If the Vane Duke Estate was a shark tank, Lyra Vane was the Great White with a law degree and a very expensive tailor.
Jett stood outside her private study at the eighth bell, adjusting a set of midnight-blue robes that felt suspiciously like they were made of spider silk and high-end anxiety. He had spent the morning mentally rehearsing his
"I am just a simple, harmless scribe" face,
The doors didn't so much open as they ceased to exist in his way, sliding into the walls with a silent, magical efficiency that made Jett miss the creaky, honest hinges of his old world.
The study was not the grand, theatrical hall of the previous night. It was smaller, warmer, and smelled of old parchment and a scent that Jett's PR-C immediately tagged as "Rare Arctic Lotus" mixed with "Vaporized Enemies."
Lyra sat behind a desk carved from a single block of white jade. She wasn't wearing her crown. Her hair was pulled back, and for a fleeting second, she looked almost human.
Then she looked up, and the "almost human" part evaporated like a puddle in a volcano.
[Target Detected: Lyra Vane]
[Compatibility: 94% (EXTREMELY HIGH)]
[Condition: Concealed Prana Blockage - Central Meridian]
[Status: Analyzing Host]
Jett felt a phantom itch in his chest. Ninety-four percent? That.. she's even more compatible with me than her daughter. If Sera was a glacier, her mother was the tectonic plate moving the entire mountain range.
"You are precisely on time, Jett," Lyra said. Her voice lacked the sharp edge she used in public, replaced by a low, vibrating resonance that made the fine hairs on Jett's arms stand up. "In this house, that is a miracle. Most of my relatives view the eighth bell as a polite suggestion rather than a command."
"Punctuality is the only virtue I have left, Matriarch," Jett replied, offering a bow that was exactly three degrees too shallow to be truly submissive.
Lyra's eyes tracked his movement. "Sit. There is a mountain of correspondence from the Eastern Province trade partners. They are circling the estate like vultures because they believe the poisoning attempt on you was a sign of internal rot."
Jett took the seat opposite her. "Vultures are misunderstood, really. They're just nature's way of saying someone forgot to lock the door. Shall I start with the polite threats or the ones that hide behind 'well-wishes'?"
"Start with the Raven-Spire Clan," Lyra commanded, sliding a scroll across the jade. "They claim the Widow's Breath found in your wine was a 'clerical error' by their merchant guild."
Jett unrolled the scroll, his Analytical Mind skill flickering to life. To his eyes, the ink seemed to glow with intent. He saw the gaps in the syntax, the defensive posture of the wording, and the subtle diplomatic insults buried in the formal greetings.
"A clerical error," Jett mused, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yes, I often find myself accidentally slipping high-grade respiratory toxins into the gift baskets of my political rivals. It's pretty common,
Lyra watched him, her chin resting on her interlaced fingers. "How would you respond?"
"I wouldn't defend," Jett said, looking up from the scroll. "I'd thank them. Profusely. I'd tell them that the Vane Estate was so impressed by the 'potency' of their gift that we've decided to double our security budget using the taxes we're about to levy on their silk routes.
I'd also mention that since I survived, the gods clearly have a sense of humor, and they might want to check if their own wine is as robust as ours."
Lyra remained silent for a long heartbeat. Jett felt the pressure in the room shift. He wasn't revealing that his system had diagnosed her hidden injury, but he was letting her see the machinery of his mind. He needed her to believe he was a strategic genius, even if he couldn't lift a heavy bucket.
"You have a wicked mind, Jett," Lyra said softly. "It is a shame it is housed in a body with the Prana capacity of a firefly."
"Small fireflies can still start very large fires, Matriarch," Jett replied easily.
The PR-C pulsed again, highlighting the blockage in Lyra's central meridian. It was an old wound, festering in secret. She was ruling the entire cinderglow canton while her own internal energy was a ticking time bomb.
"Matriarch," Jett said, pivoting the conversation with the grace of a cat on a tightrope. "Like i said earlier While researching the archives for your correspondence, I stumbled upon some fascinating footnotes regarding Aetheric Meridian Therapy. It's an old science, often ignored because it requires... unconventional partnerships."
Lyra's expression didn't change, but the air in the room grew heavy. "Why mention this to me again?"
"Because the Vane name depends on strength," Jett said, leaning forward. "And I noticed Sera's condition. But I also noticed that the pride of the Vane Matriarchy is a heavy burden to carry alone. If a pillar has a crack, you don't just paint over it. You find an anchor."
He was testing the waters. He knew Lyra was trapped between her daughter's impending collapse and the family's political necessity. If Sera failed at the festival, the Vanes were finished.
"Dual Cultivation is a controversial topic, Jett," Lyra said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "It is often seen as a desperate measure for those with no other path."
"Desperate times, desperate measures," Jett shrugged. "I'm just an organizer of letters, but even I can see that the Canton Council is waiting for a slip. Sera is a masterpiece, but even a masterpiece needs a pedestal that won't crumble under pressure."
He expected her to erupt, to throw him out, or perhaps to test his neck if it could resist a blade. Instead, Lyra stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling estate.
"Sera has been the pride of this family since she was six years old," Lyra said, her back to him. "The Festival in seven months is not a demonstration; it is a trial. If she shows weakness, our trade partners will defect, and our rivals will move. I am... aware of the risks."
"Then let me continue my research," Jett said. "Quietly. If I find something that is more than just theory, I'll bring it to you. No one needs to know the 'useless son-in-law' is doing anything more than filing tax returns.", inwardly Lyra was amused
Lyra turned around. Her gaze was piercing, stripped of the public Matriarch mask. For a second, the system message in Jett's vision flashed a brilliant gold.
[Trust Level: 20% reached]
[Milestone: The Matriarch's Implicit Permission]
"Continue your work," Lyra said. "But know this, Jett. If you speak of Sera's instability.. to anyone else, I will personally ensure your next vintage of wine is the last thing you ever taste. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, Matriarch. I've always preferred tea, anyway."
As Jett gathered the scrolls to leave, he caught a movement in the shadows of the doorway. Sera was standing there, her face a mask of cold curiosity. She had been eavesdropping.
Jett walked past her, giving a small, knowing smile that he knew would annoy her for the next three days.
"Lovely weather for a conspiracy, isn't it?" he whispered as he passed.
Sera didn't answer, but as Jett walked down the corridor, his inner monologue was already running the numbers. He had the Matriarch's ear, the wife's curiosity, and a system that almost seems useless.
"Alright," Jett thought, his smirk widening. "I have about six months to fix my lovely goddess wife.. let's get to work."