The Azure Willow Teahouse was an oasis of quiet, nestled in a secluded garden courtyard. The air smelled of blooming jasmine and steamed leaves, a world away from the guild's stale beer and sweat. Kaito felt painfully out of place in his traveler's clothes, his staff feeling like a black stain on the serene atmosphere.
Seraphina was already there, seated at a low table in a private corner shaded by the eponymous willow. She wasn't in her robes, but a deep blue, elegantly simple dress that clung to her form. As he approached, she was not looking at him, but seemingly examining the fine fabric of her own sleeve, her posture relaxed yet deliberate.
Then, she shifted. She leaned back slightly, and in a gesture that was both contemplative and profoundly self-assured, she brought her hands up, cupping them underneath her chest and lifting gently, as if testing the weight of her own body or simply finding a more comfortable position for her slender frame. The movement was not overtly lewd; it was a display of casual ownership over her own form, an unthinking act of presence that was somehow more intimidating than any spell. Her gaze, when it finally lifted to meet his, was as sharp and analytical as ever, but now held a flicker of something else—amusement at his obvious discomfort.
"You came," she said, her voice a low hum that fit the teahouse perfectly. She gestured to the cushion opposite her. "Sit. The tea is excellent."
Kaito sat, his movements stiff. He kept the Leviathan Staff across his lap, a protective barrier.
"I got your note," he managed, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet.
"I assumed so, as you are here." A faint smile touched her lips. She poured him a cup of fragrant green tea, the movement graceful. "You have caused quite the stir, Kaito. B-rank in a week. The Hero's personal attention. The Castellan's private errands. And all through 'pacification'." She said the word as if it were a quote from a dubious text.
[Maintain narrative. Do not volunteer information.] [Sage] prompted, a frantic whisper in his mind.
"I just... help where I can," he said, repeating his mantra.
"Help," she echoed, sipping her tea. "You help by rewriting the local geology in an instant. You help by purging magical corruption that baffles our most skilled mages. You help by existing as a statistical impossibility." She set her cup down with a soft click. "Let us stop this dance. I am not your enemy. I am perhaps the only person in this city who can appreciate what you are, rather than fear it."
She leaned forward, her sapphire eyes locking onto his. "The land is sick. You are the cure. But a cure can also be a poison, depending on the dosage and the patient's constitution. You are an unmeasured, unknown variable. You need guidance. You need context. And I," she said, the faint smile returning, "need to understand. So, I will make you an offer. A partnership."
Kaito's heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. The spider was inviting the fly into her web, and offering a comfortable corner to sit in.
"What kind of partnership?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"An exchange," she said. "You allow me to study your methods—safely, at a distance. In return, I will be your translator. I will help you navigate the politics you are stirring up. I will teach you about the world you are so drastically affecting." Her gaze flicked to the staff. "Starting with what that truly is."
He was a child being offered a shiny, dangerous toy. He was lonely, confused, and in over his head. And she was offering a hand, even if it was the hand that might eventually dissect him. The temptation was a physical ache.
He looked at her, at the brilliant, dangerous woman who saw through his fragile mask, and he felt a terrifying mix of fear and a desperate, hopeful longing.
"I'll... think about it," he said, the safest, most non-committal answer he could muster.
Seraphina's smile widened, just a fraction. "Of course. Take your time." She knew she had him. She had planted the seed. For a lonely, powerful child, even the prospect of being understood was an irresistible lure. The first thread of her web had been firmly attached.