.
"Do you spar too?" Edric asked me suddenly.
"Sometimes," I said.
"With actual weapons?" Celeste asked, tilting her head. "Or just summoner tricks?"
I hesitated for a second too long.
[Warning: Social inquiry implies hidden combat skill.]
"I prefer not to answer that," I said calmly.
Celeste's eyes sparkled. "Ooooh. That means yes."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't say no either."
Edric leaned closer. "So you can fight."
I looked between them—one too curious, the other too direct.
And despite myself, I smirked. "Try me sometime."
Celeste clapped softly, delighted. "I like her."
"I do too," Edric admitted. "She's not boring like the last heir we met."
"The one who cried because he couldn't lift a training staff?"
Celeste nodded. "That one."
"Children," Lady Fontaine said suddenly, voice smooth as silk but edged with authority.
All three of us froze.
Lady Albrecht's eyes narrowed. "Composure."
Lelyah simply raised a brow. "You represent more than yourselves. Remember that."
The weight of expectation returned like a cloak draped over our shoulders.
Celeste straightened her back immediately. "Apologies, Lady Albrecht."
Edric bowed his head slightly. "Won't happen again Lady Tomaszewski."
I followed suit, murmuring a quiet, "Understood, Lady Fontaine."
[Observation: All heirs exhibit high adaptability to formal correction. Social performance intact.]
Still.
That spark?
It hadn't gone out.
Celeste smirked sideways at me when no one else was looking.
Edric's hand twitched like he wanted to throw a chalk line right then and there.
And me?
I wasn't sure.
But for a moment, just a moment—
I didn't feel like I was being measured.
I felt like I was playing again.