"Explain it to me, Havil. But make sure your tongue doesn't lie."
Her voice was soft. Too soft. Like a mother singing a lullaby… right before driving a dagger into her child's heart.
Havil Firlone knelt in the center of the grand chamber, swallowed by darkness. Velvet curtains sealed off every hint of light, and black-embroidered walls embraced the silence like a coffin that refused to be opened. The air was thick, pressing against his chest—each breath felt like it cost a life.
He bowed deeply. "That's what happened, my Lady," he whispered, his voice nearly drowned by fear. "Sylphia managed to awaken her spirit… then vanished."
Silence struck—cold and sharp, like midnight fog creeping into the bones.
"Not only did she awaken her spirit…" the voice followed, barely a sigh, laced with disappointment. "…you also lost her."
Suddenly, the air behind Havil's head buzzed. A black bow hovered slowly, emanating a crushing aura that pierced the soul. Its tip pointed at the back of his neck, unmoving—yet alive, waiting for permission to strike.
"Find her now… or your body will pay the price of your failure."
Havil clenched his fists. With a subtle nod, he began drawing shadows from beneath himself, wrapping them around his body until he melted into the dark. The only trace of him left was the chill in the air that hadn't faded yet.
The figure on the obsidian throne remained still. Her fingers tapped the armrest, slowly—an eerie rhythm only anger could understand. Her gaze pierced the wall, far… toward a place unseen by any eye.
"Why is it so hard to erase you… Sylphia?
The Next Morning…
Sunlight crept gently through the large window of Sylphia's room, bathing the polished wooden floor in warmth. Birds sang in the distance, chirping as if auditioning to become the kingdom's next morning alarm.
The room was a masterpiece: fragrant natural wood carved with ancient tales of wind, forest… and—somehow—a squirrel on horseback, looking heroically majestic.
On the large canopy bed, Sylphia stirred. Her blonde hair fanned across the pillow, her face peaceful… until there was a knock.
Knock knock.
"Good morning, Miss Verin," a cheerful voice called from behind the door. "Sorry to disturb you, but… Lord Harder is waiting."
"Ugh…" Sylphia only raised her hand like a zombie not yet ready for the world.
The door creaked open. Eva, a young maid with a tidy apron and an energy like a freshly bloomed flower, stepped inside.
"I brought your clothes from yesterday—washed, ironed, and persuaded not to run away from the closet."
Sylphia sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Thank you, Eva. I'll get ready."
Eva walked to the window and pulled the dramatic curtains open, illuminating Sylphia's face like the first act of an elven musical.
"And don't forget, Miss," she whispered, "Lord Harder is not the patient type. If you're late, he might… write a protest poem."
Sylphia immediately snapped her gaze to her. "Poem?"
Eva nodded solemnly. "A bad one."
Sylphia sighed and grabbed the clothes from the carved chair. Once dressed, she stood and said,
"I have a feeling… today will be weird again."
Eva giggled. "If you need help getting ready, just scream. Or cough three times. Or throw a shoe. I'll come."
In the Huxlen estate's main hall…
The entire family had gathered—and as always, it didn't feel like a normal noble family.
Harder Huxlen sat in the main chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest in an enigmatic rhythm. His eyes stared at the ceiling, as if waiting for divine inspiration from the God of Poetry.
"I think… the time has come," he murmured.
The room froze instantly.
Except for Sila, his wife, who sipped her tea with an expression of "meh", occasionally checking her reflection on her horns.
Kelvon, the eldest, quickly took off his jacket and pulled out lotus-shaped earplugs. "Bracing for impact."
Lireya leapt from the couch and wore a helmet shaped like a caterpillar's head. "I've fought dragon roars. This is worse."
Selani stuffed two bread rolls into her ears.
Beri looked calm, but discreetly pulled cotton from an emergency pocket. He looked to the ceiling. "May the spirits protect us…"
Little Mirani cheerfully placed two flower-shaped pastries into her ears. "Daddy's gonna sing~! Daddy's gonna sing~!"
Even the guards behind the doors simultaneously donned their helmets and activated silent mode. One of them wrote "🙏" on the visor.
Harder stood. With the fire of an artist in his soul, he raised his hand high.
"Raindrops fall on withering leaves—"
CRAAACK!
The door burst open dramatically.
Eva stood at the threshold, breathless. "STOP, SIR! Miss Verin has arrived!"
The room fell silent.
Kelvon removed his earplugs. Lireya took off her caterpillar helmet. Selani chewed on the bread she'd used as earplugs. Beri gazed at the ceiling and whispered, "That was close…"
Even the birds outside sang louder, relieved the poetic threat had passed.
Harder tucked away his scroll. "Very well… tonight, then."
Sylphia stepped in, dressed in olive and soft brown robes—like autumn walking. Her every movement was calm, yet elegant.
She knelt before the Ruler of the Eastern Wood Elves, unaware that her arrival had just saved everyone from an unspeakable disaster.
Before she could speak—
"Good thing you came quickly."
Kelvon's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Thank you, Verin," Beri added.
She briefly looked at the floor, then stood straight again.
Harder raised a hand to stop the chatter. "Verin, are you ready to leave now, or would you prefer breakfast first?"
"I'm ready now, Lord Harder."
"Since you're ready," Harder said, then…
He performed a summoning ritual.
Three nods to the right. Then three to the left. Then three sharp nods forward like someone suppressing a sneeze.
Sylphia could only stare, one thought running through her mind:
"What... was that?"
Before she could laugh or ask—
The thick wooden wall at the side of the room—once a simple blank panel—began to tremble. Its surface rippled like water touched by wind, and from within, a shadow emerged, slowly forming a solid figure.
The shape stepped out of the wall.
Tall. Massive. Like a walking tree.
His armor was made of polished elderwood bark, and his skin bore the hue of aged trunks. His head? Bald and fearsome. On both arms, large flower tattoos bloomed like a confused garden wandering into a gym.
Gardon Wolfter.
Grand Marshal of the Eastern Wood Elves.
He stepped into the room with authority. Each footfall heavy, shaking the floor—and unfortunately, shaking an antique vase in the corner until… crack.
Gardon paused, glanced at the ruined vase, then bowed deeply with calm dignity. One knee down, one hand on his chest, the other curled above his head—forming the sacred salute of the Eastern Forest Elite Guard.
He lowered his head in full reverence, his deep voice like thunder behind the leaves.
"I am here, my Lord.
Your command is my honor."
The room fell into reverent silence… until someone stifled a laugh in the corner. A young soldier nearly choked on his own spit.
"Gardon Wolfter," Harder said, his voice low yet firm. "You will escort Verin to the capital, Whilvora."
Gardon answered instantly, "I shall do so—even if it costs my life."
"No need to be that dramatic," Harder replied gently.
"Oh."
Before Gardon could rise, another voice rang out.
"I'm coming too!"
All heads turned.
Beri.
Harder and Sila exchanged glances, then simultaneously facepalmed.
"That's enough, Beri," Harder said firmly. "You can't go. You haven't finished your training here."
"I can finish it later, when I get back!" Beri replied quickly.
Harder opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say more, but suddenly—Sila's finger jabbed right into her husband's nostril. A small act that immediately shut him up.
Then, Sila slowly stood up and raised her hand forward. From between the wooden floorboards, thin roots crept and slithered toward Beri.
"I'm serious! I can take care of myself! I have... skills! Yes, skills!" Beri shouted as he tried to back away—but it was too late. The roots had already coiled around him, wrapping him like a nightmare-filled lemper roll.
"Let me go! Let me—"
BANG!
The door slammed shut, and Beri's voice vanished with the sound.
'Swear , this family's weird,' Sylphia muttered inwardly. (As if she was normal, despite her Father is wind.)
Harder could only shake his head at the whole scene, especially when his gaze turned to the rest of the children, each busy in their own little world. 'They used to be normal… When did they all turn into special case kids,' he sighed internally.
Gardon Wolfter rose from his kneeling position, then bowed slightly. "Very well, Sir. We'll be on our way."
After Harder gave a nod, Gardon walked over to Sylphia. "Come along, child," he said, patting her shoulder gently.
Sylphia gave a small bow to Harder. "Thank you," she said softly, before following Gardon out of the room.
Outside the residence…
Gardon suddenly stopped in his tracks.
"Why are we stopping?" Sylphia asked bluntly.
"From here, we'll ride my mount."
"Mount?"
Without warning, Gardon pulled out a long pink wig from who-knows-where and put it on. He spread his arms and began swaying his hips from side to side while humming softly.
"…WTF is this… a ritual?" Sylphia's face was blank. Like a rock emoji.
After ten seconds, Gardon abruptly stopped. He quickly took off the wig and stashed it away like a pickpocket hiding a stolen wallet. Then he straightened his posture, looking much more dignified and serious.
Sylphia wanted to ask what that was all about, but before she could even open her mouth, Gardon explained—without being asked.
With his hands folded behind his back, he said, "So, uh… I did that to make Joni come over. Joni can always sense my location because of my bald head. So when my head's covered, he gets worried and immediately flies toward the last light he saw."
Sylphia was now curious. "Joni's your mount?"
"Yes."
"Why a wig? Couldn't you use something else?"
"…So it looks like I have hair."
"Why pink, specifically?"
"Because… I like it," he replied shyly—which didn't suit his tough-looking face at all.
"What about the dance?"
"…Habit."
'I regret asking. Everyone here is mentally draining,' Sylphia thought to herself, her face expressionless and unsure how to respond.
In the distance, the sound of flapping wings and a proud bird's cry grew closer—fast.
Leaves flew, and Sylphia's blonde hair fluttered as a massive, golden-glowing garuda descended gracefully. But… unfortunately, this majestic creature was fully decked out in bright pink gear.
The garuda landed smoothly, but its eyes accidentally met Sylphia's. Instantly, Joni looked away—as if embarrassed to be caught dressed like this.
Without a word, Sylphia slowly walked toward him and hugged his neck.
'Stay strong, Jon,' she whispered in her heart. As if she could feel the bird's inner suffering.