Location: Hiroto's Pavilion Tent (Pre‑Dawn)
Itsuki Hiroto awoke to a crisp wind rattling his tent flap and the distant clamor of trumpet calls—far more insistent than any dawn summons he'd yet endured. He sat up on his cot, rubbing his eyes, and realized the entire pavilion was decked in new banners: intricate depictions of his face in heroic poses, each surrounded by the sigils of foreign kingdoms.
He blinked. Which banner is that? He shook his head. Sea‑Serpent Empire? Forest Elves? Mountain Dwarves?
Outside, Sera darted in, eyes wide and hair in disarray. "Captain, you're trending in four nations! Envoys are arriving now!"
Hiroto groaned. "I'm still hungover from the Trial feast. Why can't they let me nap?"
"Too late," Sera said, thrusting a list at him. "Here's the schedule: 0900—Beastfolk delegation. 1000—Elven council. 1100—Dwarven envoy. 1200—Giant mercantile fleet. 1300—Merfolk you‑know‑what. And so on."
Hiroto stared at the scroll. 1200? Giant mercantile fleet? He swallowed. "There's no break for noodles?"
"Not unless you bribe them with emergency noodles," Sera replied.
Before Hiroto could protest further, Virelya Arkwright swept in, cloak swirling and armor glinting. "Be quick," she urged. "Last week you were Protector of the Seal. Yesterday, double agent. Today, you're a world‑affecting Variable. They'll fight for your favor."
"I just want to go home," Hiroto muttered, stumbling to his feet. He pulled on his cloak and hat—his universal disguise—and followed Sera and Virelya out into the courtyard.
---
Location: Citadel Courtyard (Mid‑Morning)
The pavilion's courtyard had been transformed into a crossroads of diplomacy: long tables draped in foreign colors lined with seating for dozens of envoys, each with a small placard bearing Hiroto's name in runic, elven, dwarvish, beast‑glyphs, and at least three other languages he didn't recognize.
At the far end, a floral arch adorned with pastel sea‑shells marked the Merfolk line—already armored in fish‑scale mail, their amphibious attendants carrying saltwater goblets.
Hiroto swallowed his dread. "Which one's first?"
Sera pointed to a hulking figure stamping forward: a tall, horned humanoid draped in furs and living vines—an ambassador of the Treant‑Allied Beastfolk.
"Beastfolk," she said. "They think you can commune with nature via your 'Silent Hand.' Which is… odd."
---
Location: Beastfolk Blessing Station
The Beastfolk envoy bowed low, moss flicking from his shoulders. His eyes gleamed with reverence. "Chair‑Sage, we beseech you: grant us your blessing to ensure our herds flourish in balance."
Hiroto blinked. "I… don't speak Beast."
Virelya stepped forward as interpreter. The envoy's words were simple: "We wish you to place your hand upon our sacred yew staff."
Hiroto stared at the staff—gnarled wood as thick as his arm. One accidental break was enough. He swallowed hard. "I'm not… fluent in blessings."
Without waiting for more, the envoy set the staff before Hiroto, who braced himself. He glanced at Virelya and Sera, who offered encouraging nods. Taking a deep breath, he rested his palm on the yew's bark.
The staff glowed faintly, tiny leaves sprouting along its length. The envoy exhaled, wept with joy, and embraced Hiroto's knees. Beastfolk behind cheered, chanting "Silent Hand! Silent Hand!"
Hiroto backed away, heart pounding. "I… did it again."
---
Location: Elven Council Alcove
No sooner had the Beastfolk retreated than delicate song drifted from the next pavilion. A procession of Elven diplomats—tall, slender, eyes like moonlight—glided forward, carrying a ceremonial harp and crystal chalices of dew.
Their lead ambassador, Lady Arindel, inclined her head. "Divine Variable, we of the Sylvan Court request your counsel on the upcoming Harmonic Convergence of the Ancient Trees."
Hiroto rubbed his temples. "I… thought I was done communing with vegetation."
The elves smiled serenely. One placed a silver ring carved with elven runes before him. "Place it on the harp's strings—then let your inner quietude guide the melody."
Hiroto stared at the harp, then at the ring. He hoped a gentle tap wouldn't shatter the instrument. With shaking fingers, he slipped the ring onto the harp's large string and plucked once.
The string resonated with an otherworldly chord—so pure it brought tears to the elves' eyes. They wept softly, embracing one another, murmuring gratitude. "You have saved our trees, O Silent Sage."
Virelya steered Hiroto away. "One more and your head might spin off."
Sera pressed a hydrating potion to his lips. "One more sooner or later."
---
Location: Dwarven Foundation Chamber
At mid‑day, the dwarven delegation—short, stout, and suspicious—marched in, axes at their belts and casks slung over shoulders. Ambassador Baelgrim spat a nugget of coal from his beard.
"Hiroto!" he bellowed. "Dwarves built tunnels, drank ale, fought goblins. Now we build you statues. We require your signature on the Hall of Ancestors foundation stone."
Hiroto nearly keeled over. "Foundation… stone?"
Baelgrim grinned broadly. "Your name carved forever in granite. Will you carve it yourself?"
Hiroto gaped. Virelya intervened: "He can't carve—"
Sera produced a chisel and mallet. "He's going to chisel your name." She handed them to Hiroto.
His mouth went dry. "I… I have no sculpting skill."
The dwarves pressed him to the monolith. With a tiny hammer‑tap, he nicked a rune into the stone. A faint glow pulsed from the nick. The dwarves whooped, chief Baelgrim crowed, "He carves by will alone!"
Hiroto staggered away, chalk dust clinging to his cloak. "No more stones."
---
Location: Merfolk Tide‑Pool Pavilion
By mid‑afternoon, the Merfolk waited at tide‑pools laden with shell‑covered tables. Their amphibious ambassadors approached, singing an underwater greeting that echoed oddly in the open air.
"Protector Hiroto," their leader called, "we bring the Pearl of the Tides—our greatest blessing. Place it upon your brow to seal our alliance."
Hiroto blinked at the pearlescent orb. "My… brow?"
Virelya hissed, "He'll end up crowned in sea‑slime."
He raised the pearl, touching it gingerly to his forehead. A wave of cool calm washed over him. Merfolk cheered, splashing water in celebration.
Hiroto wiped his forehead. "I can't feel my thoughts."
Sera handed him a towel. "Wear it as a token, they said."
---
Location: Behind the Pavilion Tents (Sunset)
At last, as evening shadows lengthened, Hiroto sank onto a battered crate behind the pavilion tents. His cloak was smeared with birch sap, silver dust, coal, and saltwater spray. His head throbbed with the collective hopes of five nations.
Sera poured him a cup of just‑steamed noodles—steam swirling like gentle mist. "Eat. Tomorrow's envoy is from the Sky Riders."
Hiroto closed his eyes and inhaled the noodle broth's simple aroma. "No more envoys. No more rituals." He slurped a noodle, relief flooding his senses.
Virelya leaned against the crate. "Sooner or later, you'll have to return to Solencia. All kingdoms will demand an audience."
Hiroto fished a noodle from the bowl. "Can't I just go home and cook noodles for once?"
Sera patted his shoulder. "Only if you make it official. Then every cook in the land will seek your blessing."
Hiroto groaned, nerves gnarled. "I give up."
He took another bite, chewed slowly, and sighed. Maybe I truly am the world's peacemaker… but at least I can do it on a full stomach.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, banners fluttered overhead, envoys drifted away, and Hiroto sat with his noodles—his only loyal companions in a world that clawed at him with both hope and expectation.
And though every kingdom wanted a piece of him, for one precious evening, he simply ate in peace.