Long, what do you think?

King Alex—Alicia’s father—sat at a distant round table, ringed by elders with waist-long beards and star-bright eyes, like lanterns in deep winter.

They looked like men who, even as boys, vowed to stake life and limb for the realm, rain or shine.

Your Majesty, I am dull and junior to all present.

How could the young speak before the old?

I dare not overstep.

He flowed like tai chi, hands soft but evasive, and passed the question along like a drifting leaf.

King Alex sighed, a heavy cloud settling; the disappointment showed despite his calm.

In his palm, the nation felt like a bright lacquer shell, worm-eaten beneath.

Not graft, but a rot of spirit gnawed at its core.

Long peace had gentled the old ministers into idle reeds.

Anything they could hand off, they did, like river silt swept downstream.

They feared the weight of duty and shrank from tasks, shadows avoiding noon.

Where was the raw fire of the founding days?

Time is a patient poison, and corroding a soul is easy work for time, like rust kissing iron.

What peaks must fall—he felt that axiom tightening around his crown.

That is why he longed to pass the crown early.

The realm needed a new heart; his old heart could no longer pump warm blood through the body of the land.

My King, I have a proposal.

Brooding broke into quick alert; King Alex lifted his head, joy flaring like dawn over frost.

Speak.

We must watch the Elvenfolk closely.

The age of Divinefolk shelter is over.

Any race can wound humanity now, and—

And what?

I visited Princess Alicia’s domain days ago.

Only a pair of young maids kept watch.

Though Her Highness renounced the throne, no one else stirred there, which was strange.

I asked the maids where the princess had gone.

They didn’t hide it.

Six words: the Elven homeland.

King Alex drew in a cold breath, like steel biting his lungs.

He had focused on choosing the proper “King,” and left such matters unattended.

Joined with the Elvenfolk’s movements, this felt like a shadow blooming.

No—calm, analyze, don’t let fear steer the helm.

Maybe the Elvenfolk tried to teleport the entire domain to hide it first, then seek Alicia.

Or they feared Alicia might, by accident, slaughter them, so they hid away.

Or even—

Your Majesty!

Stop spinning fantasies without logic.

Self-deception is not a king’s way.

Elsewhere, speaking upward like that would earn punishment, a public spectacle under harsh light.

Here, King Alex welcomed frank words like clean wind through a stale hall.

Your Majesty, hear me.

Hard to believe, yes, but the timings and locations align with one answer.

The Elvenfolk intend to join Her Highness’s domain.

Allow an old man to guess.

Her Highness has founded a nation called the Mystic Realm.

To me, that means “a place that exists in vision,” where humans and other races live in harmony.

King Alex leaned back, palm veiling his face, his expression swallowed by shade.

Mm… Alicia… what is she thinking?

Humans and the other races have long stood like cliffs that refuse a bridge.

Back when humans lived low, none would meet their eyes.

Even the Beastfolk, blessed with bodies like forged bronze, treated humans like cast-off chaff.

Under such harsh skies, humans tried everything to endure.

Some huddled together, some burrowed underground like moles.

For the lineage to continue, even lines bent into knots they shouldn’t—best left unspoken.

They learned to kindle fire.

They learned to make.

Then they flipped their fate and stood above the Beastfolk, whetstone turned blade.

Help came from the Divinefolk—purpose unclear, use mutual.

Humanity rose into its brightest flourishing, a sun so high even the Dragonfolk watched from shade.

So hatred toward other races calcified into tradition, handed down like an iron heirloom.

Alicia, though, seems unwilling to carry that old iron in her hands.

Forget it—for now.

We’ll address it at the Three Kings Council.

We must find Alicia and speak face-to-face; some knots untie only in person.

He pushed up to stand, but the minister’s raised hand clipped that motion like a gust against a torch.

Her Highness left today.

Reports say she rides the Beastfolk she brought back before—

And it’s the highest tier: the Ancient Beast King.

…

King Alex slumped into his chair, strength draining like sand from a breached hourglass.

Alicia… what are you trying to do?

A simple lament, yet an earnest man stepped forward with a map-clear voice.

No special races are recorded along her route.

Given Her Highness’s aim, she’s likely heading for the Beastfolk whose settlement remains unknown, a camp like smoke without a fire.

King Alex angled him a look, thought in slow circles, then let out a long, weary breath.