Melia had no idea what was going on; she hugged a pile of spoils and hopped toward her room like a spring sparrow.

Medith mulled over her plan of action; her thoughts settled like ripples, then she closed her eyes...

Next morning, Medith pulled on a majestic suit of silver armor, moonlight plating that sealed off everything below her neck.

She drew a greatsword from its rack and hung it at her side, steel like a falling waterfall.

Creak—. Melia had only just woken. Half-dressed and half-dreaming, she stared at the imposing Medith. “Ah—!” The shock snapped her wide awake.

She thought some general had barged into her room. “Medith, what’s with the getup?”

“To war.” Medith dropped the two words, then strode out the door like thunder.

Medith hurried out of the noble quarter. She grabbed someone and asked for Euticles’s residence; heads turned toward her like reeds in wind.

If not for that sleek green hair and the Elf Clan’s distinct ears, they would’ve thought a human general had stormed in.

A few female Sprites peeked at Medith’s swaggering stride; she felt it and shot back a blade-sharp gaze.

“Eek...” The girls flushed and hid by the window. Medith didn’t linger; her feet drummed toward her target.

“Hey, Ling, who is she? So cool...”

“Haven’t you heard? They say she’s a sixteen-year-old Sprite. Hunters attacked her, and not only did they fail to take her, she scared them off!”

“Wait, is she the Medith who even made Her Majesty the Queen change her mind yesterday?”

“Yeah, yeah! Medith!”

“How is she this pretty and this cool...”

Medith hastened to a colossal tree, a living tower. Dozens of fully armed Sprites patrolled outside. Archers perched along the trunk like hawks; as she looked up, she caught glimpses between the leaves.

A sprite in a short skirt felt Medith’s gaze, pressed her hem, crouched with a squeal. “Eek... Medith! It’s Fiery Tongue Medith!”

Her shout drew a knot of patrolling male Sprites, moths to a flame. They whipped off helmets and rushed to fawn.

“Sister Medith... got time? After shift, dinner with me?”

“Beat it. Medith big sis, I stashed some toner—see if it suits you?”

“Wow... you blew your savings just for that?”

“Medith big sis, got a boyfriend? Look at me—”

“Scram. Who asks like that?”

“Medith—”

“Medith—”

“Stop—!” Medith whipped out her greatsword; cold light flashed like winter lightning. The crowd stumbled back, nearly falling.

She seized the blade and drove it hard into the ground. “Anyone else want to chirp in my ear?”

“You lot see a young pretty girl and turn into human monkeys.” An elder in a black robe thumped them with his cane, cane cracking like thunder. “I’ve drilled you a hundred times—curb your pride, curb your lust!”

“Elder, we were wrong. We won’t do it again. Stop hitting us.” The Sprites yelped under the blows, like beaten drums.

“Good hit, Grandpa Euticles!”

“Lay it on them!”

“Knock the filth out of their heads!”

The women grabbed branches and hurled them too. They’d been beside these guys forever without that treatment; Medith shows up and the flock turns—jealousy burned like nettles under skin.

But to be fair, they flushed too when they saw Medith; her charm crossed both sides like sunrise on snow.

“No time, Elder. I’m here for my troops.” Medith spoke to Euticles without ceremony, her tone a general reclaiming command.

Euticles frowned a touch, then said, “I’ve assembled eighty-four as you asked. If you want, those eighty-four can go drill in the Glimmering Green Forest now.”

“The last sixteen may arrive tomorrow or the day after, because they—”

“Send the eighty-four to the Glimmering Green Forest right now. Tell the sixteen they must be here by dusk today. If not, I’ll report them to Her Majesty the Queen for dereliction.” Medith cut him off.

Hiss—. The Sprites drew a sharp breath. None had seen anyone speak to the Elder like that; more terrifying was the domineering will rolling off Medith’s tongue like iron smoke.

Euticles didn’t anger; he smiled. “Good, little girl. I like you. I’ve wanted to whip those little slackers for a while, but my station makes it messy. Your words are perfect. I’ll relay them word for word to those sixteen.”

“Good. I’ll leave it to you.” Medith bowed deep, then marched for the Glimmering Green Forest, armor thudding like a drum.

Euticles and the Sprites watched her back fade, their faces a weave of feelings like tangled vines.

By 12:26 noon, Medith had waited nearly two hours in the designated grove. No one had shown; the sun crawled like a slow pendulum. Minutes later, a squad of a dozen Wind Sprite girls strode in.

They wore what Medith once wore: green open-front jackets, white undershirts, green floral short skirts, green knee socks, and brown boots, colors like spring leaves and earth.

“Oh my, Sister Medith.” The sprite girls waved from afar to her standing amid the trees like a planted spear.

Medith pulled a pocket watch from her breast. She’d found it in her room; rumor said it was a Thanatos device, tracking time down to the second.

Far better than squinting at the sun and guessing, like a blade against a stick.

She’d also found books she’d never seen. Their military thought was far ahead, shocking her; one night of study felt like scaling a ladder in the dark, up a rung in command.

“You’re late. Full two hours.” Medith palmed her greatsword and turned back, eyes on them like a winter moon.

They saw Medith’s face, calm as dead water, and their smiles froze. It summoned the memory of their captain; fear snapped them into formation, heads lowered, mouths shut, frost settling on the ground.

Medith listened to the watch go tick, tick, tick; time slid to 13:12, dripping like water. More batches arrived, and like the first, they kept their heads down and held their tongues.

“Eighty-two... eighty-three... eighty-four.” She finished counting the last row, checked the distance, then took her place before them, a rock before waves.

“Heads up.” Medith gripped the sword in both hands, planted it in the soil, and fixed them with an icy stare, eyes like a winter star.

The sprite girls raised their heads, then met her gaze and flinched; many looked away, eyes scattering like startled fish.

Medith spoke slow. “The set time was 10:30. You all know what time is, right? I recall most of you have pocket watches. Do you?”

“Sister Medith...”

“Call me Captain! Or Commander!” Medith barked; the sound punched through them, a voice that pierced the soul like brass.

“S-sorry, Captain! Sorry...” The girl who spoke was near tears, eyes shimmering like broken glass.

The others wore fear. Medith looked at this so-called elite and knew—good thing she’d seen it early, rot under fresh paint. With this quality, when the desperados came, the line would shatter in minutes, a clay wall in rain.

“Why so fierce? You’re just sharp-tongued, got a word from the Queen is all!

Sisters here—combat, experience, skill—who’s worse than you?

What gives you the right to command us?” A brown short-haired sprite stepped out, unafraid of Medith’s killing gaze, standing like a thorn.

“Drop it, Lina...” A few sprites tried to pull her back; she slapped their hands away like flicking gnats.

“Y-yeah... What gives you the right?” Another, emboldened, blurted her heart, voice a trembling reed.

“Right! You’re just a loud mouth! Put me in, I’d do fine!” Another shouted; the silent ranks rustled into unrest, wind through wheat.

Whispers crackled. Lina stood before them, smirking at Medith, who stood still with eyes closed. “Got the little girl spooked, huh?

You think you can command us with that mouth?

No Elder, no Queen to shield you now.”

Medith opened her eyes, decision set like iron. She drew the sword and hacked at a nearby tree; a green blade of qi burst forth and speared the trunk.

Crack—. The tree split on the spot.

Crack-crack—. The arc didn’t fade; four towering trees ahead fell, severed at the roots.

Thud! The fall boomed; the forest shudder.

Flutter-flutter... A storm of birds erupted into the sky, as if slapped by terror.

“Ah...” Lina flinched; she hadn’t expected Medith to answer without words, with this, silence like a blade.

She looked at Medith, whose posture still held mid-swing; Lina reflexively drew the slim sword at her hip, steel whispering.

Suddenly, Medith blurred on the spot, turning into a phantom that lunged. Lina sprang airborne, traced a graceful arc like a swallow, and laughed. “Hahaha... with that speed, you think you can catch me?”

“Ah, can’t catch you indeed.” A voice rang overhead, airy and clear—usually nightingale-sweet, now tolling like a death bell.

“Why are you above m—ah—” Lina felt a bolt of pain in her wrist, then crashed to the ground like a stone in a well. The impact nearly knocked her out.

“Ah—ah—” Her right wrist blazed with pain, as if a beast stomped it; the feeling was ten thousand ants eating her heart.

Medith, face unreadable, ground her boot on that slender, lotus-white wrist. “Remember this. Never question your superior. That will throw you, your comrades, your family, your lover, your friends into the jaws of death.

Do you remember?”

“I remember! I remember! Sorry—Cap—tain! Ah—” Lina was almost incoherent, voice shredded.

“Good.” Medith lifted her boot off the wrist, pressure ebbing like a tide.

Lina sweated rivers, looked up at Medith in a daze, eyes clouded like mist.

“Oh, right. Your memory won’t be enough. Some still haven’t learned.” Medith raised her boot and pressed down hard.

Crack—

Lina felt a deathlike pain surge through her right hand; then her consciousness fell into darkness, a candle snuffed.