The girls set off for the Mystic Realm, like swallows arrowing home at dusk.

Of course, Edmund wasn’t forgotten, not left to fade like a footprint in dust.

Ling, Alicia, and Arthas rode on Jiu Jiu, the Dragon King’s back, like sparrows perching on a whale.

Edmund flew slung in another dragon’s claws, a dangling fish.

From Jiu Jiu, the Ninety Nine Maiden’s back, clouds stacked upon clouds ringed them, a white sea on all sides; Ling’s curiosity rose like a kite in wind.

She craned about, restless as a cat; not only cloud met her gaze, but dragons—red, blue, black—an armada stretching past the horizon.

It wasn’t a swarm thick enough to blot out the sky; these were purebred Dragonfolk, not mongrel drakes that breed without brake just to survive.

They flew in clean V-formations, like geese from a former world, each wingbeat a metronome keeping the sky in order.

Jiu Jiu led at the spearpoint, so from her back the little one saw only a single endless rank, a river of wyrms without end.

Curiosity spent, the little one lay down again, pillow to Alicia’s thigh, eyes folding shut like petals at dusk.

“Wake me when we get there,” she murmured, voice soft as falling snow.

“Got it~,” Alicia replied, light as a bell.

A bright room held three figures, light pooling like water on polished stone.

One was an old man, hair snow-white, skin wrinkled like dry bark.

One was a shirtless man, black hair and red eyes, muscles coiled like iron cables.

One was a pink-haired maiden, charm fluttering like a silk fan in spring wind.

They knew each other too well, bonds rubbed smooth like river stones.

“Well? How do you take this report?” he asked, the words dropping like a pebble into still water.

The black-haired man slid a sheaf to the table’s center, like laying a blade between them, inviting a look.

No one looked; they already knew what the ink would say, like a storm you smell before it breaks.

Those thick pages tracked a red-haired maiden and a blonde little girl, down to a pact with the Dragonfolk, detailed like tracks in fresh snow.

“How solid is it? What if it’s smoke and mirrors?”

The elder spoke, voice weathered as old timber, a candle guttering low in a draft to any listener.

“Alex! Even now, you’re still bending the scales for your daughter?”

“This time, I have to admit Gill’s right. Your daughter’s aim is plain as noon. She wants to rule the world.”

Pink-haired Dorado and black-haired Gill dropped a king’s decorum like a cloak, jabbing fingers at Alex and letting the storm rip.

Alex had no retort; they weren’t wrong, and his daughter Alicia had pushed past what people would stomach, like a tide breaching a seawall.

She courted the Elvenfolk, tied threads to Daemons, maybe ruled the Beastfolk from shadow; now add the Dragonfolk to that loom...

It felt like everyone but humans and dead gods now tied to the Mystic Realm, a web tugging at human survival like frost on spring buds.

“Alex! If your favoritism dooms our kind, I’ll march Uru alone to war, like a banner in a storm.”

“Same here! We of Elusen have ties to the Mystic Realm, but we won’t risk human extinction for a ribbon of goodwill.”

The two, man and woman, traded lines like drums in tandem, pressing Alex until words dried up like a well.

“Actually...” he started, the word thin as a fraying thread.

“Alex! You’re wavering again...” Gill snapped, like a lash across the room.

Alex tried to buy time; the man cut in sharp, no gap left, disappointment in his tone like cold ash.

“Alex... you’ve grown old,” he said, frost settling on the words.

“...Yes. I have grown old,” Alex said, a leaf-fall sigh.

“Then I’m taking troops to strike the Mystic Realm now. If you’re still a king for our future, don’t come charging to stop me.”

“Gill, count me in. Those two are still on their way back, but the Mystic Realm sits packed with Elvenfolk. Without more troops, we won’t punch through.”

Gill and Dorado traded a glance and a thin smile, admiring each other’s sharp call like blades catching light.

“Enough!” The word cracked like thunder.

Gill smacked the table like a war drum and rose from his chair.

“This isn’t up for debate. I’m set on the Mystic Realm. While they’re gone, we’ll use our new Anti-Elven Weapons and blast the place open...”

“...or humans are dead meat in the years ahead. Right?”

Gill’s words trailed; Alex seized them, finishing the line like a hand catching a falling cup.

Gill didn’t bristle at the cut; he only arched a brow, a wolf amused at a thorn.

“So the old man’s got a few wits left. In that case, you won’t block my strike on the Mystic Realm, will you?”

Alex shook his head, some of the slump burning off like fog in sun.

“I won’t stop you. Because it’s a fight you’re destined to lose...”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You looking down on us?”

“No. I don’t belittle or coddle anyone. I’m stating a fact—the fact you’re bound to lose.”

Gill no longer rushed to leave for war; the pause hung like a held breath.

He strode around the table to Alex, iron bulk looming, his corded muscle a stark foil to Alex’s creased, papery skin.

He grabbed Alex by the collar and hoisted him like a bundle of sticks.

Born blood-red, his eyes bored into Alex’s brown ones; those old wells didn’t ripple a bit.

“One more chance. Say it again. Are we weak?” he hissed, heat shimmering like summer over stone.

A threat. Bare and naked as a blade in daylight.

But Alex was a king; threats had long passed over him like winter squalls. The man before him was a king too, and Alex didn’t flinch.

He glared back, an old fire flaring, its heat carrying a quiet kind of weight.

“Then here’s my last time. You’re weak—far weaker than Alicia and her lot. So tell me, how do you win?”