The Concord Hall of Asterra was built to impress without threatening.
White stone, high ceilings, open arches that invited sunlight instead of forcing reverence. No weapons on the walls. No banners of conquest. Only murals of cooperation—treaties signed, disasters "managed," history framed as progress.
Kurogane didn't trust it.
"This room is tuned," Raishin murmured as they entered. "Feel the air."
Kurogane nodded. The hum hadn't returned fully—but something beneath it had shifted. Like a shadow cast before the object appeared.
Mizuki led them forward.
A semicircle of officials awaited, dressed in layered silks and subdued metals. At their center stood Envoy Selvaren, thin, elegant, smiling as if nothing in the world deserved urgency.
"Welcome to Asterra," Selvaren said warmly. "Your presence honors us."
"It is an assessment," Mizuki replied evenly. "Not a performance."
Selvaren inclined his head. "Of course. Transparency is our highest value."
Raishin's jaw tightened.
They took their seats at a long, unadorned table. Crystal decanters of water rested at equal distances, untouched.
"Let us begin simply," Selvaren said, folding his hands. "Kurogane. Do you believe power is innate… or cultivated?"
Kurogane answered without hesitation. "Both. But neither is complete without restraint."
A subtle ripple passed through the officials.
Selvaren smiled. "A practiced answer."
Raishin shifted. Too practiced, he thought.
"And lightning?" Selvaren continued. "Is it an element to you?"
Kurogane paused.
"No," he said slowly. "It's a response."
Murmurs rose—quiet, controlled.
Selvaren leaned forward, intrigued. "To what?"
Kurogane felt the hum stir, tentative. Testing the space.
"To perception," he said.
Selvaren's eyes sharpened. "Fascinating."
Masako, seated farther down, closed her eyes briefly.
The questions continued.
Not about technique.
Not about strength.
About failure.
"What would you do," an official asked mildly, "if restraint endangered lives?"
"How many?" Kurogane asked.
A pause.
"Enough to matter," the official replied.
"And who decides that?" Kurogane pressed.
Silence.
Raishin exhaled quietly. Good.
Selvaren broke the tension with a chuckle. "You see? This is why openness is valuable. You challenge assumptions."
As if on cue, the room shifted.
Kurogane felt it first—a tightening behind his eyes, a pressure that didn't belong. The hum surged, confused, misaligned.
Raishin stood instantly. "Stop."
Selvaren raised a brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"The resonance field," Raishin said coldly. "Shut it down."
Mizuki's gaze snapped to the ceiling. The crystal filaments etched into the arches pulsed faintly.
"Containment test," she realized.
Selvaren spread his hands. "Observation only. No provocation."
Lightning disagreed.
Not outward.
Inward.
Kurogane gasped as pain lanced across his ribs—not burning, not striking, but compressing. His vision fractured into overlapping lines, each outlining a possible movement he didn't take.
Raishin was at his side in an instant. "Breathe. Don't answer it."
"I'm not—" Kurogane hissed. "It's not asking!"
The crystal decanter nearest Kurogane chimed sharply, a hairline crack racing down its side before sealing itself again.
Every official froze.
Selvaren's smile vanished.
"That shouldn't be possible," someone whispered.
Mizuki stood, power radiating quietly. "End the test. Now."
Selvaren hesitated—only a moment.
"End it," Mizuki repeated.
The resonance field collapsed.
The pressure vanished.
Kurogane slumped forward, breath ragged. Raishin caught him before he hit the table, steadying him with practiced care.
Silence filled the hall. Not polite this time.
Fear had found a place to stand.
Selvaren spoke at last, voice measured but altered. "It seems… your student responds even when unchallenged."
"No," Raishin said flatly. "He responds when you decide for him."
Selvaren studied Kurogane anew—not as a curiosity.
As a variable.
"We will adjourn," Selvaren said finally. "This conversation… requires reconsideration."
They were escorted out without ceremony.
Outside, the sky over Asterra had dimmed slightly—not storming, just overcast.
Raishin knelt beside Kurogane, voice low. "That compression—did you choose it?"
Kurogane shook his head weakly. "It chose around me."
Raishin closed his eyes.
"That's worse," he whispered.
Mizuki watched the hall behind them, expression unreadable. "They weren't testing limits."
"Then what?" Raien asked.
"They were testing inevitability," Masako said quietly.
Kurogane looked up, still shaking. "What does that mean?"
Masako met his gaze. "They believe lightning will answer eventually."
Kurogane swallowed.
Inside him, the hum did not return.
But something else did.
A faint, precise awareness—like a path being traced where none had existed before.