The Uninvited Guest

"An explosion occurred at a former family's location—Richard," the Sage announced, hanging in the air like a thick fog. Most of the room responded with casual indifference, their disbelief evident in dismissive scoffs.

Yet, amidst the murmurs, both Henri and Alphonse paused, their expressions tightening with concern.

"His death wasn't accounted for, though, unfortunately, a few right star attendants were caught in the blast," the Sage continued, its tone somber and detached.

A simultaneous sigh of relief escaped the two men, their shoulders visibly relaxing as the tension eased.

"He doesn't seem sad," Henri muttered under his breath, a hint of suspicion coloring his voice.

"Blast radius?" a woman cut in, her voice honeyed steel. "Thermal signature? Or are we to applaud vagueness as strategy?"

"Your theatrics—" Alaric started, his voice tight with impatience, trying to steer the conversation away.

"—are outmatched by your ignorance," she finished, smiling. "But do go on," she interrupted sharply, her words slicing through his like a blade, leaving no room for doubt.

Alaric, sensing the shifting tides, swiftly changed the subject. "Lydia, your necklace is fantastically crafted," he remarked, his eyes settling on the intricate piece around her neck.

Lydia's attire exuded a blend of modern sophistication and ancient reverence. She wore a sleek, tailored blazer in a deep charcoal gray, its sharp lines and minimalist design reflecting a confident grace; her trousers, crafted from the same charcoal wool, were the epitome of refined tailoring.

"Thank you," she said, her voice cool and measured. "Now, back to the question at hand—any information on the cause?"

"Could you hush? I have an appointment after this," Lady Xiu interjected, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She spoke with an air of authority, her words laced with a seriousness that demanded attention.

Lady Xiu radiated regality in a navy silk cheongsam, gold-embroidered with phoenixes and dragons; a jade-clasped pearl sash cinched her waist, while a sheer gold xuanyi draped her shoulders, embroidered with lotuses. Her gem-studded chrysanthemum hairpin, jade pendant, and pearl earrings completed the imperial elegance.

"People died, Lady Xiu?" Lydia asked, her voice tinged with shock.

"My family didn't die, so what's the problem?" Lady Xiu replied, her tone dismissive, as if the deaths of others were of little consequence.

"I agree," Alaric laughed slightly, his reddened gaze turning to Lydia. "Sentimentality's a rot."

"I'm sure you wouldn't know, since you left your 'dynasty.' Heritage should be considered superior," Lady Xiu continued, her words pointed, a sharp rebuke.

"Your archaic ideas will be the death of you all. Kokoro was the first to fall, and you both ultimately share the same values," Lydia shot back, her voice dripping with disdain.

"You're amusing," Lady Xiu replied, though her words were strained.

"Your husband won't like that..." Lydia said slowly.

"You should shush with talking to me about men and women. Your own history speaks against you," Lady Xiu responded, her tone suddenly calm, the change in demeanor jarring.

The atmosphere in the room shifted sharply with that comment, the air thick with unease; even Lydia was taken aback by the sudden reversal.

"White robes were found by 'Fredrick'," the Sage continued, breaking the tension.

"White robes?" Alphonse echoed, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Where have I seen that before? I can't remember, sadly."

"Ah, Fredrick—are we certain he's reliable?" Sir Eadric asked, his skepticism evident.

"Have you met him?" Alaric shot back, his tone challenging.

"No, but Kae—"

"Then hush," Alaric cut him off.

Sir Eadric's posture shifted subtly.

"The type of clothing might help identify them," Lydia suggested, turning to Alphonse.

"Yes, but perhaps not right now... Wasn't it slightly blue?"

"Plain, unrequited white," the Sage corrected.

"Never mind then," Alphonse replied, gesturing with his hands, a note of finality in his voice.

"The best way to ascertain their existence or intent?" Alaric mused, a blade-sharp smile flickering. "Simple: burn the robes. If they ignite at precisely 180°C… well—that's not fabric. That's a confession."

All heads turned to look at Luca, who nodded. "He's right."