“We’d like to invite you to join our Mystic Realm!”

...Silence.

The kind that blankets like fresh snow, swallowing echo and breath, until a room built for five feels like a sealed tomb.

Time stretched like cold taffy. No one knew how long. Then a voice scraped the hush in stuttering bursts, like air clawing up a throat, like cutlery dragging over a plate.

“Hahahahahahahahaha!”

The laugh crashed like thunder off stone. Amelia folded in on herself like a fallen banner, clutching her belly on the floor, right hand slapping the tiles in sharp smacks, mouth gaping for air like a fish on a dock.

Beside her, Elfe—first time seeing her mother so undone—hovered like a startled deer. She reached to pull her up, then faltered, tossing Alicia a small, apologetic smile that wobbled like a candle flame.

“Funny?”

Ling asked with three frost-bitten syllables, eyes gone winter-clear. Cold spread from her like a rime ring in still water, quiet and merciless.

She didn’t know why the anger bit so deep; it gnawed like a fox in a trap. Every fresh laugh yanked her heart like a rope on a bell. Maybe it was a dream stomped into mud. She was used to losing; that bruise had callused. Maybe it was because they mocked Alicia. It had to be that. Otherwise why would the snowstorm in her chest howl this hard?

Alicia won’t break from this, right? Alicia won’t wilt from this, right? Alicia won’t... right?

“Ling.”

A soft call drifted down like a feather, and a broad palm settled on her head like a warm roof against rain. Heat moved with the touch, steady as a hearth.

“It’s okay.”

Three words laced with a quiet pulse of magic. Her anger retreated like tide leaving dark sand. The cold stopped just shy of Amelia, a knife’s breadth away, then slid back with Ling’s breath. A Queen laughing at the edge of a cliff never knew she’d stepped away from it.

The Queen didn’t notice, but Elfe did, every nerve lit like lightning.

She had thought the girl was her age, power not much higher than hers. In less than a breath, fear like the Underworld’s exhale filled her lungs. Cold seeped from Ling’s sides like smoke, then slipped into every pore. The low temperature made her warm body shudder like leaves in sleet. Every cell rang alarm, tiny drums beating panic. Meet Ling’s pupils, and death would lay a bridge between your gazes, humming a tune as it skipped across. You could only watch it come.

Like a drowning soul grabbing a float, Elfe collapsed to her knees when that chill withdrew. She gulped air in ragged lungfuls, face bloodless as chalk. Her starving organs seized oxygen like bandits, while her terror-numbed mind forgot the simple art of breathing.

The only ignorant one—the Queen—finally came down from laughter, though her mouth still worked like a bellows. The fit had cost her breath and poise.

She ignored the kneeling Elfe, eyes bright as a magpie’s. She was all in on the joke now; whatever respect for strength she ought to show, she’d tossed it aside like an old glove.

“All right, all right, let me hear it proper. What was it again? Oh—right. Fold that ‘whatever-realm’ into the Elvenfolk, yeah?”

The sarcasm flashed like a thin blade, but Alicia’s smile didn’t crack. It sat on her face like a calm moon.

“Wrong. We’re inviting the Elvenfolk to join our Mystic Realm. Next, we plan to bring every race there. Our final aim is for all races to live in peace within the Mystic Realm.”

Arrogant.

Blindingly arrogant.

That was Amelia’s judgment, a cold stamp hammered like steel.

Talk of peace for all sounded like boys shouting they’d be king of pirates, or the village’s greatest leader. On a chosen hero, it burns like sunrise. To those who claim they’ve seen the world, it’s a fever-dream, fit only to draw laughter.

No doubt: the Elven Queen, Amelia—content with today’s rule like a cat in a sunpatch—had once wished to rule every race, but only as a dream, not a goal. Alicia’s vow was just good comedy to her.

“All right, all right, I get it. Playtime ends here. If you came to push us into your unknown, untested little ‘playground realm,’ drop it. We adults don’t have time for children’s games. Still, don’t rush off. Tomorrow is Elfe’s birthday. You’ve heard about the ‘Curse,’ I assume? We’ll break it at the last possible moment. It’ll be the greatest feast in Elvenfolk history. You’re welcome to attend as our highest honored guests.”

The refusal was wrapped in silk, but the no was iron.

Was Alicia the type to bow out? Not a chance.

“Let’s make it a contest. If we win, you’ll consider what I said. If we lose, we’re at your disposal.”

“At your disposal” drew Amelia’s gaze like a moth to flame. The words glimmered with temptation.

Catching that spark, Alicia’s smile turned unreadable, like frost over deep water.

“Then let’s see who breaks Elfe’s ‘Curse’ first. How about it?”