The alarm blaring from not far away carried no emotion at all. Its calmness was terrifying—almost unnervingly mechanical.
Lyselle and Shall instinctively turned toward its source.
There, they spotted a sapling.
Unlike the colossal sky-piercing tree nearby, this alarm-sounding sapling stood only waist-high. Clearly newly sprouted, it looked frail and delicate, as if a gust of wind might snap it in half.
Lyselle glanced from the sapling to the giant tree behind her and couldn’t help but smile.
*"So tiny… but cute."*
She murmured under her breath.
Shall didn’t catch her words and shot her a questioning look:
*"?"*
"Nothing," Lyselle’s gaze darted briefly downward—just a flicker toward Shall’s waist—before quickly climbing back to his face. "I was just wondering… was that alarm really coming from *it*?"
Shall nodded gravely.
"But how can a tree sound an alarm? Is it disguised as a—"
Lyselle stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Shall’s hand shift on the hilt of the Holy Sword.
He looked ready to interrogate the sapling.
*This is Elves’ territory!* Lyselle thought frantically. *Doesn’t he realize they’ll banish him for roughing up their plants?*
*Typical muscle-headed barbarian—* She rushed forward to stop him.
But failed.
The moment she reached him, Shall grabbed the back of her cloak’s collar and lifted her clean off the ground.
Like a mother cat carrying her kitten, he set Lyselle behind himself.
Then, the Champion drew the Holy Sword with an impassive face and demanded coldly:
"Who’s there?"
Lyselle finally understood—Shall wasn’t threatening the sapling. He’d sensed someone approaching.
Though she hated being manhandled like luggage, she knew priorities. *Settle this first. Deal with him later.*
*Enemies ahead. Unity first.*
Lyselle raised her Magic Wand, holding her breath, ready to chant a spell at any moment—
Just as she’d stood ready to heal Shall for the past three years.
Then, under their watchful eyes, several Elves emerged from the bushes right beneath them.
Pointed ears. Golden hair. Emerald eyes. Each one breathtakingly beautiful, almost androgynous.
Clad in identical uniforms, they moved like a disciplined patrol squad—archers, mages, warriors—forming a perfect battle formation the instant they cleared the foliage.
Lyselle’s attention, however, lingered on the bushes themselves.
*How did so many fit in such a tiny shrub?*
*They’re less like Elves and more like ghosts—seemingly nowhere, yet everywhere. One shout from Shall, and they’d pop out like… well, like bread men arriving at the snap of fingers.*
Regardless, the standoff had begun.
The tallest Elf stepped forward. His emerald eyes swept over Lyselle and Shall, utterly devoid of warmth.
"Leave Lundeheim," he stated flatly. "Outsiders are not welcome here."
Lyselle and Shall exchanged glances.
*Just like the rumors,* Lyselle thought. *Pointy-ears really don’t like uninvited guests.*
But they weren’t uninvited.
She poked Shall’s lower back with her wand and shot him a meaningful look: *You talk.*
Shall gave a soft "hmph," turned to the Elves, and declared:
"I am Shall. Champion of humankind. I seek an audience with your Queen."
The Elves exchanged uneasy glances.
After a strange silence, the tall Elf spoke again, his expression oddly strained:
"Outsiders often believe this… but Elves have never had a Queen."
*"!"*
Lyselle gasped.
Every bard sang of the Elven Queen’s grace… She’d never met one herself during her last visit, but wasn’t "a noble, elegant Elven Queen" common knowledge?
Even Shall had assumed as much.
Clearly, consensus was impossible.
*Next step: "Traitor in our midst—abort mission,"* Lyselle tightened her grip on her wand, bracing to run.
Then Shall spoke:
"In that case… I wish to thank the Elf who delivered my coffin last time—"
*Idiot!* Lyselle nearly facepalmed. *Changing your story mid-sentence? They’ll kick us out as spies!*
Before her thought finished, Shall added:
"—I mistook her for your Queen. I came specifically to express my gratitude."
*"?"*
Lyselle eyed him suspiciously.
*He actually covered it up?*
*No!* The Shall she knew was never this quick-witted—he’d always been tongue-tied, leaving negotiations to her.
The Sorceress suddenly felt the Champion before her was a stranger.
The Elves, however, weren’t troubled by such doubts.
Lyselle watched the tall Elf step back, whisper urgently to another Elf behind him, then return with newfound courtesy:
"Please follow us."
They’d believed him.
Led by the Elves, Lyselle and Shall soon stood beneath the colossal tree.
The lead Elf halted, bowed deeply, and introduced himself with polished grace:
"Honored Sir Shall, and the unfamiliar Sorceress— I am Mula, Captain of Lundeheim’s Third Patrol Squad. You may also address me by my designation: 09527."
"09527?" Lyselle frowned. "What does that mean?"
Mula smiled warmly. "My citizen number in Lundeheim. Every resident bears one—a unique honor bestowed by our Matriarch."
"Matriarch?"
"Yes. The Matriarch." Mula’s expression shifted, filling with pilgrim-like reverence. "She is the very womb of Lundeheim."
Lyselle wanted to press further, but Mula guided them onto a leaf-shaped platform. Beside a small altar there, he reached inside.
Vein-like green light pulsed from the altar, spreading across the entire platform.
"As non-Elves, you cannot enter Lundeheim through the Matriarch’s branches directly," Mula explained while working. "This teleportation array is prepared solely for outsiders."
Lyselle nodded. *When in Rome…*
But she remembered Shall’s habit of forgetting to deactivate his Magic Nullification—a frequent cause of failed teleports. His memory lasted seven seconds, like a goldfish. She instinctively poked his arm with her wand to remind him—
Before she could speak, a low hum filled the air. Light shifted.
They vanished from the platform.
Lyselle found herself facing a city.
A city she’d visited long ago with the Old Sage—a metropolis grown atop the giant tree’s crown.
Timeless. Breathtaking. Perfectly fused with nature, radiating the Elves’ signature elegance.
She recalled these structures weren’t built—they were *grown*. Elves planted seeds on the great tree; when the time came, shelter simply… blossomed.
Houses like scattered stars clung to the branches. At the crown, denser clusters matured—their vines entwined before fruiting, their ripe forms merging into seamless dwellings.
A vast city now lived upon the tree. Known by another, more famous name:
*Lundeheim*—City of Tree and Elves.
But this Lundeheim differed from her memory.
Thick fog swallowed it whole.
The mist was so dense it bleached the night white. Two people standing arm’s length apart would vanish from each other’s sight.
Worried Shall might wander off, Lyselle opened her mouth to warn him—
Only for Shall to say first:
"Stay close. Don’t wander."
Her lips twitched. *Typical.* But with Elves watching, she merely nodded. "Mm."
She did ask Mula about the fog, though:
"Sir Mula—this mist. Has Lundeheim always been like this?"
Mula paused. After a long silence, he shook his head.
"I do not know."
Then, strangely, he looked directly at Shall.
"But the Governor knows why this fog exists. Sir Shall—please follow me. She has awaited you for some time."
*"?"*
Lyselle and Shall locked eyes again.
Confusion clouded Shall’s gaze.
Lyselle’s eyes gleamed smugly—*See? I told you these pointy-ears need you.*
Together, they followed Mula’s steps, vanishing into the white void.
[To Be Continued]
