After the Queen left, reasons thinned like mist; the elders gave Medith a complicated look and drifted off like leaves in a breeze.

Euticles stepped up; his scarred face a cliff of old wounds. "Sorry. Did my mug scare you, little girl?"

"No, Elder Euticles. Your looks are just... uh..." Words jittered like sparrows; she couldn't net one.

"I know my face," he laughed, gravelly as thunder. "I pushed hard and failed this time.

You won with a few lines. Good, good.

Where’re you from, Sprite?

Who manages you?

How could talent like yours be buried?

I’ll drag that overseer out for a talk."

"Oh, me? I don't bother with our overseer. I just read more books lately. And after what just happened, Her Majesty's words lit my blood like fire, so..."

"Alright, alright. I'm not the nosy old geezer who digs secrets. I'll back you with all I've got. Name it."

Medith paused, surprise flickering like a candle. "Thank you, Elder.

I need a hundred B‑rank Divine Archers, any gender...

No, better all women.

Let those monkeys see how strong our sisters are, and think twice."

Euticles frowned, a crease like a canyon. "That's tough, but I can transfer them.

It's nearly all elite female archers in Xurenxus City.

You sure you want that many?"

"Mm. The more the better. Let them taste our deep roots like an ancient forest. Then they won’t move. For now, probably." Her look turned strange, like cloud-shadow.

Euticles blinked, a brief freeze. "Probably? For now?"

Medith held her tongue, quiet as snow.

He patted her small shoulder, warm as sunlight. "Then it’s set. If you need more, tell me. I’ll wring it from stone if I must." He turned and left, coat swaying like a banner.

Medith clutched the robe, soft as cloud. "Elder Euticles! Your robe!"

"It’s yours. The air’s a bit chilly—don’t catch cold," he called back, voice fading like a tailwind.

Medith tightened her grip. The day blazed like summer; the chill was an excuse, kindness wrapped in cloth.

Melia marched over, worry fluttering like sparrows. "You scared me! If I’d known you’d talk to the Queen like that, I wouldn’t have walked with you."

"Oww, why, Sister Melia?" Medith pouted, stung like a cat tapped on the head. "If I hadn’t, we were done. You know how ruthless humans hit.

If I fell into their hands, I’d rather stab myself with an arrowhead."

Melia stiffened, surprise flashing like steel. Medith looked soft as petals, yet her spine burned like iron—just as Melia had guessed.

"You’re right. We can’t swallow sand anymore." Her beautiful eyes chilled, a blade-sheen passing. "But we can’t kill them, can we? Her Majesty would still punish us."

Medith’s emerald eyes flashed, cold as winter water. "True. We can’t kill them. But we can make them never bully any sister again."

"You mean..." Melia seemed to catch it. She pinched Medith’s smooth cheek, cool as jade. "Such a pure, cute little sister—how’s your tiny head full of such wicked storms?"

"Hmph. This bit of punishment is nothing compared to what they’ve done." Her voice was flat, a calm lake with stones beneath.

After that, Medith followed Melia home. On the bed sat someone already, soaking in sun like a cat on a warm sill.

She seemed to savor the light and air; eyes closed like petals at dusk. Her flawless face wore intoxication. She wore the same open-chest jacket as Medith, but no inner shirt, her curves rising like twin hills.

A wide view of her chest lay bare as a pale field. Her skirt looked trimmed short; a twitch promised a dreamlike glimpse. No kneesocks or boots; only green high-heeled sandals.

The sandals’ woven straps formed a small flower, framing her jade feet like dew on leaves. Paired with those urgent slopes and proud long legs, desire prowled like a hungry wolf.

"Holy hell?" Medith muttered, a low spark snapping. That body, that outfit, plus that dazed, mysterious look—she almost tempted even another woman.

"If every female Sprite dressed like that, getting stared at is kind of asking for it," Medith blurted, heat and frost tangling.

Melia went wordless for a beat. She knew this woman. Among Holy Elves, she was famed for strength. With that face and finery, even reclusive elders felt ripples. Her sisters called her Thorned Blossom.

"Ah, you’re back," the woman sang, voice lazy as honey in sun. "I wanted more sun. Ah—so comfy—"

Sss— Medith drew a sharp breath. As a woman now, her old male desire still flared like a buried ember. She turned away, gulped fresh air, and forced the fire down.

"Hey, Sais, flaunt it somewhere else," Melia snapped, anger crackling like dry twigs. "This is my house. My bed. Off."

She grabbed and pulled. Nothing moved. Sais stayed nailed to the mattress like a steel plate.

"Hey, don’t yank so hard," Sais pouted, voice sweet with tease. "What if you rip my clothes? Seriously—" She reversed and pushed. Melia toppled to the floor with a thud.

That soft, teasing tone hit Medith like summer wine. Thirst rose; her mouth dried; her feet paced the doorway like a trapped fox.

"Well, if it isn’t our benefactor, Sister Medith," Sais purred, stretching like a water snake. "I heard your fiery tongue could even tame the Queen. I want to know how fierce your mouth really is, little sister..."

Medith glanced by instinct. On the bed, Sais coiled, curves flowing like river lines. Her alluring face wore a teasing smile. Heat flooded Medith’s mind; her breath ran hot like steam.

She strode to the bed in two long steps. Her hands pinned Sais down, firm as iron clamps. Sais jolted and tried to pry free. Medith’s grip locked her wrists; strength poured like iron.

In Medith’s eyes burned desire—bright enough to frighten. "You—"

...

Pushed away, Medith touched her lips, stunned as if kissed by lightning. She looked at the wide-eyed Sais. "I... I..."

Her gaze sharpened, a blade under silk. "No choice. You forced me."

Sais flushed; her heartbeat drummed like hooves. With lotus-white fingers, she brushed a silver thread from her lip. Her eyes grew misty, drunk and reluctant. Head turned aside, her voice tiny as a mosquito. "It’s my fault..."

"Hah... hahahahaha... hahaha!" Melia burst, rolling on the floor like a child. "I’m dying. Thorned Blossom Sais had her first kiss stolen by a little girl—with tongue!"

Sais hurled a pink pillow at her, soft as a flying cloud. "Shut up! Nosy!"