Humility. Hard work. Selflessness. Order.

  These are our core tenets. The pillars upon which our realm stands. We are an industrious species, and have embodied, what each individual in a civilization should strive to be. It is something we have in common with those that call themselves, orcs, weirdly enough.

  Unlike those who perch themselves on loftier planes, blind to the ways of the world, our home is the earth itself, a realm that embodies all our core tenets. Here, we learn. Here, we labor. Here, we craft. Here, we build. Here, we flourish.

  Let no one mistake our modesty for weakness.

  Any who dare set foot upon our beloved kingdom unwelcomed, would meet twenty legions on all four sides, and be devoured whole.

  Many who see our form would run in terror, assuming we are predators. A simple misunderstanding, born of judgment and fear, for our kind is often reviled simply for being. We are judged by simple association to others of our species. A simple, stupid, hateful, act.

  Yes, we can eat flesh, but only out of necessity. We simply get our food from, believe it or not, plants. Our true desires, however, are far more refined: nectar, honey and perhaps tea, biscuits, and that wonderfully delightful chocolate.

  These pleasures, simple and sweet, unfortunately we cannot grow ourselves—curse my sister and her arrogance, gifted with an ability we covet.

  I am a different case, unlike the rest. I do not know whether, I became special, because he chose me, or he chose me, because, I am special.

  The most important part is that, he saw in me, what others could not. He treated me like a daughter, raised me so high that I nearly forgot how the ground feels, metaphorically, of course.

  “Do not let what others say get you down, their opinion doesn’t define your worth or your path.”

  These truths echoed in my mind as clearly as the sound of the name he bestowed upon me the day we first met. A name that resonates through my soul, and through the legions I command.

  And so, I strive, not merely for myself or my children, but to prove his words true: that I can surpass all limitations, that no obstacle may conquer me.

  I am not a monster.

  I am more than an ant.

  I am a queen.

  I am a monarch in his realm.

  “I, am, Invicta.”

  -from the personal accounts of Invicta, Queen Monarch of the Amber Legion, Member of the Dragon’s Crown.

  ========================================================================

  You could hear a pin drop.

  For 10 whole seconds.

  Maybe longer if you counted the collective soul-leaving-body sensation that swept the group. The silence was broken by the stupid, idiotic sound that came from Remy.

  “Uh,”

  That was it?

  Just uh?

  Of all the answers I expected, that was possibly the dumbest.

  Maybe if he suddenly brought out a pair of nunchucks, did some cool flips to assert his dominance, then I might have been impressed, even with the uh.

  “Why would you want to do that?!” my mother asked, rounding on me with a mixture of concern and exasperation.

  Mom knows me too well. On one hand, I might actually start something, small or large, depending on my mood. On the other hand, she was well aware that I had a long and decorated history of easily saying spectacularly unhinged words with a perfectly straight face.

  And I do it as easily as breathing.

  “Nii-san, please.” My brother groaned, dragging each word out like there were chains physically weighing him down. “We just arrived. I am tired, hungry, and sleepy. Keep your craziness for tomorrow, please. Or at least let me rest before you actually start something. I’m too tired to deal with your bullshit for today.”

  Said the same man who slept through an entire flight including the landing. I’m not even sure he was awake when we boarded. Jet lag? I don’t know what that is, never heard of it. I transcend such mortal limitations.

  “What? That was a totally valid question,” I replied while raising an eyebrow.

  What’s with the lack of trust?

  “And even if I do decide to punch him right now, I am confident in my financial capability to pay for the damages and the flight back home. With legroom.” I added casually.

  My mother, bless her heart, responded with a weary growl. The kind that could probably peel wet paint off a drywall, and began rubbing her temples with her free hand. As if she was trying to make me stop, or possibly even erase my existence through sheer force of will.

  It’s either that or the other.

  Remy, for his part, scrambled to come up with an answer. The composure on his face broke slightly. Unfortunately, this person knew what I could do, especially when I wasn’t in the mood to cooperate, let alone behave.

  “Uh… Ahem. But uh—well. You have just arrived, honored guest.” He blurted out, his voice a strange blend of high-pitched formal hospitality and mild panic.

  “I would recommend saving any acts of mischief or violence for a later date. Surely you are tired now and want to rest?” He said, calming down and his disguise snapping back into place. That or he may actually have thought of something so I let him continue.

  “You haven’t even seen or tried the welcome snacks yet. Three flavors of mochi donuts.”

  Meh. I already know what those taste like.

  “We have complimentary soaps and shampoos. Good smelling ones.”

  Toiletries? That was your best follow-up? The best you can come up with? My eyes were still judging him.

  “We even have scented candles, lavender and chamomile, they give off a very soft and soothing floral scent.”

  Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. I love those scents after all.

  “Punching me now,” he said, his tone shifting a bit, his confidence returning. “Would deny you the chance to disrupt the event at a much more appropriate time where you can cause more catastrophe on a higher level.”

  Hmm.

  Tempting, tempting.

  Still, that’s not something you should be saying. And if I heard that correctly, there was a small hint of desperation in his voice.

  I discreetly glanced around and noticed that at this point, most people who went to the toilets had returned.

  “That, and you wouldn’t want to have your family blacklisted from any future events and even the country now, would you?” He finished with self-satisfied authority, like the air of someone who thought he won the argument.

  We both stared at each other. My face was as passive as a clear lake, his, a mixture of smug superiority and anticipation. All eyes and attention were on me now, waiting for my reply.

  I gave it five seconds. Five, generous, benevolent, God-given seconds. I suppose he had his chance.

  I smiled, which caused Remy to shudder.

  Fortunately for him, everyone’s attention was focused on me and no one saw it. Then I opened my mouth, my rebuttal revved up and fully loaded.

  I would make it so incredulous, so outlandish, it would’ve dropped Remy on the floor like a poorly worded sentence in a legal deposition.

  But before I could voice my incredible rebuttal, Remy’s free hand shot up, palm facing towards me while his head hung down.

  It is the universal gesture of “Please, for the love of God and all things holy, please. Stop.”

  All measures of composure were gone, like they never existed. He looked up at me again and sighed as his shoulders slumped. The exhausted kind of sigh, like someone who had finally accepted they were in an unwinnable argument with a goose and needed to rethink their life choices.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  I don’t know if anyone ever won an argument with such an animal, so dear readers, please let me know. I want to know how to win an argument against a goose. For research purposes.

  The rest of the group looked on in a kind of growing collective confusion at our whole interaction.

  “I’ll treat you to chocolate milk tea and some donuts.” He groaned in total defeat.

  “Yes! Thanks Remy, you’re the best!” I said brightly, my free hand pumping back in triumph.

  “Wait,” my brother said as realization slowly set in. “You two know each other?”

  My mother also seemed to have come to the same conclusion, as her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “He’s Paradox29,” I answered casually. My brother’s eyes fully widened at my statement.

  “Guild master!?” he gasped out.

  Remy broke out into a wide smile. It was his first ever genuine smile since addressing the entire group.

  “Hey Wills, nice to finally meet you in person,” Remy said while holding out a fist towards my brother.

  My brother, a bit stars-truck, bumped it back with the reverence a priest would use when touching a holy relic.

  “No need to be so reverent. He’s only 2 years older than me.” I said a bit frivolously, waving away whatever atmosphere was forming between the two.

  Before any of them could answer back, an alarm sounded from the watch Remy was wearing. A high-pitched tone, loud enough to cut through the noise we were making. He checked the watch for the time, before he sighed again. Then Remy glanced at me, then sighed again. That made—what—four sighs? Five? This man sighed a lot today. I wonder why?

  “I am sorry about that small exchange, everyone,” he said, addressing the entire group. “I was going to surprise my friends here, but someone couldn’t wait.”

  He shot me a rather mild stink eye.

  “Surprise schmurise. Who’re you trying to surprise? You’re as tall as a house.” I countered.

  “Fam, you’re as wide as one,” he shot back, instantly reversing my reversal.

  “Oh, shut up Remy,” I replied tiredly, waving my hand dismissively. This time, our light banter got a chuckle from the rest of the group. Some were relieved to find out we weren’t about to fight it out.

  “Alright everyone, it is already 10:30 pm.” He continued, the earlier diplomatic guise gone and was replaced with the real Remington. His tone, even his gestures were now far too casual but that was the Remy I knew.

  “The bus is just outside on the left. There will be names taped on top of the bus seats, so please follow the seating arrangements that have been prepared. I’ll stay here a little while longer in case anyone still wants to—challenge—the bathrooms.”

  And with those words, everyone eagerly grabbed their luggage. Some shouldered backpacks, others pulled suitcases. And yes, there were still a few who decided to try out the toilets as if the earlier people had not served as sufficient warning.

  My mother, visibly calmed upon sensing that the tension was gone, tapped me on the shoulder.

  “We’ll go ahead and look for our seats,” she said before giving Remy a polite nod and a smile. Well, she did register him as a friend of mine and from her perspective I don’t have bad friends or rather, I don’t tend to collect bad friends. Maybe questionable ones. But not bad.

  My brother gave a salute to Remy before leading our mother outside the terminal.

  Remy nodded back, both of them all smiles, ear to ear.

  “Play nice.” Mother added sternly before walking away.

  The hells mom? I always play nice. I am the perfect model of civility. I always respect my opponents. I even say thank you when they lose, or shoot them in the face with rocket launchers.

  Remy covered his mouth with one hand, not out of embarrassment, but to snicker beside me. We were now standing side by side like some off-brand buddy cop duo no one asked for.

  “Shut up. Like you got something to laugh at Mr. Duct-Tape Cardboard Man.” I muttered to him. “And really Remy, I know I taught you a lot of things, but I didn’t think idiocy was one of them.”

  “I was in character alright?! Cut me some slack!” he said defensively.

  “And besides,” He added, his grin shifting into full-on smug mode. “I think you might have rubbed off on me.”

  “That is not something to be proud of,” I retorted proudly. “Only I have the right to be proud of my idiocy. Make up your own.”

  ========================================================================

  The people who went to the bathrooms finished faster than we thought, either they know what they were doing or they took one glance at the proverbial toilets here and retreated. In hindsight, I think they just wanted to take a look at the toilets.

  Those things will be all over the hotel so why bother?

  Remy and I were the last ones to board the bus. We were chatting of course, as anyone might guess, about nonsensical things, like whether pigeons have dialects or which unit to get to avoid getting left behind by the meta in games.

  When I was at the door of the bus, by fate, luck or by design, I found my mother and brother seated like two dignitaries in the front row. The bus is a thirty-seater with a layout of two one side and one on the other.

  The isle was wide enough for my corgis to walk side by side but with just enough leg room so as to not upset the Geneva suggestion.

  My mother had the window seat, all serene and casual like the queen of the bus herself. My brother occupied the aisle seat next to her. He pointed to the vacant window seat on the opposite side. I nodded but wasn’t keen on boarding yet. I had to prepare myself.

  But before I could choose to board or lie on the ground and cry, one person from the group, a girl, all smiles and excitement, came up to the front and declared, “Everyone, we should take a group picture to commemorate this moment!” in Tagalog.

  By. The. Gods. I. Hate. These. People.

  I don’t understand what my countrymen’s obsession with selfies, groupies or whatever new term the western cultural biosphere comes up with. This—compulsive need for documentation—of damn near everything is grating on my dwindling reserves of sanity.

  My mother, who could probably charm the frost off a freezer, gentle and accommodating as always, smiled graciously, which added to her natural beauty. It made her look suspiciously wrinkle-free and more than ten years younger for someone who was in her late forties.

  My brother on the other hand, had a smile that looks like cracked glass.

  No.

  Wait.

  Confused and clueless, shattered glass—the kind of glass that was unsure how it ended up on display. Then again, people can nail a banana on a wall and charge extra so there might be something to it.

  Well, he is on the front row seat and technically in the middle of the bus. Then the traitorous bastard got the girl's attention and pointed at me. The girl, for her part, turned around, smiled, and bade me come over.

  I turned my head to look at Remy. Remy looked back at me.

  For ten seconds, we stared at each other, a titanic battle of wills.

  One of us would have to break. One becomes the person who is meant to be at the front of the picture.

  The other would win eternal glory.

  However, before a victor could be decided, Mother spoke up first.

  “You can leave those two alone. If they do not want to be in the picture, we can easily leave them out,” mom said softly. “Let’s not let the killjoys ruin our fun.”