“Alright, since we’re leaving, let’s get ready. Powell, we’ll speak of that another day. Fix lunch first; we head out after we eat.” Haidra looked cheerful, like sunlight on calm water.

Powell bowed with quiet respect, then led the servants out, his steps brushing the floor like soft wind across reeds.

“Powell... what’s the marquis doing?” Milia asked. Kailon pointed toward a big house outside, his hand a reed against the sky: “Getting ingredients. You’re honored guests, so it has to be the best, the surest—so the master supervises himself.”

At that, Sais’s brow twitched, a shadow sliding over a pond...

After a lunch like a banquet fit for emperors, the women ate to their hearts’ content. “How can your food be so delicious? It’s an earthly absolute!” Iling rolled the memory on her tongue, like warm rain lingering on spring blossoms.

“Heh, when people sit idle, they tinker,” Haidra said with a helpless smile, like clouds thinning. “We haven’t mined much of the Divine Stone, but our cuisine is famed under heaven.”

“Ha ha ha...” Their gray moods lifted like mist as Medith woke and the weather cleared; after brief pleasantries, they set off, the road unfurling like a ribbon toward blue hills.

“May our King be with you. Fair winds, Lady Haidra.” Powell stood outside the manor, watching them like a lighthouse watches the tide. Only when their figures faded at the end of the street did he smile, then shut the door with a satisfied thud, like dusk closing a fan.

“Look! It’s the Sprite sisters who saved us the other day!” A few children pointed at Iling and Milia, fingers bright as sparrow beaks.

“Lady Haidra! Thank you!”

“Long live Lady Haidra! Long live our King!”

“May the god Eunomia bless you with smooth winds.”

Residents cheered when they saw Haidra, Medith, and the others, their voices rising like surf. Phiby and the rest even received gifts from warm-hearted folk—dry rations like sun-cured grain, and handmade trinkets like tiny moonstones.

“Doing good... unexpectedly feels pretty nice...” Milia slipped on a pearl bracelet, the beads cool as dawn dew. Sais glanced around and let a rare smile bloom, like a bud in spring: “Humans and Sprites—what a sight... maybe humans aren’t as hateful as I thought.”

“Well now, our famed ‘Thornflower’ sister happy for humans?” Medith’s voice curled like smoke. “As I said that day, people aren’t born high or low—whether commoners, humans, or Sprites, they share the same sky. You’re not a noble because you think you are; you’re a noble only when others lift your crown like a circle of light.”

“Alright, alright, I almost forgot you carry the title ‘Fire-Tongue.’ Honestly...” Sais knew her tongue couldn’t beat Medith’s, so she sheathed it, like a blade sliding back into velvet.

Haidra let a soft, teasing smile bloom; her eyes curved like new moons. Her golden, shoulder-length hair flashed in sunlight, and with her lips and features, she dazzled like a summer halo.

“Sorry... sorry, I lost my composure.” Haidra caught herself, a ripple settling on a lake. “Ahem... As Medith said, people aren’t divided high or low. His Majesty keeps teaching us this: everything we hold stands on our subjects’ shoulders, like pillars holding a sky. Only when subjects accept the crown’s sun upon his head is he a king. If one day the subjects don’t accept that crown, frost proves the king has failed. His power will be stripped like leaves in winter, and he’ll fall as a loser. The loser is devoured by his own—because without people, there is no realm.”

Medith clapped, her palms cracking like firecrackers: “Well said! I’ve always opposed the noble system, especially nobles with heavy troops—merit overshadowing the lord. You know what I mean.” Her glance shot to Haidra, swift as an arrow.

Milia tugged Medith’s sleeve, a small tide pulling at cloth. Shock swelled first; her thoughts stumbled like stones. She hadn’t expected Medith to say that out loud. Mishandled, their friendship could freeze like night water.

Unexpectedly, Haidra wore a thoughtful look, ripples moving across her gaze. “Indeed... I didn’t quite understand why the King set rules allowing only dukes and above to hold forces, capped at twenty thousand. Other countries let counts hold armies. So this is why...”

“Ah, Lady Haidra, Lady Medith.” The captain of the guard spotted them at the city gate and hurried to open it, the doors yawning like a giant’s mouth. Medith only then realized they’d reached the gate, the thought chiming like a bell.

“Mm.” Haidra said little and strode through. Outside, Medith saw heaps of wrecked ships and scattered debris—bones of the sea bleaching under sun. The shoreline was full of bare-backed workers, muscles streaming sweat like rain. The post-tsunami work had only begun, a long tide ahead.

“Ah, this disaster struck too suddenly. Without you, I can’t imagine the outcome. This city holds two hundred thirty thousand souls...” Haidra spoke with a lingering chill, like wind through pine.

“Heh, you’re too polite, Haidra. No matter how many times, my answer’s the same: a trifling matter.” Medith’s words tapped like a blade on stone.

Haidra nodded, warmth rising like morning tea. Their bond shifted like ice thawing into a spring; they were truly friends now.

“This is... a ship?” Milia inspected the hull like a child peering into a lantern. The giant floated on water, and the women turned to sparrows—hopping and fluttering. They flew to the sails, climbed the ropes, then leapt down into the cabin, laughter bright as bells.

“These little chicks...” Medith smiled helplessly, like a mentor watching fledglings. Bringing them was right; it widened their horizons like sunrise spilling over hills. Then doubt pricked her, a thorn in silk: “Huh? I don’t even know why I’m this calm.”

“Haven’t you seen ships, Medith? Why so calm?” Haidra asked as if reading minds, her voice drifting like a feather. Confusion misted first in Medith’s chest; she froze. “I... I read a lot. Books say the world is vast, so I was mentally prepared...” She winged it, words fluttering like sparrows.

“Oh, I see...” Haidra mused on the Elf Clan’s strange lifespans—age like tree rings spiraling deep. Medith might be a thousand-year-old hag; knowing more would be natural, like moss on stone.

Smack—! Medith suddenly slapped Haidra. Haidra wasn’t guarding; her body folded like a reed in wind, her little head almost struck the ground. “You!” She shook her head, heat rising like sparks. “I... I...” Medith stared at her own hand in disbelief. A cold gust knifed through her, and her hand flew on its own.

“Do the Elvenfolk read minds?” Haidra thought of the jibe she’d made in her heart—old hag—her thought a pebble dropping into deep water.

Smack— Medith’s right hand flew again. Haidra’s arms flashed like lightning, catching Medith’s right palm. “Ha, the same move, and you think you can get Haid—”

Medith’s left hand seized the opening and flicked quick little slaps across her face. They weren’t heavy, but they rang like bamboo pops. Haidra’s pretty face stung like nettle.

“You really can read minds?”