Under Dreamsound’s gentle coaxing, Tangxue finally rose to eat; outside, night lay on the island like ink on water. By the time they finished, midnight pooled like deep wells of silence.

Tonight she nestled in her mother’s arms, sleep a quiet lake. Only when Dreamsound’s breathing fell into steady waves did she open her eyes.

“Sorry… Mom, I have to go.”

Fear came first, a cold wind under her skin. The power inside her raged like a storm; ever since the Duskmoon Empire, it kept climbing like a tide. It was familiar yet strange, a growing moon-shadow, and if it kept rising, not even Dreamsound could hold her back.

Before the thread frayed beyond repair, she had to leave for the elves’ homeland. That priest had said he might know how to harden the mind, a lantern in the gale. If her spirit could grow stronger, she could bear more mana, buying herself a few more sands of time.

Resolve settled like a stone. Under the deep night, she cast flight and slipped off the little island, a gull cutting away from shore. Lucky they were on an island; otherwise leaving would’ve snagged on a thousand tangled roots.

She couldn’t skim the sea; that path was a mirror that betrayed. So she flew by feel, a compass in her chest. Earlier she’d left a mark; the forests lay northwest, a green star to follow. Keep flying that direction, and she’d reach them.

She climbed until the world thinned, then rode the northwest wind for a day and a night, a small figure against an ocean sky. She found forest—yet it was forest on all horizons, a green ocean without a shore. Where was she supposed to land?

Everywhere she looked was leaf and shadow, jade waves and dark trunks; no city stirred, no spire broke the canopy.

Fine then… The only path was back, and back wasn’t possible. If she couldn’t find the Elf villages, she’d let the elves find the winter she carried.

So she lifted her hands to the sky and loosed a wide-area control spell. Snow fell in July, white feathers drifting over summer leaves, and the river of mana led straight to her.

It didn’t take long. An elf squad came through the trees, automatic magitech rifles glinting like cold reeds. The weapons made her want to laugh—against someone who could blanket a region in winter, what use was a regular line of soldiers?

Still, she raised her hands, honest and contrite, and decided to go with them. She was the one who’d gotten lost.

“Little sister, this area’s dangerous!” The captain’s voice cut like a snapped twig, urgent and quick. “We received reports of an extremely powerful monster nearby. We’re dispatching rescue, evacuating our people. Are you alone? Where’s your mother? Is anyone else in this forest?”

The barrage of questions hit like hailstones. Tangxue’s tongue knotted; no words made it past her lips.

“I…”

“Forget it.” The captain pressed her brow and sighed, weariness like a shadow under her eyes. “Come with us first. We’ll talk once we reach a safe zone.”

On the way, after a few cautious exchanges, Tangxue grasped the picture. They were a vanguard unit, scouts moving like swift deer; rescue was a trailing duty, a second string to their bow.

Guilt pricked like nettles when she realized her snow had stirred up this trouble. She didn’t dare step forward and confess, so she followed quietly, stepped into a teleport array that hummed like a beehive, and arrived at a nearby town.

Most elves here were Forest Elves, leaf-green in manner; a few winged Elemental Elves flitted above like swallows. Outsiders were rare, though the Elven Dominion kept its cities open like gardens without walls.

Maybe others just couldn’t stomach elven food. They truly can feast on greens, dew on leaves for breakfast. Meat is rare, and pungent spices barely used. Most plates are cool and tossed, like salad under moonlight.

Tangxue remembered visiting an elven city before. A month of fruit and rainbow mushrooms had turned her stomach upside down; for days after, nothing else would go down, appetite a closed door.

Some say elves are born without the need for coupling; yet their bodies echo human design, organs mapped like familiar constellations.

But some elves truly lack those organs. Those birthed by the World Tree itself, saplings from an ancient heartwood, are like that. They’re called pure elves, wind-born and root-touched.

Those who pass on their line through love’s applause are mixed-blood elves. In the Elf Clan today, pure elves are rare. Aside from the acting clan leader, the most known are several high elders. They’re old as mountains, living thousands of years, and still with no offspring.

Because Tangxue had sheathed her mana when she left, the Elf Clan’s search ended quickly. The blizzard of worry melted into a false alarm, and she reached an elven city as she had hoped, a traveler folding her wings.

After asking around, she finally learned the priest’s whereabouts. He served in the capital of the Elven Dominion, a spire among trees. She was in a small town to the southwest, and getting there would take a full day of travel, clocks trimming a circle.

Knowing she was a hopeless navigator, Tangxue chose to wait, still as a stone in a stream. She didn’t want the helpless panic of getting lost to bite her a second time.

She decided to spend the night here. She had enough gold; an inn was easy, a lamp in the dusk.

Many elven houses are built bonded to trees, homes braided with trunks. From the sky, buildings vanish like songs under leaves. Tonight, Tangxue stayed in a tree-bonded inn; her room perched on branches, a nest above the street.

It looked scary at first, but the safety was solid as old bark. Trees in the Elven Dominion aren’t like those outside; many have lived hundreds or thousands of years, roots deep as memory. Elves commune with them, even live in symbiosis. As long as the paired ancient tree lives, the home won’t fail.

Tangxue sat with eyes closed, breath a slow thread, when the inn’s mistress knocked, voice a soft breeze through the door. “First time in the Elven Dominion, right? Want to head down and take a look? This week is the Elf Clan’s Harvest Festival. Food and drink are free.”

“Mm… I know. Thank you.” Tangxue answered from her chair, her tone calm as a pond.

The woman left, footfalls fading like petals. Tangxue packed lightly and stepped out to see.

She hadn’t lied. The Elf Clan indeed had its Harvest Festival, ripe as baskets of fruit. But here they celebrate at least half the year—Harvest, Labor, Food, Slack-Off, Wine-Tasting—festivals like scattered lights.

To be blunt, they just love a reason to rest, taking holiday like birds take wind. The clan leader’s job is the opposite—busy as a beehive, grinding daily over the clan’s future.

Going downstairs was simple. As she stepped out, the great tree kindly wrapped a vine around her, a gentle belt to prevent a sudden fall. She caught a higher vine and descended slow, like riding a green swing. Ladders and teleport would’ve worked… but this way felt a lot more cool.

Elves are mostly a crowd of cheerful drunks… but their drink is fruit wine, the kind almost soft as juice. On the street, even from far off, you can smell the orchard—a chorus of scents. To Tangxue, it was clearly just juice.

Getting drunk on juice, without the sharp stab of alcohol, was absurd and endearing. Watching a gaggle of tipsy, silly-grinning elf goofs was… kind of cute?

“Emmm… I’d rather not end up like that.”

Tangxue found a shop and ordered a few cups of “juice,” tasting them one by one.

“The flavor… not bad. It really is juice. How do they get drunk on juice?”