Nuh-uh~ we’re not under their umbrella; we’re in the same boat, an alliance, got it?

Hmph! Isn’t that the same wine in a new bottle?!

Dorado’s tone carried a sour tang, vinegar in the air, and the sharp gleam of sarcasm.

Ling didn’t get the sourness, but the sarcasm was clear: Dorado saw Dragonfolk wings as her shelter, not alliance.

Since old days, humans and otherkind clashed like flint and steel; Dorado likely despised Ling for clasping their hands.

Honestly, if she didn’t know human ways—greed sprouting like spring weeds—Ling wouldn’t have gone to otherkind first.

In the end, her distrust of humans was seeded by humans; so she put a human alliance at the back of the line.

Like now: with Dragonfolk and Elvenfolk at her side like twin mountains, the three kings came for tea—no, for talks.

If she’d gone to the nearest humans first, she’d be diced like scallions, and even this three-king parley would fade like a mirage.

But!

Still, Ling felt no need to explain; she kept a creed like a drawn blade: you poke me, you pay.

She raised her gaze, eyes wide, and locked with Dorado’s, a silent duel like two tigers sharing one ridge.

King Alex saw sparks crackle where their stares crossed, and smelled the heat like smoke from kindling.

He feared a stray spark would kiss powder, blast the quarrel, and even wreck this hard-built council room.

So he stepped in as peacemaker, a bucket of water over the embers.

Everyone... everyone, cool down! We’re not here to brawl!

With a mediator dousing the flare-up, Dorado and Ling took the step he laid and backed off the ledge.

Seeing two bonfires go quiet and the gunpowder haze thin, Alex let out a breath like wind through pines.

Good... as long as everyone’s calm, like a still lake.

Say, you didn’t come find me just to ask something that dull, to chase smoke, did you?

Ah, about that... the words just stick like cold rice.

Alex knew she wanted the real purpose; but like before, he opened his mouth and only ahhh’d, a fish flapping on shore.

I’ll say it, quit dithering; you’re chewing wax.

Gill, quiet since getting humbled, finally spoke, stitching his torn pride like a ripped cloak, and weary of Alex’s fussing.

We came to talk alliance. You’ve allied with otherkind already. You won’t wash your hands of human affairs, right?

He meant an alliance with the Mystic Realm, plain as a raised banner.

That was why the three kings gathered here, and why Ling came herself to settle it like a needle through silk.

Of course. Our Mystic Realm won’t leave you out in the cold~

She agreed too easily; Gill’s brow climbed like a startled cat up a wall.

Oh~ so the Mystic Realm really aims to cast a net over every race?

No... not that star to steer by.

How is it not? First the Elvenfolk, then the Beastfolk, then the Dragonfolk, and even the Daemons—beads on your string. Now only humans remain, right?

Mmm... I don’t think so; it doesn’t smell like that to me.

Hmph! How is it not? The moment I raised it, you nodded, eager as spring thunder. Doesn’t that prove your plan?

Ling clicked her tongue inside, irritation like a nettle under the skin.

Gill was a king who toyed with minds; chuunibyo sometimes dulled him, but calm, he was a blade you couldn’t overlook.

Just now, one careless step, and he hooked a scrap from her like an angler landing a carp.

What, no answer? I’ll take that as your—

Yes. That’s right. Your guess is spot on, like an arrow to the bullseye~

Gill was about to call it tacit consent, when Ling admitted it without a blink; the heel-turn left him blinking like an owl at noon.

Normally, if you planned to rule the world, you wouldn’t confess that before a would-be ally; you’d keep that card under your sleeve.

It makes the other side feel like a tool, a hammer hanging from your belt—though people vary.

Either way, it rarely feels good, like chewing sand.

So Gill had to reexamine his chain of thought, polishing it like a mirror—was their true goal really just an alliance?

What if this was a trap, a pit masked with leaves?

What if whether we ally wasn’t even a bargaining chip on the table, just a painted tile?

What if... like fog closing in?

Gill was strong—undeniably sharp at inference, a hawk circling on high.

But that very suspicion, with no one to tug his sleeve, dragged him into a whirlpool of doubt he couldn’t swim out of.

Unbeknownst to him, Ling spoke true; she wanted a simple alliance, then go home, then eat, steam curling from rice, and then...

Well... unless the overthinking Gill chose to trust her, he’d never land on that answer, even with the bowl under his nose.