The valley wind carries the scent of wet earth and the whispers of night birds. Yet beneath this tranquility, a restlessness gathers like storm clouds, pressing down on Oda's main house and its occupants.

  In the living room, the elders and servants cluster around an oil lantern. Some of the older ones peek anxiously out the window, exchanging stories about the fields burning beyond the walls. Nobuzan leans back against a thick cushion, her breath occasionally caught by soft contractions. Fitran stands in the shadows behind a wooden pillar, his sharp eyes watching the crowd intently.

  Hisayuki approaches, his voice trembling, “Fate-dono, I just saw Masanori walking toward the eastern gate. He was accompanied by two servants I don’t recognize.”

  “They are not just ordinary servants,” Fitran replies in a low, deep voice. “There’s something strange about their power.”

  Hisayuki furrows his brow, “Do you smell lightning? That could mean an ancient ritual is being prepared.”

  “Yes, and we can only hope they know what they are doing,” Fitran responds, his face betraying tension. “That power could change everything.”

  In her heart, a mix of anxiety and anticipation churns—tonight, all the pieces have begun to move according to their plans.

  Outside, the rain fell gently, making the stone courtyard and main corridors slick and glossy. Masanori and two attendants slipped through the old kitchen, descending the narrow staircase toward the aging eastern gate. They whispered among themselves, occasionally glancing back to ensure no guards were following.

  “Are you sure we’re safe?” one of the attendants asked, his voice laden with doubt. “The forces out there... an uninvited guest could easily sniff us out.”

  Masanori shot a sharp glance at him. “Courage will take us to greater heights, Aiko. If we perform the ritual correctly, nothing can stop us. We will summon the ancient powers!”

  “But if we fail…” Aiko's voice trailed off, fear evident on her face. “We all know what will emerge from the darkness when the ancient awakens.”

  Masanori's hands trembled as she turned the large iron key. The gears groaned softly, then the gate opened wide enough for several Qihuang Shin soldiers to slip through the mist. One of the attendants signaled to the shadows beyond the gate:

  “Now. Get in quickly, before the guards notice!”

  The enemy soldiers crept inside, disguising themselves as attendants. They made their way toward the armory, planning to disrupt the defenses from within.

  “Are you all ready?” the leader of the soldiers asked, his voice trembling with ambition. “This ancient magical power can become an even deadlier weapon if we dare to wield it.”

  Meanwhile, in a different corner, Fitran was already waiting, standing behind a stone pillar. She feigned surprise as one of the traitors “captured” her in the hallway.

  “What are you doing here, Fate-dono?” the traitorous servant asked, a victorious tone tainting his words. “You don’t know, do you? This ritual is the key, and you are the obstacle.”

  Fitran pretended to panic. “I… I heard a strange sound. What’s happening?”

  “The sound is the longing of the trapped energy!” the traitor replied, his tone mocking. “We are going to summon back the forgotten souls. Make sure you don’t interfere.”

  They muffled Fitran, dragging her to the armory now filled with Qihuang Shin and Masanori's soldiers. Inside, Fitran saw faces filled with despair, anger, and anxiety.

  “You need to think wisely about your choices, Fate-dono,” whispered one soldier in a hoarse voice. “This power will enter our world, and it’s no longer just about us…”

  Masanori ground his teeth, his eyes ablaze. “You are too confident, foreign son-in-law,” he groaned, as if sensing the magical energy surrounding him. “Tonight, Yamato will return to Oda's hands—without any interference from outsiders! Do you not fear the prophecies about threats lurking in the shadows?”

  Fitran suppressed a faint smile, feeling the subtle tremor of magic from the small object he had dropped. “The prophecy ends here, Masanori. In this world, power is not only determined by who wields the weapon, but also by who masters the ancient potions,” he replied coldly, dropping another small object onto the floor silently.

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  Outside the warehouse, two young guards loyal to Nobuzan followed Fitran's secret instructions, listening to the ancient whispers between them. “Three knocks—that means we are not alone,” one of them said anxiously, igniting the emerging magic of Fitran's ancient technique. Upon hearing the sound of three knocks—the code from the object Fitran had dropped—they activated the hidden spiral detonator beneath the floor of the warehouse while beginning the conversion of magical energy in the process.

  A silent explosion shook the underground, followed by a burst of dense blue smoke that filled the room. Several Qihuang Shin soldiers collapsed, overwhelmed by the sleeping gas intertwined with the magical aura. The remaining soldiers panicked, crashing into the walls in search of an escape, only to discover that the doors had been locked from the outside, ensnared in an invisible web of ritual.

  Masanori glared at Fitran, his voice trembling with anger and fear. “What are you doing?! You’re going to kill us all! This isn’t just about blood and honor; it’s about a greater power that lies behind the scenes!”

  Fitran lowered his gaze, his cold voice cutting through the haze. “You’re too caught up in ambition, Masanori. No, I’m just revealing who truly holds the keys to this house. Who governs the lineage of magic.”

  One of the young guards opened a small door at the back, signaling Fitran to exit, his heart racing. “Be careful, there’s more here than meets the eye,” he whispered. He walked slowly out of the warehouse, leaving the traitors and enemies trapped inside. This ancient battle of power was just beginning, and Fitran felt the surge of energy from a darker world awaiting outside.

  The news of the traitor's capture spread quickly throughout the Oda household. The servants were filled with fear, the elders exchanged suspicious glances, and the townsfolk began to gather in front of the estate, eager to learn who had betrayed them and whom they could still trust.

  Nobuzan, who had just calmed her contractions, was assisted to the main courtyard. She heard news of Masanori's capture and that the enemy soldiers had failed to seize the armory. Her breaths were heavy, her heart torn between relief and sadness.

  “How many more traitors are in this house, Fitran?” she whispered to her husband, who now stood amidst the crowd.

  “The dark ritual must have summoned them,” Fitran replied, frowning. “Did you hear the whispers of the night? Something much bigger is stirring, Nobuzan. They’re not just betraying us; they are pitting the ancient powers against each other.”

  Nobuzan gazed deeply into his eyes, “Are you sure we can face it? There are rumors about the 'Ritual of Awakening'… in the depths of darkness, that power could rise from its long slumber.”

  Fitran gently stroked the back of Nobuzan's hand. “Traitors only dare to act when the night is too dark. But now, we have one brighter night— and one more reason to stand together. We must find out who is orchestrating all of this.”

  “Every spell they utter might awaken the trapped demons,” Nobuzan whispered, her voice getting lost in the crowd. “If not, our world could plunge into unimaginable chaos.”

  “One ritual has the power to alter the boundaries as we know them,” Fitran replied, tension lurking beneath his words. “We need to find the missing artifact that could provide answers to all these questions before it’s too late.”

  In the detention room, Masanori and two servants were being interrogated by Ryumaru and the elders. Masanori remained silent, her eyes filled with resentment, while the traitorous servant admitted to wanting nothing more than to “survive.”

  Senzaburo asked quietly, “Why are you doing this, Masanori? Can’t you see that this is not just about you, but about a greater power?”

  Masanori gritted her teeth. “Because you are all blind! Because you let outsiders trample on the dignity of the Oda! And you, Senzaburo, know well about the ancient rituals that can awaken dormant powers.”

  “Ancient rituals?” Senzaburo exclaimed in surprise. “So you have indeed heard the rumors? These are not just ordinary rituals, Masanori. Every step we take will summon forces from the lingering shadows.”

  Ryumaru sighed. “You forget, dignity also means protecting the family from destruction. But more than that, there's a darker battle at play, and you've chosen a side—and tonight, the whole world will witness your choice.”

  “A choice or a curse?” Masanori replied, his eyes ablaze. “With this mark,” he said, pointing to the symbol on his wrist, “I summon winds from another dimension. Blood will flow, and you know it.”

  Meanwhile, the servants and guards began to discuss amongst themselves; some defended Fitran, while others remained suspicious. One thing was certain: the Oda household would be spared from destruction that night, not just due to strength, but because of a strategy that made the enemy believe they were in control of their fate—when in reality, everything had already been grasped from the beginning.

  “But remember, power doesn’t always arise from iron or steel,” Ryumaru warned, her tone cryptic. “There are other forces capable of unleashing disaster, even from the most unexpected sources.”

  As dawn approached, Fitran sat alone on the porch, gazing at the sky that was gradually turning red. Nobuzan approached and sat beside her.

  “The world is always filled with unspoken secrets, Fitran. You see, betrayal can stem from the shadows we create ourselves.”

  Fitran furrowed his brow, trying to grasp her words. “Are you sure, Nobuzan? Or perhaps we are only seeing what we want to see?”

  “Listen, my friend. When the shooting star falls tonight, we must be prepared. The ancient ritual demands a sacrifice, and faith is the key to unlocking it.”

  Fitran gazed off into the distance, his voice barely a whisper,

  “As long as we dare to confront the darkness, a new dawn will always arise, Nobuzan. But I sense something is amiss. Will the sun rise, or will shadows be lurking?”

  “Don't let doubt consume you. This energy, the magic that flows between us, is a power we must believe in,” Nobuzan replied, emphasizing her words with a piercing gaze. “If we lose our faith, not only will this home crumble, but so will our path to the future we desire.”

  Deep beneath the tower, the people began to muster the courage to sing softly, their voices rising like a new prayer for a future filled with wounds yet determined not to collapse. “They do not know,” Nobuzan whispered, “that among them are the chosen ones—ancient magic is whispering in their ears, waiting to be awakened.”