The Governor of Lundeheim asked the Champion to help kill their mother.

Lyselle’s pupils trembled.

She blurted out instinctively:

“Are… are you serious? The coffin you gifted Shall was meant to secure his help in killing… your mother?”

Lyselle often thought herself thoroughly wicked—after all, she’d happily let Shall regret her forever without a second thought. Yet facing Fawena now, she felt as innocent as a blank page.

—Fawena seemed dangerously extreme.

In truth, she was far more extreme than Lyselle had imagined.

Unfazed by the Sorceress’s doubt, the Governor of the elven city-state replied with chilling calmness:

“Exactly as you heard, Miss DawnDusk Witch. That has always been my sole purpose.”

She turned to Shall:

“Champion, time is critical. Even had you not come to Lundeheim today, the team sent to fetch you was already prepared to depart at a moment’s notice.”

Lyselle fell silent.

Something felt off.

Fawena’s words weren’t truly about killing the Elves’ mother—they were about Lundeheim’s dire state.

The Governor claimed the city could barely hold on, that urgency choked them. For some reason, this reminded Lyselle of the thick fog smothering the entire city-state.

Had Lundeheim faced an unsolvable crisis tied to that fog?

And Fawena’s solution was for Shall to kill the Elves’ mother…

Could killing her truly fix everything?

With too few clues, Lyselle crudely equated “the Elves’ mother” with “the fog engulfing Lundeheim.”

Shall was equally baffled—but unlike Lyselle, he asked directly:

“What exactly happened in Lundeheim? Why hire me to kill your mother?”

Fawena shook her head faintly.

“Details are hard to explain. We’ll talk as we walk.”

She gestured for the Sorceress and Champion to follow.

“Come with me.”

Without waiting, she stepped into the dense white fog.

Lyselle and Shall exchanged a glance.

She lowered her voice first:

“What do you think?”

After a pause, Shall murmured back:

“I can’t see her reason to lie.”

Lyselle agreed—she doubted the Governor would deceive Shall over this. Yet the entire city felt unnervingly strange…

After a brief hesitation, she decided:

“Let’s follow and see what’s happening. If we truly wish to leave, no Elf can stop us.”

After all, one was the sole student of the Lord of the White Tower; the other, the current Champion wielding the cheat-like Magic Nullification. No matter how perilous Lundeheim had become, escape was always an option.

Shall nodded. His hand rested on the hilt of the Holy Sword, ready to draw it instantly.

He strode after Fawena, glancing back to warn Lyselle softly:

“Stay close.”

Lyselle understood—he meant to shield her.

*As if I need his protection,* she thought. In this elven city, the DawnDusk Witch might prove far more useful than a Champion.

Yet she quickened her steps, slipping neatly into his protective shadow.

*‘Free bodyguard. Why refuse?’*

She smirked inwardly.

…

Noon arrived, yet the fog showed no sign of lifting. Visibility was near zero; travelers had to cling to each other to avoid getting lost. Unsurprisingly, no Elves braved the streets in such weather.

Fawena produced an ancient Bronze Lantern and lit it. Strangely, the suffocating fog recoiled from its glow like a beast fleeing its natural predator.

A clear sphere, five meters wide, formed around the light.

The trio walked within this bubble. White mist parted before them, only to silently seal shut behind their footsteps.

Lyselle, trailing last, whispered curiously:

“Governor, where did that Lantern come from? Why does it repel the fog?”

Fawena turned, holding the Lantern steady.

“This relic was passed down by our ancestors. Sadly, we still don’t understand why it clears Lundeheim’s fog.”

“In fact…” A bitter smile touched her lips. “We only discovered this power recently.”

Her gaze lingered on the Lantern’s cryptic, rhythmic patterns.

“Our civilization’s history runs too deep,” Fawena murmured. “We’ve lost countless vital truths along the way.”

“—Like this Lantern’s purpose. Like the origin of Lundeheim’s plight. And…”

She halted abruptly.

“We’re here.”

Raising the Lantern high, she banished the fog in a wide arc. A colossal structure emerged from the gloom.

It resembled a slumbering beast—its shell forged from unknown material, armored and unyielding, draped in thick vines and lush leaves.

The Lantern’s light revealed only a fragment; the rest remained swallowed by mist. Cold. Silent. Metallic yet alive, as if poised to awaken from an ageless sleep.

Lyselle shuddered, imagining it:

A leviathan’s shadow flickering in the fog. Slender limbs like deep-sea tendrils piercing the haze—giant pillars stabbing the sky. Its bloated body, part mollusk, part insect, drifting over land like a phantom of the abyss.

She didn’t know why such a vision haunted her. Perhaps it was the fog. Or the building’s eerie aura.

Fawena now stood before its entrance.

“Every Elf in Lundeheim is born of the Mother Tree…” She pressed her palm against the door. “Have you heard this tale beyond our walls?”

Shall stayed silent. Lyselle nodded.

“Bards sing of it. They also claim you have a beautiful, graceful Queen.”

Fawena’s smile turned enigmatic.

“We have no Queen—only me, the Governor. But the bards got one thing right—”

A strange hum vibrated through the door. It swung open, releasing a cloying, sweet fragrance.

Fawena stepped aside, gazing into the chamber. Her breath escaped in a soft sigh.

“They were right about this: every Elf in Lundeheim is born of the Matriarch.”

Lyselle and Shall finally saw inside.

Honeycomb-like pools filled the space—breeding tanks brimming with viscous, pale green fluid. The liquid exhaled that strange sweetness into the air.

“Enter,” the Governor urged.

Compelled, the Sorceress and Champion stepped forward.

Closer now, they noticed details hidden from outside:

Most tanks held only fluid. But a few contained embryos—Elven embryos.

Though underdeveloped, their forms were distinct: tiny limbs, blurred faces. These fragile lives floated in the thick liquid, growing slowly. Soon, they would join Lundeheim as new Elves.

But Lyselle saw something horrifying.

Her eyes darted across a dozen developing embryos. Then she snapped her head up, voice trembling:

“Why? Why are these embryos… deformed?”

She saw one with five spider-like legs. Another with two heads—one featureless. Others twisted beyond recognition, mere lumps of flesh.

Not a single normal embryo remained.

Fawena’s bitter laugh echoed.

“Every Elf in Lundeheim was born here. Mula who guided you. Myself. All of us.”

“The Matriarch birthed us. She gave us homes, food, precious knowledge. She nurtured and shielded us for millennia. But if…”

She looked down at the malformed embryo beside her, its ugliness defying the word “Elf.” Her voice grew distant.

“But if the Matriarch has gone mad?”

[To be continued]