"Well now, how are you up so fast? I thought you’d sleep ten days like a stone. Two days, and you’re fresh as dawn?" It was Melia who came in.

Medith saw it was Melia and let her guard drop like a loosened bowstring. She flopped onto the bed. "I was out for two days?"

"Two days, and you’re surprised?" Melia set a handful of fruit by the pillow like bright berries under leaves. "You burned life force. Some never crawl back in a lifetime."

Medith jolted, like a bird at thunder. "That bad? I... I don’t feel much. Just a little sick to my stomach..."

"Oh no... don’t tell me you don’t even know what mana is?" Melia asked, biting into an apple with a crisp snap, like frost on grass.

Medith cupped an apple in both hands and took a tiny bite, like a mouse at a peach. "Yeah. Weird?" She relaxed, like a leaf settling; Melia couldn’t suspect her now.

Half-eaten apple in hand, Medith leaned to Melia’s ear. "Are you... a virgin?" Her words fluttered like a mischievous breeze.

"Pff—cough, cough—" Melia sputtered apple bits like rain. Medith jumped, not expecting that reaction.

Melia gave a smile with shaded meaning, like moonlight behind clouds, and took another juicy bite. "Doesn’t matter. Mana’s got nothing to do with that. It’s talent—set at birth, carved in stone."

"Huh? You can’t raise it?" Medith bit down hard, like cracking a nut. "So what is mana, exactly?"

"How to put it..." Melia’s gaze went thoughtful, like still water. "Mana’s a broad word, a cover term. Every Sprite has it, but not every Sprite is equal."

"Some are born throwing high-tier spells like hawks ride thermals. Some can’t even nudge a breeze. The mana you’re born with steers your fate, like a riverbed guides water."

"I—" Medith nearly swore, heat like sparks in dry straw. "What a rigged system. So if you’re born a flop, you stay a flop?"

"Flop? I don’t know that word," Melia said, voice flat as a blade. "If you mean born this way, stay this way—yes. No paths up, no shortcuts."

"Unless..." She let the word hang like a leaf on a breath of wind.

"Unless what?" Medith turned to face her, eyes bright like wet emeralds.

Melia thought a beat, then leaned close, voice soft as moss. "Unless the Queen favors you. They say the Queen knows a way to raise our mana. No one in our tribe has ever earned it."

"I see..." Medith carved the Queen’s name into her heart like a knife on bark. She’d pry that method from her. "Then how do you measure someone’s mana?"

"Simple. Loose an arrow at a tree with all you’ve got, like letting a storm through a bow."

"If your arrow only embeds in the wood, it’s as good as no mana."

"If it passes through the trunk, that’s E-rank, 'Pierce Wood.'"

"If it pierces the earth, that’s D-rank, 'Pierce Stone.'"

"If it goes through a boulder, that’s C-rank, 'Break Stone.'"

"If it explodes a boulder, that’s B-rank, 'Shatter Stone.'"

"I don’t know A and S. But from the look of you, you’re above A, below S—call it A+. That shot of yours was terrifying, like thunder splitting mountains. Only elders do that in my book."

"But they don’t drain themselves dry with one arrow like you did." Melia finished the apple down to the core, crisp as a bell.

"A+? And no mana crash after a shot? So I can fake 'more mana' by cutting the cost?" Medith’s thought fell into place like a pebble in a pond.

"Smart." Melia tapped her on the head, light as raindrops, then fished a set of clothes from the wardrobe and tossed them over. "Put this on. We’re seeing the Queen to report."

Medith eyed the floral miniskirt and low-cut jacket, and her face darkened like a cloud. "Got anything else?"

"Take your pick." Melia threw over hot pants and a couple of micro-skirts, bright as summer fish.

Medith hissed in a breath, cold as winter air. No escape. "Forget it. I’ll wear the old set."

She undid her white shirt. She glanced at her pink bra and the heavy weight on her chest, then sighed like wind through reeds. "Since I’m here, I’ll settle in."

Soon they stepped out dressed. Medith was back in that green-fairy outfit, her straight, silky green hair swaying like willow fronds. It made her look extra bright and charming.

She looked up at towering trees, and a spectral halo in the sky veiled the forest like a vast ring with no edge. Homes were carved into trunks and hung on branches.

Everywhere, cute Sprites in matching uniform skirts chatted like sparrows. Others hustled on duties. Patrols drifted by like breezes. Some cuddled on benches like paired birds. Children chased and squealed like fireflies.

Medith went dreamy at the picture-book scene, lost like a moth in lantern light. "Come on. Don’t be late. The Queen called us herself, it’s important." Melia seized her hand and led her toward a massive green gate in the distance.

The gate was etched with countless sunken green lines forming a leaf. Outside stood dozens of Sprites in emerald plate, each gripping a silver greatsword that flashed like ice.

"What’s this place called? Are all the Wind Sprites here?" Medith asked in a hush, like grass speaking.

"Of course not. Just one branch," Melia said, brows like drawn bows. "And how did you forget your home city of Xurenks?"

Medith stuck out her tongue, impish as a kitten. "Maybe my head got rattled... heehee."

"You..." Melia flicked Medith’s forehead, light as a raindrop.

Medith skipped to the gate, springy as a deer, and reached to open it.

"Halt! Writ." Several male Sprites crossed their greatswords like iron branches and barred her. Then they saw Medith’s face and gasped, like wind taken from their lungs.

Medith pouted and backed up to Melia’s side, lips like a cherry. Melia said nothing. She drew a parchment from her bodice and handed it over. They skimmed it and returned it with bowed hands.

"Our apologies, Revered Priestess Melia. Open the gate!" a deep voice rang from under the helm. The doors groaned open with a heavy creak-creak, like old trees in wind.

Melia pulled Medith along by the hand, firm as a guiding tide. As they passed, Medith made a face at the men who stopped her and stuck out her pink tongue, playful as a petal.

When the gate thudded shut like a drum, the one who looked like the captain barked at his squad. "Who blocked that young lady just now? Why so fierce?"

"Huh?!" The word cracked like a twig.

"Him—him. She pulled a face at them," someone said, pointing like a reed in wind.

"Hey, you—" another started, voice like flint.

"It wasn’t me. I didn’t. Don’t talk nonsense," the accused babbled, sweat beading like dew.

"Save it. You few pull an all-nighter," the captain snapped, cold as rain.

"No— Captain, my bad! Give me a break!" The plea fluttered like a torn flag.

"No." The word dropped like a stone.

"Captain—" The call trailed off like smoke.