KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess

The conversation wove through subsequent courses like a verbal duel fought with crystal goblets and silver cutlery. Each exchange of pleasantries carried hidden barbs, each compliment concealed a warning. Xavier and Calypso communicated through the dangerous language of meaningful glances and carefully chosen words, while Duke Haverford positioned himself as the embodiment of security and tradition against Xavier's uncertain wandering.

"Lady Selene possesses such a generous heart," Haverford observed during the meat course. "She maintains this utterly charming tendency to rescue wounded creatures that stumble into her path. Lost birds with broken wings, injured foxes bleeding in the snow, things like that."

"Compassion is considered a virtue among civilized people," Xavier managed.

"Without question, without question." Haverford's tone remained as smooth as aged wine. "However, wisdom teaches us to distinguish between momentary acts of kindness and the deeper bonds of permanent commitment. A noble lady might tend to a fox's wounds out of natural sympathy, but such charity hardly qualifies the beast for residence in her drawing room."

"I've always believed that loyalty, once genuinely earned through shared hardship and mutual understanding, should be cherished above all the convenient arrangements that society might prefer," Calypso said. "Some bonds transcend the narrow boundaries of mere social convenience or political advantage."

Haverford's smile never wavered, but the light in his eyes seemed to dim.

"Beautifully spoken, my dear child, beautifully spoken indeed!" Lord Torval's weathered face lit up with genuine pride as he beamed at his niece like she'd just recited poetry. "Your wisdom reminds me of your dear mother—she possessed the same gift for seeing the heart of matters. Which actually brings to mind something rather important that's been weighing on these old bones—the Midwinter Masquerade approaches."

The seemingly innocent topic shift landed with the final, quiet click of a lock tumbler falling into place. The trap wasn't springing; it had been closed around him from the moment he sat down.

"The festival arrives in barely a week's time," Torval continued, completely oblivious to the sudden tension crackling between his dinner guests like lightning before a storm. "The preparations advance wonderfully—the decorators have outdone themselves this year. But I've decided to transform this particular celebration into something truly historic for our city."

"An evening of truly momentous announcements—sacred commitments and binding decisions that will secure Hearthome's prosperity and political standing for countless generations to come."

Duke Haverford straightened in his chair. "Momentous announcements, Your Grace? How intriguing."

"Indeed, indeed! Ancient alliances to be formally renewed and strengthened, sacred vows to be spoken before the assembled nobility of the volcanic provinces." Torval's gaze danced between Haverford and Calypso. "I believe our people deserve to celebrate not merely the turning of another season, but the radiant future that spreads before us all like dawn breaking over the mountains."

Beneath the pristine white tablecloth, Xavier's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The Midwinter Masquerade. It wasn't a celebration. It was a stage. And on it, Lord Torval would announce Calypso's betrothal, binding her not with love, but with the chains of political necessity.

Seven days. They possessed exactly seven days before she became another man's property in the eyes of every soul in Hearthome.

"How absolutely... thrilling," Calypso managed, though Xavier caught the hairline fractures spreading through her composed facade like ice beginning to crack under pressure.

"I knew you'd be delighted, my dear! Nothing could possibly bring this old man greater joy than witnessing his beloved family's future secured in such capable, worthy hands." Lord Torval reached across the table to pat Calypso's hand. "Your parents would be so proud to see how magnificently everything has arranged itself."

As the interminable dinner crawled toward its merciful conclusion, an army of silent servants cleared away the final courses while Lord Torval launched into lengthy reminiscences of Masquerades past—tales of legendary celebrations, historic announcements, and political alliances sealed with champagne and dancing.

Xavier heard none of it. How could he reach Calypso privately? How could they possibly escape from a fortress city literally built into the heart of an active volcano? How could they locate Alexander and Nolan to complete—

"Thornslayer."

Xavier's head snapped up to find Duke Haverford standing beside his chair, having moved during his distraction.

"Perhaps you might indulge me with a brief private word? Nothing terribly formal—just a friendly conversation between gentlemen."

They withdrew to a shadowed alcove near the chamber's ornate entrance. The polite murmur of the main table faded, replaced by the almost imperceptible hiss of steam from the fortress vents and the thud of Xavier's own heart in his ears.

"Lady Selene maintains such a wonderfully compassionate nature," he began, his tone as conversational as discussing the weather over morning tea. "Truly one of her most endearing qualities—that instinctive desire to heal and protect the broken things of this world."

"Is it?" Xavier kept his voice carefully neutral, though every instinct screamed danger.

"Oh, absolutely, absolutely. Yet such attachments invariably prove fleeting in nature—momentary fondness born of sympathy and proximity rather than the deeper compatibility required for lasting partnership." Haverford's smile never flickered. "I trust you comprehend the essential distinction between passing fancy and permanent alliance? Between charitable impulse and genuine affection?"

"I understand a great many things about the nature of different relationships," Xavier replied, matching the Duke's deceptively pleasant tone word for word.

"Excellent, excellent. I do so appreciate clarity in these delicate matters—it prevents unfortunate misunderstandings from developing." Haverford's hand settled on Xavier's shoulder. "I sincerely hope you find your temporary stay in Hearthome both comfortable and enjoyable, Thornslayer. Though I strongly suspect that a man of your... restless temperament and wandering spirit will soon hear those distant roads calling once again. Adventure rarely allows a man to remain in one place for very long."

Xavier watched him return to the dining table where Haverford immediately engaged Calypso in animated discussion about the upcoming Masquerade—the decorations, the guest list, the traditional ceremonies that would transform the evening into something truly memorable.

She responded with perfect courtesy, but Xavier noted the subtle tension radiating through her shoulders, the careful way she angled herself to avoid unwanted physical contact.

The hourglass had been turned, sand already beginning to fall.