August 11, Year 995 on the Talos Continent. At first light, Medith wrote like a storm of ink, her quill a swift blade. Hours later, she clutched pages dense with Sprite script and rushed toward the Queen’s study, where knowledge pooled like a deep lake and washed every other thought clean.

...

Knock, knock, knock! The quick raps cut the air like pebbles on a still pond. Queen Laxis frowned, a thin crease like a shadowed ridge. Come in!

Bang! The wooden door flew open under a valiant silhouette, brisk as a falcon breaking cloud.

Your Majesty, I tried to stop her, but… A bespectacled female sprite trembled like a leaf in late wind.

Queen Laxis waved, calm as a quiet stream. Medith shut the door, then slapped the papers down, crisp as winter frost.

Your Majesty! I racked my mind through the night, a lantern burning in fog. I decided to present this. We should give everyone basic war concepts and knowledge, like a map before thunder. At least, they must be ready to abandon home, like birds before fire.

You fought in blood and iron, horse-hooves like drums, crossing blades with humans. You hold the clearest voice. If they march heavy troops at us, we can’t stop them, can we? Medith’s finger tapped the pages like a war drum, her eyes a hard steel gleam.

Queen Laxis said nothing. She took the papers, skimming like a hawk at first. By the second sheet, her gaze locked, still as a lake under moon.

Half an hour later, Queen Laxis rubbed her temples, a tired wave against a rocky shore, then set the papers down. They held Medith’s lifetime of war lore and her reading of human warfare, like a seasoned sailor charting storms. She had to admit it.

Medith had the talent for war, a blade honed by relentless grindstone. The writing was packed with substance, like dense grain in a full granary. Queen Laxis herself learned much. In several places, the insight cut so sharp it startled her like cold steel at the throat. The ink’s killing aura felt almost solid, chilling the air like frost on glass.

Medith, what are you aiming at? Queen Laxis knew the shape of it, yet the purpose felt like mist hiding a cliff.

We’re out of time. That state hunting squad returned over ten days ago. There’s not a whisper, not a ripple. Isn’t that wrong? With their temper, they wouldn’t let things slide. They’re likely brewing a plot, like thunder gathering behind clear sky. In wartime, the quieter it gets, the closer the break. You know that, Your Majesty. Medith’s worry spread like smoke, thin and inescapable.

Queen Laxis moved unhurried, pouring water, the stream’s whisper softening fear. Medith, your past may shadow your view of humans, tilting it toward night. Most humans aren’t the darkness you imagine. Many hold goodness, like lamps along a road.

I hear you. But this isn’t wartime. Our Wind Sprite tribe hasn’t offended any nation or force. There’s no need for an army to cross mountains for us. And war still bows to conditions and limits, like a river bound by stone.

Think it through. How much does pre-war readiness demand? Have they mapped our mountain’s bones and veins? Do they know how strong the Glimmering Green Forest’s barrier stands, like jade walls under thunder? Do they know how firm our city ward holds, stone teeth in winter?

Do they have the strength to launch a war-level assault, iron and fire thick as rain? The funds, the grain, the warhorses, the long breath to sustain it?

Nations check one another, like wolves watching wolves. We have allies. Other Queens won’t sit and wait for ruin. When one lip is lost, the teeth taste the cold; they won’t forget that law of fate.

So, what are you truly afraid of? Queen Laxis smiled, sunlight breaking through cedar branches.

Medith saw her spring-bright smile, teeth white as river shells, eyes narrowed like crescents. She knew their thoughts were diverging, two roads split by a ridge.

The more Queen Laxis spoke, the more Medith felt the scent of danger, like rot under blossom. The more Medith spoke, the steadier Queen Laxis grew, like rock under tide.

Forgive me, Your Majesty. Thank you for your counsel. I’ll take my leave. Medith used formal words, crisp as armor, and hurried away, worry trailing her like a cold wind.

Queen Laxis weighed the pages, smiling, head shaking gently, like a willow brushing water.

...

Sais, can you get me more troops? The higher, the better. Medith found Sais amid a circle of girls biting cake, sweetness drifting like spring bees. Sais wore green-flower battle armor, her upper body wrapped tight as ivy on stone.

Her lower half was an iron short skirt, and knee-high green boots like twin pines. A floral belt circled the top, and the boot-fronts half-opened, framing her legs like pale pillars. The two rings of green-flower trim added a playful hue, spring vines stitching steel.

Medith stared, speechless, the sight filling her eyes like sudden snow. Sais had likely changed her armor style again; in the council hall she’d been full steel, now a pattern like blossom over blade.

Her long legs were round and lean, no spare weight, white as fresh peaks under dawn. Walking, the boots lengthened the lines, her pale legs gleaming like silk under wind.

My Wargod, what are you staring at? Sais pinched Medith’s cheek, a tease like a cat’s paw.

Ahem… nothing. Can you still find me people? Medith shifted the topic, awkward as a sparrow skipping puddles.

Sais stuffed a sweet bite of cake, honey and cream like clouds. Sorry, General. As you see, I’m busy. I’m Royal Guard. The days ahead rest on you alone.

Sigh… Medith exhaled, a tired reed whistle, and walked away without turning. Her face carried worry like rain across fields.

Hey! Don’t you want cake— Sais lifted a small slice, calling into Medith’s fading back. Medith only quickened, like a deer vanishing into pines.

Divine Envoy sis, is that Medith? one girl asked, eyes bright as lake glass.

Mm… They say Fire-tongued Medith lives for state affairs. No lust, no food, no beauty, no sentiment. Seeing her today, the name fits like a seal on jade. The girls joked between bites, crumbs like snow.

Sais heard them, thought of Medith’s sorrow, hair shedding like leaves in late autumn for their safety and happiness, while she herself drifted in wind and moon. The thought hit like cold water.

She slapped the cake onto the table, sugar scattering like pale dust. Enough, enough. Eat, eat, eat— that’s all you do. Move, now, work!

Sais’s sudden turn choked the girls on cake, coughs like sparrows. They scrambled, tidied quick as rain, donned helmets, and filed out like a river of steel.

From today, triple the training load. Any complaints, send them to me! Sais tossed the words like spearpoints and rushed toward the training field, boots drumming like hooves.

...

Mama, Mama, I want that little butterfly! A cute sprite child pointed at a radiant butterfly weaving sky, colors like stained glass in sun.

Then promise me you won’t scare the butterfly. The mother’s voice was soft as warm rain.

The little sprite nodded, earnest as a sprouting seed. The sprite beauty raised a slender finger; the butterfly, drawn like a petal to a breeze, alighted on her pale index finger, wings shimmering like tiny rainbows. The child smiled, full and bright, a dawn in miniature.

The mother let the butterfly fly, then pinched her daughter’s cheek, a cloud-soft touch, and lifted her, stepping into the heart of a tree like entering a green temple.

Medith watched their backs, her smile blooming like a quiet flower.

...

Rustle, rustle… In a remote jungle of Verdant Spirit Mountain, a beautiful female sprite in white uniform crawled through shrubs, her movement low and fluid, like a fox beneath fern. Her nimble ears twitched, and her star-bright eyes flicked, catching light like sapphires. She raised a fair hand, a signal clear as a white banner.

Swish— Dozens of white silhouettes surfaced among the trees, tension like drawn bowstrings. Small hands gripped bows, ready to loose at the slightest grass-breath.

Their long pink ears fluttered, nets catching every sound like fine silk. At last, their shoulders eased, hands lowering like petals. Captain Rita, no abnormalities!

Rita nodded, then vaulted past the brush, light as thistledown, silent as falling snow. Even the leaves barely stirred; her white cloak arced like a bright stroke across green.

She held a map and scanned the ridges, mountains rising like walls, no road threading a way. Undeveloped peaks blocked paths, stone jaws clamped tight.

She found a cave mouth, clogged with broken rock like jammed teeth. She drew her long sword, layered magic like frost over steel, and hacked a sharp stroke. The blade scraped the stone with a whistling rip and a tooth-aching grind, sound slicing the air like ice.

Ding—! A shallow sword mark scored the rock, which stood firm as old bone. Rita nodded, satisfied as a mason testing stone, then led the team away like geese cutting sky.

...

Soon after they left, rustle! A grass-twitch whispered like a secret. They never knew several pairs of eyes had locked onto them, unblinking as owls, the whole time without a single sound.