The Uninvited Guest

"That doesn't prove anything, nor does it help in the current argument. I suggest you shut your mouth," Lydia replied flatly.

"That's how you do it," Freya chimed in with a light laugh.

"I just added a suggestion based on the flow of the conversation. Are you that slow?" Alaric retorted.

"No, it wasn't," Lydia shot back.

"It was, and I thought you were the smart one. Maybe it should be Luca or Anita. How could she be regarded as the smartest?" Alaric scoffed, adjusting his chaperon.

Anita sat back, unmoving, not saying a word.

"Why drag Anita into your mindless quarrel?" Ashur asked, seated beside her.

"Do not talk now, Ashur. I'm a bit busy," Alaric snapped back.

"You're a sorry old man, you know that? I wouldn't care for compensation if it meant wiping that smug look off your face," Lydia sneered.

"Bravo, Lydia. You've managed to twist desperation into dialogue. A pity it's still as empty as the title you cling to. Tell me, does it ache knowing even silence outshines you?" Alaric taunted, his grin razor-edged.

"Lady Lydia hath spoken, hath she not? Then delay no further and make your departure forthwith," Sir Eadric said, his voice unusually stern.

"Is the translator broken—" Alaric began, but Sir Eadric cut him off.

"Mark this well: a loose tongue will bring about your—" The translator seemed to glitch before finally finishing with, "death." The word sickled out of Sir Eadric's mouth with venom.

Where Sir Eadric sat, light surrounded him, casting a subtle, ethereal glow.

"You'll have to compensate now, and you don't want that. You said it yourself—you have to stay true to yourself in times like this," Alaric said, sweat dripping from his temple, though a mischievous grin remained etched on his face.

"The compensation will be worse, Sir Eadric," said a man seated on the left side of the table. "It gets worse if we all remember clearly. It's one of the rules. If we could go over it again—"

"Shut up, will you?" Lady Xiu said indifferently, ignoring her earlier defense of Lydia.

"Alright then," the man replied slowly, focusing on his coat with intricate patterns. He hunched in his chair, clad in a long, tailored coat of deep burgundy velvet. Over it, he wore a fitted, dark leather vest that added a rugged, practical edge to his ensemble.

"You always seem to change your clothing, Luca," Inti observed.

"There are better ways to dress—I just haven't thought of them yet," Luca replied, clearly fed up, pushing a web of dark blue hair backward.

"I suppose you are right," Sir Eadric said simply, the glow around him slowly dimming.

"Hah! You're all so funny. You know you can't beat me," Alaric mocked.

"Could you all keep quiet? I'm trying to sleep, which is impossible when all I hear are grown-ups talking about mindless stuff. Most of you aren't meant to be heads. Do you even realize I've made more progress in nine years than you have in multiple decades? I've—"

"Enough, Zorion," Henri interrupted, veins bulging on his forehead.

"You should listen to Henri, Zorion. Unlike Beaugois' sharp tongue, he is on their level. Do not overestimate yourself. You do not want any more enemies in the Stem," Inti warned.

"He doesn't want enemies," Alphonse muttered under his breath.

"Alright then," Zorion replied simply, raising both hands in a gesture of defeat as he unwound from the conversation.

Luca focused on his work—no equipment, only his fingers—as he spun the spherical object, watching it change shapes seamlessly, manipulating it through the two holes on each side.

He scoffed a few times, his eyes brightening as realization struck.

He heard a click as his fingers pressed inward.

"That should work. The newer version is undoubtedly harder," he said, smiling at Lydia and Anita as the object began to glow brighter, slowly.

Another mishap.

"The object is playing with me," Luca muttered as veins began to protrude. His usual nonchalant demeanor started to crack.