They traveled without ceremony.
No banners. No announcements. Just a sealed carriage reinforced with layered wards, rolling along stone roads that had carried armies, pilgrims, and disasters long before Kurogane existed.
Mizuki sat across from him, eyes closed in meditation.
Raishin remained standing near the rear, unmoving.
Raien rode outside with the escort.
Kurogane watched the landscape pass by through enchanted glass—hills flattening into plains, forests thinning into ordered farmland. Civilization. Control.
The hum never stopped.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't aggressive.
It was aware.
"You feel it," Raishin said without turning. "Don't pretend you don't."
Kurogane nodded. "It's… listening."
Mizuki opened one eye. "To density."
"What?" Kurogane asked.
"People," she clarified. "Lightning responds to convergence. Not bodies. Intent."
The carriage slowed.
Ahead, the city of Asterra revealed itself—white terraces rising like steps toward the sky, canals threading through stone streets, towers crowned with crystal arrays that shimmered under the morning sun.
Order made visible.
And waiting.
As the carriage passed the outer gate, the hum changed.
Not stronger.
Sharper.
Kurogane's breath hitched.
Raishin moved instantly. "Ground. Now."
Kurogane obeyed, shifting his stance internally—not releasing, not bracing. Settling.
The lightning resisted.
A flicker ran across his vision, pale blue veins tracing the edge of his sight.
Mizuki's eyes snapped open. "Restraint pattern failing?"
"No," Kurogane said through clenched teeth. "It's not failing."
"It's adjusting," Raishin finished grimly.
Outside, the sound reached them—applause.
Not cheering.
Measured. Polite. Coordinated.
The city watched from terraces and balconies, thousands of eyes following the carriage's progress with practiced civility.
Kurogane felt it then.
Not pressure.
Expectation.
The hum surged, coiling upward, demanding alignment—not release, not suppression.
A response.
Raishin placed a hand on Kurogane's shoulder. Hard. Anchoring.
"Do not answer," he said low. "Not here. Not yet."
"I'm not trying to," Kurogane whispered.
The lightning pulsed again.
A faint crack sounded—inside the carriage.
Mizuki's wards flared, rippling like disturbed water. "Internal discharge detected."
"I didn't let it out!" Kurogane protested.
"You didn't," Mizuki agreed. "It moved sideways."
Raishin swore under his breath.
Outside, one of the crystal spires along the road chimed unexpectedly—just once. A clear, resonant note.
The applause faltered.
People murmured.
Kurogane felt cold spread through his limbs.
"That wasn't me," he said, panic creeping into his voice.
Raishin's grip tightened. "No. That was lightning seeking symmetry."
Mizuki stood sharply. "If this escalates, we abort."
"And confirm their suspicions?" Raien's voice echoed faintly through the ward as he rode alongside. "They're already watching."
Another chime rang out—farther this time. Answering the first.
Two points.
A pattern.
Kurogane's vision blurred as the hum twisted into something dangerously close to pleasure.
Raishin leaned close, voice cutting through the noise. "Listen to me. Lightning wants to be seen. You want to be real. Those are not the same."
Kurogane squeezed his eyes shut.
He focused—not on control.
On memory.
His mother's voice. Earth under bare feet. Quiet fields before people mattered.
Slowly, painfully, the hum receded.
The chimes stopped.
Mizuki exhaled. "Crisis deferred."
Raishin didn't relax. "That wasn't a mistake."
"No," Mizuki agreed. "That was a message."
The carriage resumed its course.
Outside, Asterra's citizens smiled and whispered, some impressed, some unsettled, none fully aware of how close the world had come to answering a question it wasn't ready to hear.
Kurogane opened his eyes.
Something inside him felt… altered.
Not damaged.
Mapped.
And somewhere beneath the city's stone, ancient conduits hummed softly—as if remembering something they had once been built to follow.