Mayor Flanno was huddled at home, his eyes intently studying a worn-out book with strange runes on it. The worn wooden table creaked under the weight of the hefty tome, and his brows knotted in deep thought. His home was awash with the warm glow of a single lamp – a solitary island in the enveloping sea of night.

Suddenly, a knock echoed through the silence, causing Flanno to jump, nearly toppling his precious lamp. As he opened the door, his heart pounded in his chest like a jackrabbit.

Standing in the doorway was the last person he expected to see - the local milkman, Berty. The audacity of this man, to disturb the mayor at this hour! Flanno's lips tightened into a thin line, his brows furrowing even deeper. This was no time for frivolities like milk deliveries.

"Berty!" Flanno huffed indignantly, jabbing a finger towards the moon above, "Do you see that? It's the moon, not the sun! It's sleepy time, not milky time!" The mayor's voice scaled the octaves in his outrage. The nerve of some people, disturbing a man's study of ancient runes. How was one supposed to study the occult with a glass of milk. No he'd be laughed out of The Society in an instant. Never mind what Wyatt would say.

Flanno slammed the door shut, the resulting thud echoing off the walls of his humble abode. He leaned against it, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to regain his composure. His hand climbed to his temple, rubbing small circles and releasing a sigh that held a tinge of exasperation. "Milk deliveries... at this ungodly hour," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. His thoughts then wandered to a more pressing concern—the militia. He found himself pacing the room, his brows furrowing as he considered the seemingly endless hours of training they were undergoing. "Why is it taking so long?" he mused aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper. The lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll, the worry etching deeper lines into his weathered face. The shadows cast by the lone lamp danced on the walls, mimicking the dance of his growing anxieties.

Flanno tentatively moved his hand towards his abdomen, his heart pounding like a drum. His palm hovered above his navel, the uncertainty giving him pause. He breathed in, and out, seeking to settle himself. Closing his eyes, he looked inward, past the layer of fat his role as mayor had given, the stress and dealing with people turning his once battle ready physique into more of a paunch. He missed the army some days.

But then who would save Chicory Harbour from what was coming?

He steeled himself and pressed his hand against the soft fabric of his robe, feeling the warmth of his own skin beneath it. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. He focused his senses, reaching inward with his mind. And then he felt it. It was a mere whisper, an almost imperceptible thrum, but unmistakably there. A slow grin spread across Flanno's face, his eyes twinkling with a newfound determination. This wasn't just a story from an old worn-out book. It was real.

Truly, he was a genius.

Just as Flanno was reveling in his newfound revelation, the tranquil silence of the night was again shattered by a knock at the door. His heart stopped for a moment, the glow of triumph fading from his eyes. "Again?" he muttered under his breath. He bet it was that vagrant Joe.

He stormed over to the door and threw it open. 'Now see here, I've had enough disrespect, I am the Mayor of this town and I will not...'

Mayor Flanno's face went white.

There they stood in the doorway, the two most unlikely figures. The first was a young master, bearing the royal emblem. Dressed in his flowing silk robe, his presence was like a gust of wind—the kind that swoops in unannounced, rustling leaves and leaving a trail of whispers in its wake. His eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, glinting with arrogance and youthful vitality.

Beside him stood Hiroshi, a stark contrast to the Young Master. He was an old royal, Flanno had seen him once before. His face was lined with the wisdom of the ages but his reputation was that of a joke. For all his experience and knowledge, his name often elicited snickers rather than respect. On his chest was the symbol of a goose holding lightning bolts.

Flanno's heart skipped a beat at the sight of them. He gulped, his voice dying in his throat. 'Sorry my lords...I thought you were the milk man.'

Akio sneered and Flanno bowed so deep his forehead nearly hit the floor.

Akio wore his usual arrogant smirk. "Mayor Flannigan, fancy seeing you at this hour," Akio drawled, his smirk deepening as he took in Flanno's shocked expression. The mayor's skin turned a shade paler, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. He was sure his secret was out, his stomach tying itself into knots. "I, um... What are you doing here at... um, this hour?" He stammered, desperately trying to maintain a façade of composure. His hand subtly tightened around the doorknob, ready to slam it shut should the need arise. The shadows of his room seemed to loom larger behind him.

Hirsoshi pulled him up and greeted him cheerily, "Good evening, Mayor Flannigan! We were just in the area and fancied a visit. Don't suppose we could trouble you for a slice of cake?'

Akio's gaze shifted from the flustered mayor to his uncle. His gaze hardened, the heat of his disdain palpable in the quiet room. Looking at Hiroshi, he saw a stark reflection of the path he never wished to tread. The once revered royal, now reduced to a laughingstock, his paunch protruding from years of indulgence and inactivity. His mind marked each wrinkle, each droopy fold of skin, as a testament to a life not well spent. Akio turned his gaze back to the mayor with a renewed resolve, an unconscious vow to himself echoing in the silence of the room - he would not end up like his uncle. His sharp eyes, brimming with youthful vigor, were a stark contrast to the resigned acceptance in Hiroshi's.

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'Yes, a....slice of cake would be fine.' Akio said, not waiting for an invitation as he crossed the threshold.

Flanno, in an attempt to regain some semblance of control, scurried into the kitchen to retrieve a freshly baked cake. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he sliced the cake with trembling hands, serving generous slices onto fine china plates. He poured a mug of chicsum for each of them. As they all took their seats around the rickety table, the atmosphere was pregnant with unsaid words, hung heavy with anticipation. Akio sneered at the cake, his disdain for the simple fare evident in his upturned nose and curled lips.

Meanwhile, Hiroshi, unfazed by the tension, procured a small flask from the depths of his robe. The flask, as old and weathered as Hiroshi himself, contained a mysterious brown elixir. With a practiced hand, he added a dash of this concoction to his drink, the liquid sizzling upon contact. The aroma wafted through the room, a strange mix of earthy and sweet. Hiroshi took a sip, a satisfied grin spreading across his aged face.

Flanno watched the spectacle unfold, his mouth dry. His anxiety had escalated to a crescendo, his pulse echoing in his ears. His gaze darted among the cake, Hiroshi's flask, and the unreadable expressions of his unexpected guests. He cleared his throat and nervously chuckled, 'No need to thank me, it was a piece of cake.' His attempt at a light-hearted atmosphere immediately falling flat. The cake, once the symbol of his hospitality, now seemed to mock him from the center of the table. His hands tightened around the edges of his seat, knuckles turning white from the strain. The room buzzed with an eerie silence, the only sound being the occasional clink of Hiroshi's spoon against his cup.

Akio finally leaned forwards. 'Mayor Flannigan, we have received disturbing reports from Research Division.'

Flannigan gulped. 'What do you mean my lords? Nothing ever happens in Chicory Harbour.'

Akio sneered again. 'That's what I told them, a backwater hick town, no point in investigating.'

Hiroshi set his cup down. 'Well...there was the Blinding Leaf incident.'

Flannigan coughed. 'Yes, that was unfortunate. But an outsider, not like the rest of us good, hard working royalists. What reports have you gotten my lords?'

Akio held up a hand and lightning crackled over it. 'They're saying they detected traces of cultivated aura.'

Flannigan's face betrayed no emotion as Akio's words echoed in the room. "Cultivated aura, you say? Now that's strange. I mean, we're just a simple town, we don't have time for any of that," he said, attempting to keep his voice steady. The sweat on his brow was now a river, his heart pounding a tattoo of fear in his chest. He cursed himself internally. He couldn't afford the town's tranquillity to be disturbed over his selfish indulgence. 'Must be some mistake, my lords. As you said, we’re a backwater hick town. Maybe your Research Division's instruments need recalibration, eh?' He forced a weak laugh, praying that his internal panic wasn't seeping through his half-hearted facade.

The harmless suggestion was like lighting a fuse. Akio's face reddened, the veins on his forehead bulging at the perceived slight. "Mayor Flannigan," he hissed, his voice an octave lower than usual, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "The Research Division might be many things, but they are no amateurs. They are meticulous, precise, and above all, respected. They are not to be questioned, especially not by someone of your… station," he spat, emphasizing the last word with a pointed look. His lightning crackled ominously, illuminating the room with eerie flashes. His gaze was cold and hard, his contempt for the town mayor no longer veiled. The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Hiroshi shot Akio a sharp look, but the young lord seemed oblivious to everything but the perceived slight. Flanno swallowed hard, regretting his words more than ever. His feeble attempt at humour had just pushed the situation from bad to worse.

Suddenly, there was a soft padding of feet from the stairs. All eyes instinctively turned to the source of the noise. Descending the stairs was a young girl, no more than eight summers old. Her hair was a cascade of golden curls, her innocent eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of fear. Flannigan's eyes widened at the sight of the girl, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Isabelle!" he exclaimed, rushing towards her. "What are you doing up so late, dear?" He cast a worried glance at the two men, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. Hiroshi was smiling benignly at the girl while Akio's piercing gaze scrutinized Flannigan.

"Isabelle," Flannigan continued, his voice taut with anxiety, "you need to go back to bed. We have a...meeting here. I'll come up and read your favourite story soon, promise." His voice was a strange mix of stern and pleading, his gaze never leaving the girl's face.

"But da–," the girl started, her gaze flitting between the three men. The intensity in her father's eyes cut her off. She nodded slowly, throwing one last glance at the strangers before turning to leave.

As she ascended the stairs, Flannigan watched her, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind was racing, conjuring up a thousand worst-case scenarios. He hoped beyond hope that his precious daughter wouldn't become entangled in this mess. With a final glance at the retreating figure of his daughter, he turned back to his guests. His face was sterner, his resolve stronger.

'My lords, I am at your disposal. But I wouldn't even know where to start looking for cultivation aura.' Flanno responded.

Akio rose from his seat, his towering figure casting an ominous shadow over Flanno. The room brightened as tendrils of lightning danced over his hands, crawling up his arms in a crackling display of power. His eyes, locked onto Flanno, were merciless and unyielding, the electric sparks reflecting in their depths. "Mayor Flannigan," he began, his voice as thunderous as the storm brewing in his palms. "I'll be taking a look around this 'simple' town of yours." The lightning sizzled as it jumped from one hand to the other, an electrifying display of raw power. "And if," he continued, his eyes never leaving Flanno's, "we find even the faintest trace of illegal cultivation, it will be your responsibility. You will answer for allowing such an atrocity to take root under your 'watchful' eyes." The threat hung in the air, as palpable as the electricity that surrounded Akio. The room plunged into a stunned silence, the only sound being the menacing hiss of the lightning and the echo of Akio's words in the room. Flanno swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Akio's words settling onto his shoulders.

A knock came at the door.