Cassandra had always hated the moment before a prophecy became clear.
The dream itself was frightening, of course.
Anyone would be afraid after seeing blood, collapsing floors, monsters waiting behind corners, or people they knew walking toward places they would never return from.
But the worst part was the hazy moment before the vision sharpened, when fear gathered without a proper shape and her heart already understood that something terrible was coming while her mind had not yet been forced to understand the details.
Standing in the underground testing room with the Zanpakutō in her hands felt exactly like that.
Her fingers wrapped around the scabbard, but the room was already slipping away from her senses.
The stone floor beneath her feet, Daphne's worried presence behind her, and Rayleigh's steady gaze nearby all faded until only the cold touch of the sword remained.
It did not feel like ordinary chill.
It reached deeper than her skin, brushing against the part of her that had always dreamed too much.
When Cassandra opened her eyes, she was standing in Apollo Familia's home.
At first, the familiar corridor should have comforted her.
The lamps were warm, the polished walls reflected the wealth Apollo loved so much, and somewhere in the distance she could hear faint laughter from the main hall. But the longer she stood there, the more wrong it felt.
There were no footsteps, no servants moving through the halls, and no Daphne waiting nearby to scold her for spacing out.
"Daphne-san?"
Her voice sounded smaller than she wanted.
No answer came.
Cassandra moved forward carefully, passing doors that should not have been connected to one another.
Her room, the dining hall, the courtyard, the training grounds, and the hallway near Apollo's chamber all appeared one after another, as if the mansion had been rearranged by someone who understood the shape of her memories but not the logic behind them.
The last door opened into Orario.
She stepped through and found herself in front of Hephaestus Weapon Shop during the day, surrounded by adventurers laughing, shouting, and pressing toward the entrance.
It was not exactly the same as the scene she had visited with Daphne, but she recognized the feeling immediately.
The crowd was too loud, too eager, and far too careless around something they did not understand.
A man she did not know shoved one of the shop guards aside.
"I'm strong enough! I don't need some stupid paperwork!"
Someone else laughed and called out, "Let him try! If the sword kills him, at least we'll get a good story out of it!"
Cassandra reached out before she could stop herself.
"No, don't..."
No one heard her.
The scene shifted, and she found herself inside the testing room, watching a challenger grip the Zanpakutō with both hands.
She could not see his face clearly, only the greed in the way his fingers dug against the scabbard and the stubborn set of his shoulders as Rayleigh warned him to let go.
The man ignored him and drew the blade anyway.
Mist spread across the room.
Daphne shouted and grabbed Cassandra's arm, but the sound warped before reaching her ears.
The challenger screamed, blood splashed across white cloth, and Rayleigh moved so quickly that Cassandra only saw the aftermath: the sword sealed again, the man collapsed on the ground, and everyone staring at the blade as if they had finally remembered that a living weapon could hate someone back.
Cassandra pressed both hands over her mouth.
The worst part was not even the blood. It was the knowledge that she had seen enough to stop this and still almost stayed in bed because she was tired of being ignored.
The room dissolved again, and this time Daphne stood in front of her with crossed arms and an expression so familiar that Cassandra nearly ran to her on instinct.
"Honestly, Cassandra, if you're going to sneak out in the middle of the night, at least pick shoes that don't make you look like a runaway ghost."
Cassandra froze.
"Daphne-san?"
"What? Why are you looking at me like I grew a second head?"
Relief crashed into her so suddenly that her eyes stung.
She took one step forward, but Daphne's expression softened into something sad before she could reach her.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
Cassandra stopped.
"I did."
"You whispered, apologized, and then gave up the moment someone frowned at you."
The words were not cruel, but they slipped past every defense Cassandra tried to raise.
"That's not fair..."
"Isn't it?"
Daphne's voice remained gentle, which somehow made it harder to endure.
"You always say no one believes you, and most of the time, you're right. But sometimes you stop before they even have the chance to try. You hide behind the curse because pushing until someone finally hears you hurts too much."
Cassandra shook her head.
"I tried. I always tried."
"I know."
Daphne stepped closer and placed a hand against her cheek.
"That's why it hurts, doesn't it?"
Cassandra's lips trembled.
The warmth of Daphne's hand felt so real that she almost forgot this was a trial, and that only made the pain sharper.
"You're not Daphne-san."
"No," the dream-Daphne said softly. "But you still wanted her to say this."
Cassandra lowered her head.
That was unfair.
The sword was digging into places she had avoided looking at for years, pulling out thoughts she hated because they sounded too close to the truth.
"I'm scared," Cassandra whispered. "I don't want to be brave. I just want someone to believe me first, before I have to stand there and beg them to listen."
Daphne looked at her with the same sad gentleness.
"And if no one does?"
Cassandra could not answer.
The question followed her as the scene changed.
...
Rayleigh watched Cassandra from the real testing room and rubbed his thumb against the side of the weapon stand.
She had gone pale almost immediately after touching the sword, and her breathing had become uneven enough that Daphne looked ready to start yelling at either him or the blade.
Possibly both.
Considering the circumstances, Rayleigh could not even blame her.
Still, Cassandra had not tried to draw the sword, had not attempted to force it open, and had not dropped it in panic.
That alone put her far ahead of Hyakinthos in terms of compatibility, which was both impressive and a little depressing.
'Imagine losing a trial to a terrified girl in nightclothes. If Hyakinthos ever finds out, his pride might need a healer!'
Daphne stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Cassandra.
"She's shaking, Rayleigh. I know you said this thing isn't trying to kill her, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm not comforted by the standards of a man who forges swords with personalities."
Rayleigh gave the sword in Cassandra's hands a sideways look.
"To be fair, I don't personally choose their personalities. If I did, I would have requested fewer brats, fewer sadists, and at least one child who says thank you after I polish their blade."
"That is somehow even less reassuring."
"I know. I heard it after saying it."
Daphne looked at him as if she wanted to grab him by the collar and shake useful answers out of him.
Rayleigh sighed and let the humor fade from his voice.
"She's in the deeper part of the trial now. That means the sword is no longer only testing whether she can endure fear. It's asking what she intends to do with the things she sees. If her condition turns dangerous, I'll pull her out, even if Yumeutsutsu hates me for it later."
Daphne caught the name at once.
"Yumeutsutsu?"
Rayleigh paused.
"Ah. So that's his name."
"You didn't know?"
"Of course not! I'm the one who forged him, not the one he chose. A Zanpakutō's name belongs to its wielder first."
Daphne stared at him, then looked back at Cassandra with a complicated expression.
"So you're telling me she's currently inside a spiritual trial with a sword whose name you only just learned, whose personality you admit is probably terrible, and whose power you only partly understand."
Rayleigh considered the summary.
"When you put it like that, it sounds irresponsible."
"It is irresponsible!"
"In my defense, if I waited until every Zanpakutō was safe, polite, and fully documented, I would never sell a single one."
Daphne opened her mouth, probably to deliver a very well-deserved complaint, but Cassandra suddenly moved slightly and whispered something too faint for either of them to hear.
Rayleigh's eyes narrowed.
The trial was changing again.
...
Cassandra was standing before Apollo now.
The god sat in his hall, beautiful as always, his smile bright enough to make the people around him forget how heavy his attention could become.
Apollo Familia's members stood on both sides, their gazes fixed on Cassandra as though she had stepped into the center of a stage without permission.
Apollo smiled at her.
"My Cassandra, did you dream of something beautiful again?"
Cassandra's hands tightened at her sides.
"No. I dreamed of something frightening."
"How lovely."
Her heart sank.
That answer was so familiar it almost made her laugh, though there was nothing funny about it.
Apollo leaned forward with shining eyes, already turning her fear into something poetic inside his head.
"Fear can be beautiful too, you know. A trembling soul standing before destiny, the delicate moment before despair becomes revelation... ah, how wonderful."
Something in Cassandra's chest tightened until the words came out before she could swallow them.
"No."
The hall quieted.
Apollo blinked.
Cassandra's voice trembled, but she forced herself to continue before fear dragged her back into silence.
"It isn't beautiful. Being afraid isn't beautiful! Watching people die before it happens isn't beautiful. Telling people and having them laugh isn't beautiful!"
Her voice rose with each sentence.
The members of Apollo Familia stared.
Apollo's smile softened in the way he used when he thought someone was being delicate.
"Cassandra—"
"PLEASE DON'T CALL IT BEAUTIFUL!"
The shout tore out of her throat so rawly that even she startled herself.
Apollo's expression changed.
For once, he did not immediately answer.
Cassandra stood there shaking from head to toe.
She had never shouted at Apollo like that, had never even imagined doing it, and the part of her trained by years inside his Familia wanted to apologize until her throat gave out.
But this was a dream, a trial, and maybe she was tired enough to finally say what she had swallowed for so long.
"I don't want my fear to be a decoration," she said, her voice quieter now but still unsteady. "I don't want my dreams to become a story someone else gets to enjoy. I don't want people to die while someone stands nearby and calls it tragic."
The hall faded around her, and nothing punished her for saying it.
That surprised her more than anything.
...
In the real world, Cassandra suddenly shouted.
"PLEASE DON'T CALL IT BEAUTIFUL!"
Her voice echoed through the testing room, and Daphne nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Cassandra!"
Rayleigh raised his eyebrows.
"Well, that was unexpected."
Daphne whipped around.
"Is she okay?!"
"She might actually be doing better than before."
"How does shouting inside a damn sword dream mean better?"
Rayleigh opened his mouth, paused, and decided he needed to phrase this like a normal person rather than a sword-obsessed lunatic.
He was not entirely sure he succeeded most days, but effort mattered.
"Fear makes her shrink," he said. "That shout means she's starting to push back. The sword isn't only scaring her now. It's making her confront the things she normally swallows, which is unpleasant, invasive, and exactly the kind of thing I would scold him for if he had a face right now."
Daphne gave him a sharp look.
"You sound like you're defending him and threatening him at the same time."
"That's parenting!"
"That is not parenting!"
"It might explain why my swords keep turning out like this."
Daphne stared at him for a second, then looked away with the expression of someone who refused to laugh because the situation was too serious and Rayleigh did not deserve the satisfaction.
Rayleigh wisely pretended not to notice.