A few years in the past.

  Tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap… Over and over. His face propped on his right hand, his left drumming incessantly on the armrest of the throne, the king waited, impatient. Screams of agony echoed through the grand royal hall.

  The king’s expression was one of utter annoyance.

  “Why does that wretched woman have to scream so loud? I can’t believe a mage of her caliber doesn’t have a spell to dull childbirth pains. I knew she was useless.”

  In the royal chamber, the kingdom’s mage was giving birth to her first child. Her long red hair was drenched in sweat, as was her entire body. Beside her, assistants held her hands, while the royal midwife cast spells to ensure the child emerged without complications.

  “Lady Lanthis, it’ll be fine! You’re the strongest woman in this kingdom, don’t worry. Now, breathe… release… breathe… let’s go!”

  “AHHHHH! Damn King Balthier! A thousand times damned! AHHHH!”

  “Calm down, my lady! If the king hears you…”

  “To hell if he hears me! AHHHHH! I’m his mage, not some courtesan to bear his children! AHHHH!”

  “Breathe, my lady! She’s almost here! Come on, focus your soma now!”

  “AHHHHH!”

  Lanthis Van Brieghtr, the most powerful mage known in the Kingdom of Freidhor, the desert realm, had struck a pact with King Balthier Vein Derk to bring forth the mightiest heir to the throne. The child was meant to inherit the mother’s magical prowess and the father’s prestigious class, destined to restore the desert kingdom to its days of glory.

  At least, that’s what Lanthis believed…

  The pact came about after the king’s wife died without producing an heir. The former queen was frail, plagued by a disease that prevented her soma from regenerating like a normal person’s.

  For years, King Balthier tried to convince Lanthis that bearing his child was the right move, that it would revive the kingdom she’d served for over a century.

  Reluctantly, one day, she agreed.

  Though their relationship was far from ideal, Lanthis felt she owed it to the kingdom that had given her so much.

  Now, holding her daughter in her arms, watching the tiny hand grip her finger, the pointed ears twitching, and those large, radiant eyes gazing at her serenely, something shifted inside Lanthis. She felt something far greater than a mother’s love for her child. She knew this child was special. Far more special than a mere perfect heir.

  The child, despite her mother’s red hair, was born with light hair, like an elf of Nineveh. Something unheard of—but, luckily for the mage, neither the king nor his people noticed this detail.

  “Mage, hand me my child, now!”

  “Stay back, Balthier! I won’t let you…”

  “SILENCE, MAGE! I AM THE KING! THIS CHILD IS MINE!”

  “My lady… please…”

  Her servant gently took the child from her arms and handed her to the king, who glared at the infant with disdain.

  “Ugh! This brat won’t stop crying! Take it back! I don’t want to see her again until she can walk and talk like a real person.”

  “You worm!”

  “Argh… And she inherited those indecent ears from your kind… pathetic. Let’s hope she grows up powerful at least.”

  …

  When Amy and Jay returned, the scent of dust and magic still lingered in the air, an echo of the recent battle. The house, though still standing, looked like it had weathered an earthquake. The door’s wood was splintered, shelves had toppled, and the rug seemed to have tried escaping on its own—half-trapped under the crooked folding screen.

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  But none of that mattered now. Because in the center of the room, mouth agape and paws trembling, Layla stared at the newly awakened elf with eyes wide in pure scandal.

  “YOU WOKE UP!!” the cat-girl shrieked, leaping with a feline mix of excitement and panic in equal measure. “You’re alive! I mean… really alive! And standing! And with… eyes! And clothes! And you’re looking back at me? HELP, SHE’S LOOKING BACK AT ME, MEOWWW!”

  The elf, perched on the edge of the makeshift mattress behind the screen, merely tilted her head slightly. Her cerulean eyes—large, silent, attentive—tracked every movement of the cat-girl as if observing an exotic creature that spoke far too loudly.

  She wore a white, thin, crumpled nightgown that Layla had hastily picked out, paired with Jay’s dark cloak, used for chilly nights. Her pointed ears peeked softly through her loose, greenish, almost white hair, disheveled as if the breeze had combed half of it and forgotten the rest.

  Amy raised an eyebrow at the scene.

  “Oh, no… no, no, no!” She took two steps forward, crossed her arms, and narrowed her eyes. “I waited for an ancient elf! A mystic warrior! Maybe even a priestess with glowing eyes! And the Myriads punish me with… a loli?”

  Jay let out a loud sigh.

  “That’s exactly why I kept her hidden from you.”

  “This is an insult to my efforts!” Amy pointed theatrically at the elf, who blinked slowly, serene. “I went through a hell of a fight against a bizarre dimensional creature, you saw it! And all to protect a… quiet little girl with a soft voice?”

  “She hasn’t even spoken yet.”

  “That makes it even worse.”

  Layla, bouncing on the cushions, looked at Amy with a sly grin, counting on her fingers.

  “You’re just mad ‘cause she’s not one of those long-black-haired elves, all archer with a leather corset, shirt falling off the shoulder, short skirt, thigh-high boots, and a face that says ‘I hunt dragons before breakfast,’ right?”

  Amy furrowed her brow, defensive, as if caught reading forbidden poetry.

  “That’s an unfair stereotype!” she shot back, raising her nose. “I appreciate elves in all their forms… but come on, couldn’t she at least be majestic?”

  “You wanted an ancient elven goddess. You got a silent sweetie who’s barely five feet tall.”

  “Four feet nine,” Amy corrected reflexively, then sighed. “I’ll need to recalibrate my dreams. Maybe… with a black tiara… No, that won’t work.”

  The elf blinked slowly at Amy, as if she understood nothing—or everything—and simply chose not to respond.

  Then, in a low, sweet voice, almost a breeze between words:

  “Thank you… for protecting me.”

  Jay stepped closer, gentle.

  “You’re okay now. You’re safe. Rest. We won’t rush you.”

  She nodded shyly and fell silent again for hours, as if every thought required a ritual before becoming words.

  Jay asked Amy and Layla to give her some space but keep an eye on her. Amy, arms crossed, leaned against a lopsided shelf, muttering to herself about elves and shattered expectations. Layla tried offering the elf random items: a shiny feather, a caramelized nut, a colored glass bead. Each time, the elf merely looked with faint interest… and declined with an almost ceremonial wave.

  Jay, meanwhile, went to the kitchen corner, cleared the debris, repositioned the old stone oven, and began the holiest ritual of that household: cooking.

  With a calm that seemed from another world, he lit the magical fire with a sigil traced in the air and a snap of his fingers—just enough to keep the flame alive and low. He started by searing venison in an iron skillet. The sizzle was immediate, followed by the smoky aroma of fat browning.

  While the meat sweated in the heat, he sliced black onions into thin, almost translucent petals. He tossed them in with the meat alongside crisp, colorful peppers. He grabbed a handful of chestnuts, crushed them with the side of his knife, and scattered them into the mix. Finally, he opened a bottle of thick, bitter black beer and poured it in, the liquid bubbling around the meat like a liquid enchantment. When the sauce reduced a bit, the final touch: a golden concentrate of yellow slime, adding shine, texture, and a sweet, almost citrusy flavor to the dish.

  The house, despite its damage, filled with life again.

  And for the first time since the battle, everything felt quietly at peace.

  ...