The Uninvited Guest

Leonardo's curiosity flared like an exposed nerve. "Why do their eyes look like that?" he asked, pointing in the direction where Wata stood, speaking to a boy much younger than himself.

"Monolids," Anna replied. The word dropped like a stone into still water.

"It's slick-looking," Leonardo muttered, touching his own amber-lit eyes with a hint of envy.

"If you're looking for the most diverse facial structures in the entire city—eyes with holes, lashes like spears—you're standing on it," she said, her voice tinged with pride.

Tadashi and Ryuji approached. Leonardo had noticed them a while ago, and by the way they were staring, it was mutual.

Ryuji looked like history sculpted into a vase. His kimono—black with subtle white stripes—caught the light like a lingering memory, bound by a dark sash that hung loosely. The katana at his side stuck to him like it was fused there; he never let go of it.

His red, intense eyes scanned the area like a predator surveying its territory.

When Ryuji drew his blade against Leonardo, it wasn't aggression. It was assessment. A test. A probing of limits.

"You're her guide?" The question sliced clean, dissecting Leonardo's worth in a single breath.

"What are you doing?" Leonardo asked, a vein twitching on his temple.

He felt himself shrink beneath Ryuji's presence—the crushing weight of power. Not cruelty. Just pure, raw scrutiny.

"He's one of the top contenders for the strongest heir right now," Anna said coolly. "Takashiro Ryuji."

"Anna," Takashiro said slowly. "I'm back from my city."

"Welcome back," she replied.

They continued their conversation as if Leonardo and Elara didn't exist. Unlike Wata, Leonardo didn't dare ask for a nickname. He could only hope he'd pronounce it right.

Then Takashiro suddenly turned toward him.

"I drew my blade, and you didn't even flinch? Not even a cursed remark?" he said, eyes narrowing. Leonardo felt himself wilt under the stare. I should avoid this one, he thought, sweat trickling down his neck.

"You can call me Takashiro. Or Ryuji," he said, watching Leonardo's every twitch.

In a flash, he drew his blade again—calculated, precise—and held it at the tip of Leonardo's neck.

"He didn't even try to dodge?" Ryuji asked, genuinely perplexed. "You picked such a weakling as your guide?" he mocked.

Leonardo staggered, stunned. I didn't even see his hand move… The blade had just appeared.

"You chose someone beneath you in every way as your guide too?" Anna retorted, annoyance showing as she forced a smile.

"I did it for the challenge," Ryuji said with a shrug. "I hope you're not comparing our strengths now. The gap between us is more balanced than yours."

He stepped aside, finally lowering his blade.

"That's the master for you—such dedication. No one in the Takashiro family mastered one hundred styles at seventeen," Wata said, practically glowing with praise as they departed.

"Yes, yes, Wata," Ryuji replied dismissively.

"Ow." Leonardo muttered, rubbing his neck. He'd tried to dodge, subconsciously.

Ryuji wielded two main styles with his blade: Tenshin Shoden Katori Shinto-ryu (天真正伝香取神道流), with hints of Yagyu Shinkage-ryu (柳生新陰流) showing through. Unlike most, he had also mastered Itto-ryu (一刀流), which he'd just demonstrated on Leonardo.

"Get ready, everyone," Hector called out cheerily. "We're about to reach the final floor."

"What are they doing in that family? They train like dogs," Anna said, her voice laced with astonishment—and something darker.

Elara glanced at her, then at Ryuji. "It's different," she said quietly.

Leonardo, a shallow cut bleeding where Takashiro's blade had kissed his skin. It wasn't curiosity—it was survival. He needed to map the terrain of power.

As they breached the cloud layer, reality itself began to unravel. The familiar azure sky dissolved into an infinite void—darkness pierced by scintillating points of light.

Hector's voice wasn't merely descriptive; it was incantatory. He made space feel alive, immense, intimate.

"In this boundless expanse," he intoned, "timelessness becomes tangible."

This wasn't a place to conquer—it was a mystery to witness.

Below them, the city curved along the horizon—swirling clouds and deep blue oceans.

More structures can be spotted, but Leonardo didn't care.

It no longer resembled a world. It was an artifact: a delicate orb suspended in unfathomable darkness. Beautiful. Fragile. Terrifying.

The stars didn't look distant anymore. They burned—beacons of the realm's breath.

The lift came to a stop. Silence settled, strained and expectant.

Then, applause erupted.

Hector bowed.

The first figure through the door was a walking contradiction. Medieval armor clanked beneath a gray hoodie, worn over baggy pants and modern sneakers. A massive silver shield hung across his back like an accessory.

He gave a single word in greeting. "Yo."

Without missing a beat, he continued walking beside the woman Leonardo assumed was their guide.

Leonardo's own "Hey" slipped out—half confusion, half revelation. This man had just shown him something important:

Even in this strange new world, he could still be himself.

He just had to merge both halves or multiple halves.

They emerged through the elevator gates to the Stem's peak—a spire clawing at the edge of space. Leonardo's gaze locked onto the enigmatic figure from before.

As the group advanced deeper into the uppermost level, a cloaking fog thickened the air. Impossible in the void, yet it cloyed their lungs.

The Stem's interior mirrored a Renaissance castle's splendor, fused with an unearthly aura befitting its celestial perch. Vast corridors unfurled beneath soaring ceilings, braced by grand columns both elegant and unyielding.

Each pillar glimmered with intricate, faintly luminous patterns and names—so many names. Leonardo noticed de Meaux first, then De Lorraine. They were carved into the walls in sequence.

Crystal-and-gold chandeliers dripped from vaulted heights. Masterpieces lined the walls—portraits of Stem heads identified by plaques below.

The de Meaux lineage vanished as they pressed onward, joined by other heirs merging silently into their procession.

"This is it," Anna stated tonelessly.

Elara's reply quivered: "It is."

Ahead, Leonardo fixated on the figure beside the hood knight. Their attire defied categorization: a flowing gown shifted from near-black to indigo in the chandelier glow, crowned by a raven-winged hat draped in a gauzy veil. The staff in their grip gleamed with cold obsidian menace.

"A wizard," Anna interjected, slicing through his scrutiny.

"What?"

 "It's an umbrella term. People who gain specific story skills for a price, so 'wizard' covers a variety, but it's common." Her tone hardened.

"Of the eighteen families here, five possess two heirs."

"If five families have two participants, like you and Anna," Leonardo began, "then thirteen should have one each, accompanied by a guide. That makes twenty-six normal heirs and fifteen doubles if you count the guides."

"So, forty-one people are here, then," Elara concluded.

"All potential rivals," Anna murmured, steering them down a secluded corridor.

Takashiro strode ahead, Wata stumbling to mirror his rhythm.

The grand hall yawned open beyond colossal doors—a cavernous space where ceilings dissolved into shadow.

Monolithic pillars circled the room, carved with legends of war and triumph. At the far end of the hall stood a throne—monumental in size and design.

Carved from a single piece of dark stone, its surface was polished to a mirror-like sheen, but its sharp edges remained imposing.

A vast obsidian table dominated the center of the chamber, set for eighteen. Each chair—tall-backed, austere, immovable—radiated authority.

Gradually, the eighteen heads of the families began to arrive. Among them was Anna's father—his presence unmistakable.

Leonardo's breath hitched. The fog pulsed like a living shroud, dim light warping visibility.

"Moments to compose yourselves," boomed a voice that vibrated skulls and air alike. Leonardo paced, scanning the haze. 

A sage? he wondered.