Morning came heavy and damp, the air still clinging to last night's unease. The courtyard buzzed with early activity — guards shifting posts, aides carrying scrolls and relic cases, and delegates moving toward the main hall for the second day of the ASEAN Relics Summit.
To anyone else, it might have looked like routine. But to Cess and Sena, who had spent the night tracking the silent movements of three hooded infiltrators, every step, every glance, every clink of metal felt sharper.
Kael joined them at the long breakfast table, unaware of the details. "You two look like you didn't sleep," he said, tearing into a piece of bread.
"Didn't," Cess replied simply, her eyes scanning the hall. She wasn't ready to tell him yet — not without more proof.
Sena's gaze lingered toward the far end of the room, where the Shinto Sect's delegation had taken their seats. Suzume sat tall and composed, her black hair pinned into a perfect knot, Kusanagi resting across her lap. Beside her stood Shinichi, her First Guardian, pouring tea into her cup with the same calm efficiency he showed in battle.
Cess frowned. She had seen that exact, deliberate way of pouring before — the night before, when one of the hooded figures had paused by the eastern wall, moving with quiet precision, as though even the act of tilting a pouch into the water had been an art.
It wasn't proof. But it was enough to plant a seed of suspicion.
Across the room, Lee Jin-ah arrived with Jeong-hwi, the Seong Moon Sect leader. She was dressed in a simple pale-blue hanbok, her long hair bound in a braided coil, and the silver flute of Sanshin at her hip.
She moved differently than Shinichi — quicker, sharper, with steps that seemed to skim rather than press against the ground. As she passed, Sena's eyes narrowed. The hooded figure she had followed into the storage wing had walked the same way, the hem of their cloak barely disturbing the dust.
Lee Jin-ah caught Sena looking and offered a polite bow before taking her seat.
Cess shifted her attention to the center dais, where Juan Dela Cruz was speaking with a tall man in ceremonial armor — his second-in-command, Captain Isagani Reyes.
Isagani was built like a fortress wall, with broad shoulders and a proud stance. His right hand rested on the hilt of a long dagger, fingers drumming against the pommel in a slow, rhythmic tap.
The memory struck Cess unexpectedly: the third hooded figure from last night, the one on the upper gallery who had paused at Kael's door, had also tapped the hilt of their weapon in that exact rhythm before moving on.
Her chest tightened. Three habits, three familiar tells.
——————
Later in the Day
The morning session ended early to allow delegates to prepare for the ceremonial exchange of relic blessings — a symbolic act meant to show cooperation between the sovereign groups.
In the southern training court, Shinichi was demonstrating the Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi to a small group of observers. His movements were fluid, deliberate, with the kind of control that came from decades of discipline.
Cess stood at the edge, watching. His blade traced arcs in the air with barely a whisper, each motion carrying the same still precision she had tracked in the moonlight hours before.
When the demonstration ended, Shinichi's eyes swept over the spectators. For the briefest moment, they met hers — and in that moment, she felt it. A flicker of awareness. He knew she was watching.
Elsewhere, Sena found herself on the armory floor, under the pretext of checking the security around the relic storage vaults. Lee Jin-ah was there as well, tuning her flute while two guards cataloged incoming weapon cases.
The melody she played was soft and haunting, notes sliding into each other like waves against a shore. Sena kept her expression neutral, but her thoughts were racing.
Last night, in the storage wing, she had heard metallic scraping and the faint sound of something shifting — not music, but the rhythm of Lee Jin-ah's footsteps, unhurried yet calculated.
Lee Jin-ah looked up mid-note, offering Sena a warm smile. "Egypt, isn't it? Your accent is beautiful."
Sena nodded politely. "Korea, right? Your footsteps are… light."
Lee Jin-ah tilted her head, as though unsure whether it was a compliment or a challenge. "Old habit," she said, and returned to her playing.
Meanwhile, Kael, unaware of the silent chess being played around him, spent the late afternoon in a strategy discussion with Captain Isagani and two other Filipino commanders. They spoke about potential joint training exercises, but Cess, who had joined the circle, couldn't stop watching Isagani's hand.
That same steady tap on the pommel of his dagger. The same as the hooded figure. The sound, soft against the scabbard, was like a quiet metronome to her suspicions.
"Something on your mind, Cess?" Isagani asked suddenly, catching her watching.
She forced a small smile. "Just listening."
—————
That Night
The moon rose higher, its light washed pale by a faint haze on the horizon. Down at the far end of the summit grounds, away from the guards' lanterns, three hooded figures gathered in a recessed courtyard.
Their faces were hidden in shadow, but their voices were unmistakable — at least to someone who had heard them speak in daylight.
"The tide's almost right," said the first — measured, deliberate, like Shinichi's blade work.
"The wards on the lower gates are weak," the second replied, her voice carrying the faint musical lilt of Lee Jin-ah's speech.
"And the delegates will be too distracted tomorrow to notice," added the third, deep-voiced, steady as Isagani's stance.
A pause. Then, the first spoke again. "The offer still stands. Leadership, relic augmentation, full control of our factions — all in exchange for the old order's fall."
The second chuckled softly. "Our… benefactor keeps his promises?"
"He's never needed to break one," the third said. "When the Bakunawa rises, it will be the start of something greater than any summit."
The three turned and vanished into separate corridors, their paths diverging just as they had the night before.
By the time Cess and Sena reached that courtyard, the space was empty. Only the faint scent of saltwater remained in the air, and the whisper of the tide pulling harder than it should.
Somewhere in the bay, the Bakunawa stirred. And within the summit, three futures had already been promised to Ottalaus' hand.