After Remi wraps up every affair and Ling stamps one extra seal for luck, the paperwork finally settles like dust after a summer shower.

But in that lull, Ling spots a grave thing, like a crack in clear ice.

She’d griped about too much work, yet few tasks actually needed her hands, like blades rusting in their sheaths.

Talks between the Elvenfolk and the Mystic Realm wrapped up offstage; she heard only echoes, and her part was just two stamps, like lazy thunder.

The only thing she fully attended was Elfe’s birthday banquet, bright as lanterns in a quiet night.

Could it be… could it be… she’s useless at work now, like a spare wheel?

Then… then…

Wouldn’t that be bliss, like sun breaking through morning fog?

“What’re you thinking, smiling that wide?”

Her cheeks bloom like peach blossoms as she reels the smile back, though the no-work relief still hums like a spring wind.

“Alright, quit grinning. It’s one-thirty already. If we don’t eat, the hour will harden like cold rice.”

So Flan drags a limp-as-noodles Remi along, and they follow Alicia and Ling to the table, the rumored [Main Quest Desk] like a quest board under an old tree.

As usual, Ling perches on Alicia’s lap, letting Alicia feed her, like a small sparrow beneath a warm eave.

Only then does living in this world taste sweet, like steam from fresh rice curling upward.

Across the table, something tilts wrong, like a song gone flat.

Remi lays her head on the wood; a few tiny tears bead like dew on leaves.

Her eyes fade of all color, and her skin washes pale like a sun-bleached painting.

“Flan~ Flan~ Flan~ Sis is hungry…”

This time Remi drops all dignity, her voice soft as cotton, like a cat brushing your leg.

“Nope. Sis has to learn to eat by herself today. From now on, for three days, I won’t spoon you a bite.”

“No! Absolutely not! I’ll die, I’ll die for sure—without Flan-energy, in a day… no, five hours, I’ll crumble to dust and blow away like ash.”

Flan ignores her like a mountain ignores wind and keeps eating in steady spoonfuls.

Alicia agrees, because kids can’t be overindulged; she pretends not to see and keeps feeding Ling like a calm river.

Cold sweat pricks Ling’s back like frost, as she recalls the little curse she muttered this morning.

“Oh right,” Alicia says, voice clear as a bell, “the Elvenfolk side is fully handled.”

“Next, they’ll use ‘Great Teleportation’ to bring their entire territory near us, like a drifting isle moored close.”

“The leftover chores can go to Flan and the others. So, Ling, what should we do next?”

“Do we seek the Dragonfolk, or what’s your call?”

Ah… it begins—new main quest, like a fresh marker popping over the horizon.

“Then… let’s find the Beastfolk first,” Ling says, heart steady as a drum. “Edmund’s Beastfolk too; with him as go-between, talks should open like a gate.”

That suggestion rings true, like a key turning; with a Beastfolk at our side, persuading the Beastfolk to join the Mystic Realm gains wind in its sails.

She pities them from the bone: chained like oxen, homes burned bare, bloodlines snuffed like candles in rain.

Yet they can’t rise; they’re too weak, like saplings in a storm.

Once they stood at the bottom with humans, but as humans rose like a tide, stagnant Beastfolk sank to the lone floor, under stones of scorn.

Right now, both heart and head say they’re the best to win over, like warming cold hands at the nearest fire.

“Then we should find them,” Alicia nods, eyes bright as stars. “They don’t need ‘companions’ much; safety is their sunrise.”

“At the start, with no companions in the Mystic Realm, even strength couldn’t win them, like thunder without rain.”

“But now we’ve got a whole Elvenfolk under our banner; if they’re not fools, and we sweeten the deal a little, the Beastfolk are as good as ours.”

Ling’s stare turns strange, like a cat testing a mirror, as if to check this is the real Alicia.

“Sis… why do you sound like a final boss? Are you collecting Beastfolk for secret experiments?”

A hand-chop drops like a guillotine; Alicia’s face blooms red like sunset, blindsided by the little gremlin in her arms.

“Don’t make it sound like I’m up to evil,” she huffs, breath warm as tea. “I’m planning for a bright future for all races.”

“Looks like I need to wash your brain—when did it get so grimy, like soot on glass?”

Ling snorts like a tiny kettle; you can’t scrub out her love for 2D with any soap under heaven.

And in this world, those Beastfolk who don’t fit her aesthetics won’t drag her mind into the gutter; she’s not that twisted, like a straight reed in clear water.

“Alright, our dearest, dearest, dearest sister,” Ling coos, sweet as honey, “let Edmund rest today.”

“Tomorrow he can lead us to the Beastfolk’s dwelling, like following tracks in fresh snow.”

“But cards on the table: Edmund may not know where, and even if he does, the Beastfolk might have moved, like birds chasing the seasons.”