Two heartbeats of silence pooled in Ling’s chest, a still pond before a storm. Then Elfe’s story lit the fuse, and she blew.

I could stomach anime migrants stumbling into this otherworld, like swallowing grit in tea. But now even Sleeping Beauty barges in? She isn’t asleep, yet it’s the same reheated soup in a new bowl!

In her head, Ling sketched this otherworld’s World Consciousness as a tiny loli with star-bright eyes. Then she sicced her long-gone black-flame dragon on it, burning that daydream to vent her smoke.

After an unprintable brainstorm that crackled like summer thunder, Ling lifted her gaze to Elfe. The shadow in her eyes thinned, the storm easing.

“Mm, got the gist.” Her voice was cool as moonlight on water. “Your family feared you’d get hurt, iron bars of concern. You think they over-control you, brushfire rebellion. You ran without a note. Soldiers saw you and chased. You crashed into us—right?”

With gears whirring and wild ideas blooming like night flowers, a princess-escape dossier unfurled in Ling’s mind.

Elfe nodded, approval glinting like dew. Even if Ling counted as a kind of rival in love, she admired that sharp mind.

Alicia skipped the compliments, her eyes steady as a blade as she met Elfe’s gaze. “By your story… you’re still being chased, right?”

“Yes, uh—huh?”

A thunderclap tore the sky. Crap—no, scratch that. A flight of blond men rose on bright wings, spears and longbows gleaming like sun on frost. They hovered above, looking down on Alicia’s group.

“Thief! Where are you taking Her Highness the Princess!”

At their point stood a man in the gaudiest armor, his voice the first arrow loosed. On “thief” his eyes burned; on “princess” they softened.

Ling pressed her fingers to her brow, a weary tide ebbing. She knew the pattern: stubborn elf soldiers would try to haul them back.

“I’ll say it once more!” His shout rang like an iron bell. “Thieves! Release the princess! Surrender, and maybe the Queen will forgive you!”

Ling sighed, already mapping the next beat like a script. Now we resist a bit…

“Who even are you?” Alicia’s voice rang like steel over water. “No names, no proof—I, Alicia, won’t hand Elfe over easily.”

Ah… what now? Not a spark of surprise. This is stale tea—so boring.

Ling lifted her small hand, pointing at the elven soldiers. Her gaze sharpened like a drawn knife. Her throat trembled as she mimicked their tone.

“Your next line is—‘Looks like you don’t intend to surrender! Then we have to use force!’”

“Looks like you don’t intend to surrender! Then we have to use force! …Eh?!”

The little oracle pulled a dead-fish stare, face flat as still water. She’d shouted on purpose, and they still parroted her. Then they tossed an “Eh?” on top. To be that dumb, they must be discount elves.

Fine, fine. I’m done playing, or my IQ will leak out like sand. I’ll just spook them and send them flapping home.

Resolved to scare them, Ling coaxed a green vortex of mana to coil in her palm, like a fern spiraling open. The natural magic around them rushed to her hand, a river pulled downhill.

The elven soldiers panicked, feathers ruffled. As Ling drank in mana, they tried to chant and counter. But the air around them went dry—no magic answered.

Her pull tugged every strand toward her. Not a spark came to them. Casting now would be like making fire burn without air—ridiculous.

“Stop!”

Alicia’s shout cracked like a whip. The green vortex stilled. Mana scattered back, flowing like rain to fill the gaps.

“Why stop me? I only wanted to scare them…”

Ling’s small, hurt voice rang soft as a bruised reed. Alicia winced, hearing the weight in her own words. She stepped up and smoothed Ling’s tiny head, a warm hand like sunlight through leaves.

“Sorry. I got tense and talked too hard.” Her tone softened, steady as a quiet stream. “We’re here to make friends with elves, not enemies. If you look too fierce, they might doubt your goodwill.”

Reason sound. Conditions met. Evidence solid. Argument holds. Ling understood Alicia hadn’t meant to scold her. Her mood cleared like clouds after rain.

“All right, I’ll apologize for Ling’s scare,” Alicia said, voice cool as night wind. “But it’s the same deal: show solid proof you and Elfe are connected, or I won’t hand her over. If you insist on force, we won’t mind.”

She swung her hand back. Flame uncoiled from her palm, a red snake slithering up her arm. It wrapped her forearm in glowing scales.

A crisp sound like shattering glass rang out. The fire burst into shards, and a Demonblade with fire-red dragon patterns bloomed in Alicia’s grasp.

She’d learned this trick not long ago. Disassemble the Demonblade with mana, store it as fine particles in the hand, then catalyze it back on demand. The whole cycle takes a heartbeat—faster than a draw.

The only snag is the mana cost, a heavy tide. But Alicia, now a Yokai, swims in power. That drain is nothing.

With the Demonblade bare, Alicia’s pressure surged like a heat wave. She swung once at empty air; a ribbon of flame arced out, hissing.

She angled the blade, feet planted, and stood before Elfe. Behind her, Elfe felt safety coil around her like a cloak. Before her, the elven soldiers felt threat press like a mountain.

Beside her, Ling felt something else creep up—her own jealousy, a sour vine winding tight around her heart.