I glanced at the poor guy.

  He was holding himself together by… friction alone.

  His knuckles were white around a ledger, his jaw clenched so hard his molars were probably filing each other down, and the only reason he hadn’t collapsed into a historical-protection meltdown was because, miracle of miracles… nothing was broken yet.

  Not even dented.

  But the priests were hauling relics like they were moving apartments.

  A golden idol was placed into a crate carefully, yes, but stacked with another. A thousand-year-old runic scroll got stacked between two candlesticks.

  The custodian’s eye twitched every time something clinked.

  “You know what?” I said brightly. His soul flinched. I grinned. “Mister custodian, there’s a reception room, right?”

  He blinked at me, confusion first… then understanding… then dawning horror. “You… your guests… will break it,” he whispered, voice thin as parchment.

  “So… that’s a no?” I deflated, pouting. “I really wanted you to explain these items to guests. And I even have some I could donate. And Yuki would chat with you for hours; she’d love that.”

  He motioned helplessly toward Dhriti, who was currently scrubbing the floor like she was trying to erase the previous administration out of existence. “That is why we had a trophy room here. A safe place to display the history of Altandai. Artifacts from dozens of regimes. It preserved continuity.”

  “And these barbarians,” I pointed at the priests, one was balancing an ancient ceremonial vase on his shoulder, “are tearing that away. Worse than the Grandmasters.”

  The custodian stiffened so hard his spine almost cracked. “The Grandmasters,” he said tightly, “kept the history. They added to it. Even during tyranny, they honored the legacy. You… we should do the same. Yuki, whoever she is, would… probably approve.”

  “You can still stop them,” he added quickly, a flicker of desperate hope in his eyes. “We don’t need to turn this into—”

  “It’s the best place for it,” Dhriti said cheerfully. “At least for now! People need to know they’re dealing with a goddess.”

  The custodian blinked once and then nodded with reverence, like I’d just solved theology by existing. “Of course,” he said, bowing to me. “Naturally. Although Altandai was the holy city of the Goddess of Duty.”

  I blinked. “That must be some random minor goddess?”

  His lips trembled. “She isn’t considered… particularly strong… no. But she is a goddess.” He cast a terrified glance upward, as if lightning might smite him for tone.

  “Yeah, well, me too, so who cares,” I muttered, scanning the room. “HEY GUYS! We need to take down another temple!”

  Dhriti’s head snapped up, horrified. “But—it’s smaller! Your temple needs to be—”

  “Temples can be rearranged,” the custodian interrupted with surprising firmness. “If you tear down… I mean, sacrifice all existing shrines, you can join four into one large unified temple.”

  Dhriti stared at him, mouth open. For a long moment she didn’t breathe. “WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO?!” she yelled, scandalized. “Guys! You heard the man!”

  The priests immediately set down the relics and sprinted toward the hallways, chanting excitedly about “optimal sacrificial architecture.”

  And as I watched them go, I realized something important. I had made a mistake. I always expected people to be super competent. Honest. Clear-thinking. At least Lola-adjacent in brains and adorable professionalism.

  But people weren’t Lola.

  People made mistakes.

  Like tearing down a trophy room to install my temple…

  …instead of desecrating an actual temple dedicated to a random minor goddess.

  I stared as two priests tried to lift a marble statue through a doorway that was too small, arguing geometry like drunk engineers.

  Yep.

  Big mistake.

  “Leave everything where it is. No more tearing it down!” I commanded, planting my hands on my hips. The priests froze mid-step like I’d hit them with a stun spell. Then, as one, they saluted and bolted after Dhriti. “Tell her not to touch anything before I inspect it!”

  “Yes, Queen!” they yelled back in unison, voices already fading down the hallway.

  The custodian did a slow sweep of the now-empty room, looking like a man expecting a second wave of chaos to crash through the stained-glass windows. “You… stopped them,” he said, astonished. Like the idea that I could stop Dhriti’s cult-energy hadn’t been on his bingo card.

  “I’m stupid,” I grunted, dragging a hand down my face. “Still riding high on the victory, I let her do whatever she wanted. I even agreed!” I complained loudly, right as Lola finally caught up. “You should have stopped me! As the guy said, the trophy room’s important!”

  Lola blinked, caught off guard. “I could’ve, but there are so many things happening now that I—”

  “No, Lola!” I slapped my cheek lightly. “Should’ve said, Bad Charlie! This was my mistake. They started doing it as if it were already part of the plan, and I just went with it. Do you know why that’s not correct Queen behavior?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Lola opened her mouth, hesitated, then stepped closer. “Proper Queen behavior,” she said gently, “is exactly what you just showed. Humility. Correction. Preserving what matters to you and your people. Even if it took you a moment to realize it.”

  She smiled, small but warm, like a barman lighting a candle. “A bad queen would’ve doubled down. Or blamed someone else. You did neither.”

  The custodian watched us as if he were witnessing a rare celestial event.

  “If I may, Your Majesty…” he began cautiously. “As you may have noticed, I am also of elven descent. I have served under many grandmasters. Each believed themselves infallible. Each refused counsel once their minds were set.”

  Right. He was an elf, just not the fancy type. More… museum-elf with PTSD. He glanced at the rescued relics, then back at me. “You are the first ruler I’ve seen who stopped mid-action to ask, ‘is this right?’ Most demolish first… then hire scholars later to justify it.”

  “Yeah…” I muttered, rubbing my neck. “Look, I just wanna do what’s cool and the best, okay?”

  The custodian’s stiff expression softened, barely, but it was there. Not a smile, but a thaw. “Then you will need people who remember what ‘best’ looked like before,” he whispered. “And what happened when leaders forgot.” He gestured to the crates, history wrapped up like stolen luggage. “These artifacts aren’t trophies. They are reminders. Of what worked… what failed… and what should never be repeated.”

  I scratched my head, feeling the weight settle like a cold stone. “So… you’re saying I need a museum curator who doubles as a ‘don’t be an idiot’ consultant?”

  “I believe the traditional title in elven kingdoms is Keeper of Records,” he replied, and for the first time, a ghost of humor flickered across his face. “But yes. That approximates the role I had as the custodian.”

  Lola’s eyes brightened. “Lady, he’s right. Every stable kingdom has an institutional memory. Someone who knows what came before.”

  “And someone,” the custodian added delicately, “who will alert you when your priests are on the verge of demolishing the wrong temple.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, okay. You’re hired. Or… appointed? What’s the word?”

  “Retained,” Lola said smoothly.

  “That!” I pointed at him like I’d chosen a winner at a raffle. “You’re retained. Keep doing… whatever you were doing. Just with more ‘hey Queen, that’s a bad idea’ included.”

  He bowed deeply again, but this time with less fear. When he straightened, his shoulders had finally eased. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty.”

  “Yuki is on her way,” Lola said as I heard excited steps behind me. Running steps. “When I told her we have, uh,” her steps were too excited and too fast.

  “Queen! YES!” Yuki shrieked from down the hall. “TROPHY ROOM! HISTORY!”

  I barely had time to turn before she came barreling in like an academic missile. She saw the crates, gasped, and tried to brake… by summoning three tiny mirrors in front of her like improvised airbags.

  They shattered instantly.

  She stopped anyway.

  Then she flopped onto the ground in a tragic heap. “Outchie… I apologize—”

  I walked over and flicked a quick heal at her. “Yuki, Yuki…”

  But she was already pushing up on her elbows, scanning the mountain of artifacts with the manic reverence of someone witnessing forbidden knowledge. “Is… is this what I think it is?” she whispered, voice trembling like she’d just walked into a museum after hours.

  I grabbed her by the forearms, hauled her to her feet, and shoved her gently toward the custodian. “Yuki, meet the custodian. He’s like… uh…”

  “Keeper of Altandai’s history,” the custodian said, stepping forward with the first genuine, non-horrified expression I’d seen on his face. He clasped Yuki’s hand. “And if your enthusiasm is any indication… you might be the first person in decades who actually wants to understand it.”

  Yuki’s eyes widened, ears perking so high they nearly bent backwards. “You have records? Documentation? Provenance?!”

  “Centuries worth,” he said, pride creeping into his voice as if someone had finally told him his life’s work mattered. “Every artifact catalogued. Every ruler’s contribution noted. Even—” he shot a glare toward the crates “—those currently being manhandled by very enthusiastic clergy.”

  “Oh-my-lore,” Yuki breathed, clutching her chest like this was a religious experience. “I need to see everything. The classification methods, the preservation enchantments, the cross-referencing system—wait.” She glanced around. “Lola said… Do you have the original Sun-Fox artifact? The one from the White Dragon Grandmaster?”

  The custodian actually smiled. Like, fully smiled. Teeth and everything. “I do. And if you promise not to sprint through priceless artifacts again, I would be honored to show you.”

  Yuki grabbed both his hands and bounced in place like a science fair winner hopped up on sugar. “I promise! I super promise! I’ll be so careful you won’t even know I’m there!”

  The custodian eyed her with long-suffering elven foresight. “…Somehow,” he said dryly, “I doubt that.” But he looked delighted anyway, and he approached one of the ornament cabinets he didn’t let priests touch yet and opened the drawer.

  Even through the protective wrappings, a faint radiance seeped out, alive, like a bottled sunset trying to escape.

  “The Sun Fox’s Twilight Paw,” he murmured, peeling away the preservation cloth layer by layer. With each fold he removed made the glow deepen… like dusk was blooming in the room. And then the last layer fell. Light spilled across the crates and the marble floor, not blinding, but warm.

  I willed to inspect it, and a notification flickered at the edge of my vision:

  It looked like a fox’s paw, except it wasn’t fur so much as strands of light. Not a metaphor. Actual light, layered and woven, each hair moving in a breeze that didn’t exist.

  Yuki made a noise that was half gasp, half religious meltdown. Her hand twitched forward before she caught herself, trembling. Lola brushed her shoulder with mine, and I couldn’t help smiling. Yuki excited was genuinely heart-warmingly adorable. “It’s just like the story,” Yuki whispered. “Light woven, not severed. Back in the pub, he was telling the truth.”

  The custodian spoke softly, eyes on the relic. “The First Grandmaster claimed he severed it in battle,” he said. “The legend states he defeated the Sun Fox at North River, banished it, and took this as proof.”

  His voice got quieter.

  “But this relic has no bone. No flesh. No blood has ever stained the wrappings.” His hand hovered just above it, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth. “Only light. Dense and woven. As if the Sun Fox simply… left a piece of itself behind.”

  “A gift,” Yuki whispered.

  “Or a promise,” the custodian replied. “Scholars have debated for centuries. Some say it’s a fragment of the Fox’s dying domain. Others argue it was willingly given… a piece of its magic for someone worthy to find. The First Grandmaster built his legend on ‘defeating’ the Sun Fox,” he said. “But what if he didn’t defeat it at all? What if the Fox simply… chose to leave?”

  The relic pulsed, a soft heartbeat of gold and dusk, and something tugged inside my chest. I drew a slow breath. “Yuki,” I said quietly, “I think we have your quest.”