At first light, Medith woke sprites still clutching leaves, sweet smiles blooming like dew-lit blossoms.

Her whistle cut the morning like a hawk’s cry; the girls jolted like lightning-struck saplings. Some tumbled from the branches like shaken fruit. They didn’t brush off the leaf-dusted glow of their skin; they rushed to her and planted their feet like roots in fresh soil.

“Mm.” Her nod rippled out like a pebble dropped in a pond. Last night’s all-night drills hadn’t been for nothing.

“Straighten up!” Her words snapped like a bowstring; taut nerves loosened like unstrung silk. They patted clothes and hair, leaves fluttering down like green snow.

“Captain! We got fruit!” A few twin-tailed sprites dragged a big wicker basket, pigtails swaying like reeds; they flopped to the ground, breath spilling like steam.

“Eat.” Medith plucked plump purple grapes and a fragrant apple, then perched on a stone like a sparrow at rest.

“Hey, that’s mine, that’s mine!”

“Ah—my dragonfruit!”

“I want the mango, I want the mango!”

Hands tangled like sparrows fighting over millet. Milia peeled a banana shaped like a crescent moon, tucked it in her mouth, and sat beside Medith with swan-calm grace.

“Honestly, why still snatch food like children?” The Lita Sisters and Iling settled on Medith’s right, quiet as shade.

Honor had been won like a banner raised; ties mended like silk re-woven. The heavy armor could finally come off like shed bark. Medith slipped back into her cute outfit, the summer heat breathing against her skin like a warm breeze; a skirt felt like cool water on the calves.

She crossed her long fair legs like white cranes at rest, rolled a grape on her tongue, then spoke with storm-bent resolve: “Mm… training’s going to be bitter like strong tea. Bear with it. Those humans could strike again like a sudden squall.”

“Captain, don’t say that. We can’t hold a candle to what you shoulder,” someone replied, gratitude spilling like sunlight.

“Yeah. But where did you learn all this?” another asked, curiosity humming like bees. “You’re absurdly strong, and your mind’s sharp as a blade. Your knowledge’s sky-high too…”

The surprise pricked her like a thorn; her laugh came awkward, like a bird caught mid-song. “Ha… maybe I’ve read a lot of books.”

“What books? I want to look.” Milia’s earnest gaze shone like a polished mirror.

“Forbidden books.” Medith couldn’t find another excuse, so she tossed one like a coin into a well.

“Ah!” The four wore shock like frost on petals. “Captain actually has forbidden books?!”

“No wonder… no wonder your talent’s so high. So there’s a reason.”

“If that’s true, our Wind Sprite clan might birth a Divine Child,” one breathed, reverence rising like incense.

Their awe washed over her like a tide; confusion stirred like silt. She wanted to ask what was what, but the lie was hers like a seed she’d sown. She couldn’t very well ask, “What’s a forbidden book? What’s a Divine Child?” Better to let the mist of reverence hang like moonlight.

“So… forbidden books are real?” She weighed the thought like a blade in hand, then set her voice hard as stone. “You don’t tell anyone—about that, or about me training you. Got it?”

Four nods fell like raindrops, crisp and sure.

“Captain, rest easy,” Milia said, resolve firm as oak. “This will stay with us five alone.”

“Ah? Why?” Iling blinked, innocent as a fawn. “Captain’s so strong—why not tell everyone? If you train all sprites, that’s better, right? Our strength will surge like spring flood; we’ll resist unknown threats like a mountain. The Queen has no reason to refuse…”

Milia tapped Iling’s forehead with a slender finger, a sharp flick like a pebble; Iling yelped, pain bright as a spark. “Ow! Milia-sis, why? Your nail stings!”

“Because you’re being silly,” Milia said, voice steady as a river. “What do you think Captain’s doing? She’s already overstepped like a lone hawk flying over the hunting line—she set up her own force under the Queen’s nose. She’s teaching us war knowledge that’s rare as phoenix feathers. Remember when the Queen vetoed the elders’ proposal? If we talk, sprites will flock like starlings. Captain’s name and skill will spread like wildfire, then inch over the Queen’s shadow. For subjects, the worst taboo is outshining the throne. If the Queen’s prestige dims like a waning moon, trouble will breed like thorns. Countless, unpredictable.”

“See? A model. Learn.” Medith couldn’t help praising, the words landing like clean strikes. Milia had hit the heart of her worry, that single blade—outshining the throne—sharp as winter ice.

A subject’s heart should be clean as spring water, to share the ruler’s burdens like shouldered poles. But if fame swells past the crown like a tide past the jetty, even loyal bones get twisted by schemers like vines round a tree. And the ruler’s own doubts may sprout like dark moss.

She remembered. A speech that rallied every faction like drums beating across valleys, mobilizing the people like wheat rising to wind, and turning back foreign invasion like waves broken on rock. After that, her fame soared like a kite in a gale. On the streets, whispers pushed her toward the throne like hands at her back. That carved an unhealable rift like a crack in jade; it was no small strand in the rope that later pulled her country down.

“Start training.” Medith lifted her longsword, eyes clear as cut water, gaze drifting like a heron’s across the lake.

As planned, the Lita Sisters played the human side like hunters slipping through brush. Milia and Iling led sprite teams. The ban on counterattacks was lifted like a latch; measured return fire was allowed like salt to taste. Two sides clashed, quick as flint meets steel.

“Scatter!” Milia’s call fanned out like wind over wheat. Her sprites scattered like swallows, and under her precise command they slid past strikes with ease like rain off leaves, then snapped back with neat counters like needle-pricks.

Iling’s squad ran with speed few could touch, feet flying like rain on tiles. They raced almost as fast as arrows, shadows streaking like comets.

The Lita Sisters wouldn’t be outdone. Their archery was fierce as a storm; arrows fell like monsoon rain. Milia’s team could barely do more than dodge, bodies weaving like grass in wind.

From afar, Medith bit into a red, fragrant apple, juice bright as sunlight. Her thoughts flowed like a calm stream. “Milia’s born to command. Maybe she managed people before? Cool head, clear lines, a good feel for the field. Not bad.”

“Iling’s tuned for speed like a tuned bowstring. Blazing fast; perfect for scouting, probing, passing word before battle.”

“The Lita Sisters have high raw power, hard as iron. In pure archery, they’re a tier above the other ninety-eight sprites, sharp as falcons. They carry some pride like a raised chin; their temper wavers like a wind vane. Still, they’re clay that can be shaped. With that bowwork, they’ll be the main force this time.”

She watched, and their traits mapped in her mind like stars. This operation felt sure as a locked clasp. Nine chances out of ten.

“Medith—Firemouth Medith—she’s back!” Sprites who had waited early for the return called out, voices leaping like sparrows.

“This operation succeeded!” Medith’s voice rose like a trumpet. “We took our sisters back from human hands, and without harming them we taught them a heavy lesson like a mountain laid across their path. After this, they’ll hold fear in their hearts like cold iron, and won’t dare strike us. Our will endures like stone, and may the world know no killing!”

“Oh—!”

“Medith! Medith!”

The shouts rolled like thunder over hills. Euticles had prepared like an old pine standing ready; he stepped forward. “Girl, you do have a way. I planned to intervene if you failed, like a net under the tightrope. Didn’t expect this…”

“Elder, you knew all along?” Medith’s surprise fluttered like startled birds. His tone felt like a hand on the tiller from start to finish.

Euticles chuckled, low as gravel. “Heh. You didn’t think I’d hand a matter this big to you alone, did you? Of course I knew. I knew you were secretly drilling those little layabouts like whipping lazy oxen. I knew you formed the so-called Vortex Squad. All those things you thought hidden? I saw them like tracks in snow. But rest easy. I said they’re your private affairs, and I won’t meddle. This is a chance to let those layabouts formally come under your banner like soldiers to a standard. I believe Her Majesty the Queen will agree.”

“Thank you, Elder.” Medith bowed deep, like a willow bending to wind. A general needs loyal soldiers like a fire needs dry wood. She’d wanted to play the harmless cutie like a kitten purring in a lap; after a real operation, the fight in her soul roared awake like a dragon in a cave.

Her body itched to move like springs under tension; a silhouette of herself galloping alone on the battlefield rose from memory like a rider out of mist.

“Rest for now,” Euticles said, his smile warm as an ember. “Tomorrow at dawn, go to the Hall of Deliberation. Her Majesty the Queen will summon you. You know why.”

Medith bowed to the crowd like a tide bowing to shore, then returned to her room in the nobles’ quarter, footsteps soft as feathers. There, someone had waited like a patient cat. They grabbed her, pulled her to their chest like a magnet, and rubbed against her with wild warmth like a storm against a cliff.