Fitran moved lightly yet cautiously, the sound of his wooden sandals barely audible. At the intersection of the hallway, he found Masanori standing by the open window, gazing into the dark courtyard. The atmosphere was quiet, only the rustling of bamboo and the soft ticking of a distant hourglass could be heard.

  Fitran paused for a moment, then approached, keeping his voice as friendly as possible. “Is it too dark to sleep, Masanori-san?” He looked at Masanori with keen interest. “Is something troubling your mind? It seems you’ve seen a lot outside.”

  Masanori turned slightly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “The fox prefers to hunt when all the old dogs are asleep, doesn’t it? But sometimes, Fitran, I feel that tonight is more dangerous than usual.”

  “Do you sense movement within the Yamato clan? Some whispers speak of betrayal,” Fitran replied, leaning slightly forward. “People are starting to suspect every step we take.”

  Fitran welcomed the jab with a small laugh, then moved closer until only half a step separated them. His eyes glinted sharply at the shadow of Masanori’s face in the window. “It’s the old dogs who need to be careful. Sometimes their prey turns into hunters on the wrong night. I’ve heard our clan is developing magical powers closely tied to our blood. Those with Yamato blood are richer in energy.”

  Silence fell for a moment. Masanori sighed, straightening his posture, his voice low and deep. “You’re clever, Fitran. But sometimes I wonder how deeply you’ve planted poison in this family—and for whom you truly work. Nobuzan? Yourself? Or… a greater enemy?”

  “Poison?” Fitran raised an eyebrow, his face shimmering in the moonlight. “Or perhaps just seeds we plant for the future?” he added, though one corner of his mouth began to curve. “You know, many want to change the direction of the wind in this land. We could be part of the solution.”

  Fitran smiled faintly, then tilted his head, pretending to hesitate. “Aren’t enemies and family just a matter of time and opportunity, Masanori-san? I think sometimes those who want to destroy this house the most are those who feel most entitled to it. Like the Ishida clan, they always eye the leadership seat of Yamato, don’t they? They have connections with the sorcerers in the north.”

  Masanori narrowed his eyes, weighing Fitran’s words carefully. “You know, Fitran, many of the elders are too old to see change, even in the unpredictable currents of magic. But I still have my wits. The world is changing, Yamato must change. But not all change must come through foreign blood. Perhaps we should look closer at those who want to use magic to deceive us.”

  Fitran stepped closer, his voice shifting to a half-whisper, yet firm. “So, what kind of change does Masanori-san desire? Or… more precisely, who do you want to eliminate first for that change to happen? Does that mean destroying the influence of the Sarukawa clan, which is becoming bolder in infiltrating our meetings?”

  Masanori frowned, recalling the faces of the elders at the negotiation table. “Sarukawa is a venomous snake, Fitran. They offer magic for grand solutions, but always at a price. Meanwhile, the Hinatsu clan—they seem to pretend loyalty to me, but behind the scenes…”

  “Ah, this game is indeed complicated, isn’t it?” Fitran interjected teasingly, “It seems we’re all dancing on a thin thread. Who can be trusted if even our own blood can stab us in the back?”

  Masanori nodded, his fingers pressing against the thick table. “The change I desire is one free from outside power. I want all clans in Yamato to unite. But every magic we call upon has consequences, and not all consequences are visible until it’s too late.” His eyes scanned the surroundings, as if waiting for something greater. “We must tread carefully. Every step, every word, could turn against us.”

  Fitran gripped his shoulder, a sharp glint in his eyes. “So we must act—not just with magic, but with a deeper power. A power that awakens wrath. Do you have a plan in mind? A conspiracy?”

  Masanori looked at him, his voice low as if sharing a deep secret. “If it must be, we will shake the foundations of the Musashi clan. They know more than they show. We need to teach them a lesson and create alliances in doubt.”

  “They will doubt us, Masanori. But I believe, as long as the truth is on our side, we will win. What about calling Senki? He could help with divination magic—perhaps he can see what’s hidden behind the elders’ masks,” Fitran suggested, his gaze full of hope.

  Masanori nodded slowly, weighing his options. “Don’t forget that magic can sometimes reverse fate. We can’t place all our hopes on one card. We must prepare a net.”

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  Fitran smiled cunningly, successfully pushing the conversation deeper into unsettling intrigue. “So what will we do next?”

  Masanori fell silent, gazing at the starry night sky. “There’s a strange tension here, as if the night itself is holding its breath. We shouldn’t let things continue like this,” he said softly, his voice trembling with pent-up emotion.

  Fitran nodded, placing his hand on the worn wooden table, then casually said, “So, Masanori-san, who do you think deserves to lead the Yamato clan? Is it Nobuzan with her gentleness, or Ryumaru who is growing frail? Seiran may not have physical strength, but…,” he looked deeply, “he has a connection to the magic we might need.”

  Masanori furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Magic won’t win wars, Fitran. We need strength that can lift us when the winds turn. Perhaps you bring the fire, but remember, fire can also burn everything, including us,” he replied firmly.

  “But, Masanori-san,” Fitran leaned in, his face serious, “the competition exists both outside and within this clan. If we don’t unite and cleanse the pests within, then the enemies—who wait for our negligence—will exploit every gap. They smell blood in the air and…,” he took a deep breath, “their clairvoyance may be far stronger than we think.”

  Masanori felt his chest vibrate. “I will never trust such clairvoyance. Not all prophecies can be trusted, especially if someone tries to obscure them with intrigue.” He looked at Fitran, as if trying to pierce through the layers of deception behind his smile. “But what if we need such prophecies? Like wings guiding us in the right direction?”

  Fitran smiled, his demeanor reflecting certainty. “You’re too skeptical, Masanori-san. The power of sorcerers doesn’t solely worsen the situation. We can harness them, embrace their extraordinary abilities. Have you ever heard of elemental control magic? It could be a cornerstone in our competition.”

  Masanori shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You know that among the clan supporters, elemental control is very taboo. Those who practice it are threatened with expulsion from the clan, even death. We can’t let such power become a double-edged sword.”

  “But are you willing to stake everything on rigid traditions?” Fitran asked challengingly. “We stand on the edge of a cliff, and an attack can come from anywhere. We need power that can protect us from threats both inside and out!”

  Masanori fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Perhaps what you say has some truth. But to shift to this path… we need solid proof, Fitran. Clear reasons to initiate this change. I can’t move just on words.”

  Fitran shook his head, his face showing concern. “Sometimes the best reason is survival. If dawn arrives tomorrow and one traitor or coward is eliminated, the people will see it as a bold step. And they will feel more at ease.”

  “The meaning behind that reason, Fitran,” Masanori emphasized, “is whether the people, with all this tension, will be ready to witness the chaos and assault we will launch against our closest ones?”

  “You doubt me, Masanori-san,” Fitran looked at him intensely. “But remember, we fight not just for the present, but for the future of the Yamato clan. Sacrificing one or two to save the greater good isn’t a bad choice.”

  Masanori finally revealed a bit of his secret, his tone shifting to one of confidence, full of ambition. “You know, Fitran,” he said sharply, “Yamato can no longer play it safe. One day, when we stand before the council, I will lead, and if necessary, we will use the ancient magic of our clan. Remember what happened when foreign blood began to seep in? We cannot give traitors a chance.”

  “True,” Fitran replied, his fingers touching Masanori’s shoulder, “but politics isn’t just about magic. It’s about who can control that power. And I hope we can determine who is worthy of being chosen, not just because of lineage.”

  “Ah, but lineage is everything here,” Masanori continued, gazing far away, “Even magic flows from our blood. Our clan has been threatened by outside forces—now, more than ever, we must be strong.”

  Fitran nodded, his eyes tracing the shadows of the dark sky. “Every decision must be made wisely, Masanori. Remember, it’s not just magical strength that matters, but also our strategy in facing our enemies. They’re not just waiting; they’re planning.”

  “As if I didn’t know that,” Masanori replied skeptically, his hands clenched. “Every move we make is being watched. I don’t want us to end this story in shades of gray. Do you hope they will all remember who fought for Yamato?”

  Fitran smiled faintly, though the tension still hung in the air. “We will prepare that stage—we just need one precise step. However, we must also realize one thing: if one day I am forced to choose between family and the future of Yamato, I will be on the right side.”

  Masanori furrowed his brow, evaluating Fitran’s heavy words before responding, “I hope that decision is reserved for an unexpected moment. We know how other clans play this game—full of deception and intrigue.”

  Fitran stepped back half a step, bowing slightly, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Let them come; I’m just a spectator who sometimes whispers the script. But when the time comes, remember—I will reveal everything that is hidden. Every move we make is part of this theater.”

  “And we must ensure that the true actors remain on stage,” Masanori replied, staring straight ahead—his doubts seemingly fading. “Prepare yourself, for this darkness will bring more surprises. And Fitran, remember, sometimes the emptiness around us is a sign of something greater.”

  Silence fell again, adding weight to the atmosphere. Yet that night, the seeds of a dark alliance had been sown—and Fitran knew that every sentence could be used as a bargaining tool, a trap, or a knife to stab back at any moment. He smiled, dismissing the shadow of doubt that crossed his mind. “There will be a time to reclaim what has been lost,” he murmured, “as long as we remain united in this mission.”