Akitsu Shouga did not linger.

  The moment the duel ended and the elf chief turned away, Akitsu slipped back into motion—quiet, instinctive, as though remaining any longer would allow something fragile inside him to crack.

  The weight returned to his bones all at once.

  Exhaustion hit him like a delayed wound. His shoulders tightened, breath turning shallow and uneven, legs suddenly aware of every impact they had endured. His steps were controlled—but heavier than before.

  Seraphine Orion floated beside him, wings barely stirring the air. She was unusually silent.

  “You’re tired,” she said at last.

  Akitsu nodded faintly. “Hungry too.”

  The white-haired girl clutched his sleeve with small fingers, walking close to his side. Frost no longer crept from her feet. The cold that once followed her like a shadow had withdrawn completely. Whatever fear she had felt earlier had settled into something quieter.

  Trust.

  They moved through the tundra unseen.

  Akitsu avoided open paths, leapt between higher branches, timed his movements between patrols and sightlines. His body remembered how to vanish. No elf noticed the human slipping through their sacred trees.

  When the massive tree with the hollow doorframe finally came into view, Akitsu slowed.

  The wood looked unchanged—ancient, scarred, alive. The bark bore countless marks of time, but the doorway remained, as if patiently waiting.

  He stepped through.

  The cold vanished.

  Green swallowed him whole.

  The lively forest breathed around him—warm air pressing against his skin, chirring insects weaving invisible patterns of sound, leaves rustling softly overhead. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in shifting gold.

  Akitsu staggered slightly, one hand braced against the bark.

  “…I forgot how loud this place is,” he muttered.

  Seraphine smiled faintly. “That means you’re alive.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Hunger gnawed sharply now—deep, insistent. Akitsu searched the undergrowth, parting low shrubs, scanning mossy ground and tangled vines.

  Nothing.

  Only berries.

  “…Figures,” he murmured.

  Seraphine knelt and wove vines together, fingers moving quickly and confidently. Branches bent and snapped into place without resistance, forming a simple wooden basket reinforced with roots.

  “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “At least you won’t drop them.”

  Akitsu filled it slowly—red, blue, dark purple. He stared at the gathered fruit for a moment, expression unreadable.

  “Let’s go back,” he said.

  Elsewhere — Beneath the Temple

  While Akitsu gathered berries beneath a living canopy, the elf chief walked through the heart of Soren Village.

  He entered the discussion chamber beneath the temple—roots forming its walls, ancient symbols glowing faintly in the wood. Four figures waited for him, exactly as he had expected.

  The guardians.

  Irina, the Fire Guardian, sat cross-legged atop a stone platform, flames flickering lazily around her hands. Despite her youthful appearance, her eyes were sharp. Sixty years old—young for an elf, reckless, powerful.

  Beside her stood the Water Guardian, Naelith, tall and composed, long blue-green hair tied back neatly. Moisture clung to the air around her, calm but ever-present.

  Leaning against a pillar of living stone was the Earth Guardian, Tharok, broad-shouldered, skin marked with earthen patterns that pulsed faintly. His jaw was clenched even before the chief spoke.

  Hovering slightly above the ground was the Wind Guardian, Aerisyl, light-footed and quiet, pale hair drifting as though caught in a constant breeze. Her gaze was distant, unreadable.

  The elf chief stopped at the center of the chamber.

  “As of today,” he said calmly, “a human will reside within Soren Village.”

  Silence followed.

  Irina blinked. “A human?”

  Naelith’s eyes narrowed slightly. “…You allowed this?”

  Aerisyl tilted her head, wind stirring faintly around her.

  Tharok straightened.

  “…No,” the Earth Guardian said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

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  The chief met his gaze without flinching.

  “They are under my protection,” the chief continued. “You are not to harm them. You are not to provoke them. You are not to interfere.”

  Irina frowned but nodded. “If you say so, Chief.”

  Naelith hesitated—then inclined her head. “I will obey.”

  Aerisyl gave a soft, unreadable smile. “The wind carries all things eventually.”

  Tharok’s fists clenched.

  “This is wrong,” he growled. “Humans destroy. They always have.”

  “They also endure,” the chief replied. “As you will.”

  Tharok said nothing more—but his eyes burned with restrained fury.

  They returned through the hollow doorframe.

  The tundra greeted them again—quiet, pale, endless.

  Akitsu leapt into the trees, basket secured to his back. His movements were slower now. Fatigue tugged at his limbs, demanding payment.

  Then—

  CRACK.

  A stone arrow tore past his face, close enough to stir his hair.

  Akitsu twisted mid-air, landing on a branch in one smooth motion.

  He turned.

  An elf stood on a neighboring tree, skin marked with earthen patterns, eyes sharp and burning. Stone hovered around his hands, orbiting like obedient moons.

  Seraphine inhaled sharply. “One of the guardians…”

  The elf snarled. “Human.”

  Akitsu straightened. “I don’t want trouble.”

  “You exist,” the elf snapped. “That is trouble.”

  He launched forward.

  Stone hardened around his fists as he attacked mid-air, forcing Akitsu to dodge between branches. The confined space limited footing—but not clarity.

  Akitsu ducked beneath a stone fist, pivoted, and punched the elf square in the face.

  The impact cracked bark.

  The guardian flew backward, slamming into a trunk, stone shattering off him.

  Akitsu landed lightly and said evenly,

  “Elves and humans are both living beings. Why can’t you accept that?”

  The elf staggered upright, blood at his lip, eyes blazing.

  “Because you humans kill animals!” he roared. “You slaughter forests! You even killed my mother—centuries ago!”

  Akitsu didn’t flinch.

  “…Centuries ago?” he repeated quietly.

  “Yes!”

  Akitsu exhaled.

  “Why fight over something that happened centuries ago?” he asked calmly. “Can’t you let go of the grudge?”

  The elf rushed again—wild, furious.

  Akitsu stepped aside and struck once—precise, controlled.

  The elf collapsed to one knee, gasping.

  Akitsu placed Rosary near his throat.

  “You still want to fight?” he asked softly. “…I’ll kill you if you don’t stop.”

  The elf froze.

  Akitsu withdrew his blade, turned away, and leapt off toward the village.

  No further arrows followed.

  The tree house lights glowed faintly when Akitsu returned.

  He climbed in quietly.

  Kael Ardent looked up immediately. “You’re back.”

  Akitsu handed him the katana. “Here.”

  Kael took it, relief flashing across his face. “You’re alive.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Vale stared at him, eyes wide. “You went alone…?”

  Akitsu set the basket down. “Found food.”

  They sat together, sharing the berries. Hunger dulled the bitterness, softened the edges of the day.

  Kael glanced at him. “What happened?”

  “It went well,” Akitsu said simply. “The chief will let us stay for a while.”

  Vale froze.

  “…He will?”

  “Yes.”

  She whispered, “He never goes easy on humans…”

  The little girl climbed onto Akitsu’s lap and tugged his sleeve.

  “Ayaka.”

  Akitsu blinked. “…Is that your name?”

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  “…Ayaka,” he repeated.

  Vale sat back slowly. “Tell me… what happened before you came here.”

  Akitsu and Kael exchanged a glance.

  Then they told her everything.

  When they finished, Vale’s hands trembled.

  “…That’s… horrible.”

  Kael smiled faintly. “We’ll leave soon. After a few days.”

  Akitsu nodded. “We’re heading to the neighboring kingdom.”

  Vale looked relieved—and sad.

  “…Then rest,” she said softly. “While you can.”

  Outside, the tundra wind whispered.

  Watching.