The Elves' meeting had temporarily concluded.
But Lyselle had no mind for their discussions of trivial matters.
Her thoughts were consumed by the Matriarch's three statements.
She is fine.
Everything is normal.
"They" are all well protected by Her.
These words were contradictory in themselves.
Who were "they"? Why did the Matriarch say "they" instead of "you" when answering Fawena?
Was Lundeheim truly normal? If so, what about the thick fog? The deformed embryos in the Nursery Chamber? The Elves vanishing without explanation?
The Matriarch was lying!
—Lyselle reached this conclusion.
Clearly, Lundeheim was abnormal. Logically, the Matriarch must be in terrible condition. Thus, Her third statement was likely false too.
She hadn't protected "them" at all.
What had She done to "them"? Or was the Matriarch herself behind the disappearances?
Lyselle leaned toward yes.
But she had no proof.
This headache was unavoidable—they were on Elven territory after all.
Outside, on White Tower grounds, she could snatch anyone's mother without reason.
There, the Old Sage was truth itself!
As his student, she was practically truth's daughter.
If she took someone's mom, they'd even defend her: "I'm not wronged—it's Miss Lyselle who's wronged!"
Though she'd never actually do such unreasonable things.
Lyselle sighed and pulled her thumb from her mouth.
She had this bad habit: when deep in thought, she'd unconsciously bite her nails. Thankfully, as a Sorceress, she often cast cleaning spells. Her nails stayed spotless.
Still, the gesture was unseemly.
After finishing her thoughts, she quickly lowered her hand. She looked up, ready to ask Shall where to go next.
Then she realized—she'd left the church without noticing.
Her memory had blanked, lost in thought. She couldn't recall when the meeting ended or when she'd stepped out.
One thing was certain: she still gripped Shall's sleeve.
It seemed... she'd been led out of the church like this, clinging to him without realizing.
Her face flushed. His sleeve felt scorching. The Sorceress yanked her hand back, pretending nothing happened. She fell a step behind Shall to keep distance.
Like a guide dog sensing a loosened leash, Shall immediately noticed Lyselle let go.
He turned instinctively toward her.
"You..." He paused, searching for words. "Finished thinking?"
The moment he spoke, he sensed the awkward shift in atmosphere. He swallowed hard, stayed silent a beat, then turned away again.
He, too, pretended nothing happened.
Amid the embarrassment, Lyselle almost laughed.
*Copycat! Stealing my act completely!*
But she couldn't voice it. Silence settled between them.
They walked on in eerie quiet, one behind the other.
The Champion still held a Lantern. Unactivated, it carried no trace of the Matriarch's will.
Its only purpose now was to push back Lundeheim's fog.
Still unnerving, wasn't it?
Lyselle stared at the Bronze Lantern.
Ancient and simple, it bore intricate, ornate patterns. Rust speckled its surface. Even the crystal lampshade had yellowed with age.
Through the haze, she barely made out a steady source of light and heat within.
A magic device? A tiny reactor? A blurry lump of flesh? Or an eyeball?
Even with the Matriarch's will gone, Lyselle feared She might peer through these lit Lanterns anytime.
Suddenly, a strange thought struck her—
What if these Lanterns were the Matriarch's "eyes"?
That would explain why lit Lanterns dispersed fog, and how Fawena found them with another.
Could she sneakily dismantle a Lantern while the Matriarch's will was absent? See what was trapped inside?
Maybe.
But that was like an old man hanging himself—courting death.
Lyselle had zero interest in dying. She abandoned the idea, ready to ask Shall their destination.
Before she could speak, a faint light approached through the nearby fog.
Lyselle snapped alert, gripping her Magic Wand.
A weird thought surfaced—
Could it be Mula emerging from the mist?
She shook her head, banishing the idea.
Enough weirdness for two days. Please, just something normal.
Strange events could be down-to-earth—but not underworld-level. Definitely no blaring funeral fanfare joyfully escorting her to the afterlife.
As if hearing her plea, the figure entering their Lantern's glow wasn't the missing Mula. It was a face both unfamiliar and familiar—
The elderly Elf who'd spoken up at the meeting, refuting the young Elves.
She, too, held a Lantern. But her frame was slightly stooped, radiating decay—unlike the beautiful, ageless youths.
Bards claimed Elves' appearances froze after maturity, only withering near death like humans.
Like their revered Mother Tree, their golden hair faded to dry straw, their emerald eyes clouding to murky green.
Bards' tales weren't fully trustworthy... but not entirely false either.
They'd guessed right about the "Queen" and "Mother Tree." This elder's looks matched their descriptions closely.
So Lyselle tentatively believed them.
But why was this elder approaching them?
Lyselle frowned and stepped behind Shall.
—To the Elves, Shall was their pair's spokesperson anyway. She was just his attendant... or maybe his love interest.
Might as well let Shall handle this.
The elder Elf reached them.
"Champion, and Sorceress," she greeted elegantly, "good day."
Lyselle had learned such formal noble etiquette—long-lived races had time to spare. Skills piled up effortlessly over centuries. Though as one, she was barely a cradle-fresh infant.
She returned the greeting:
"Good day."
Shall's reply was simpler. He nodded.
"What brings you to us?"
The elder Elf smiled.
"Of course. I come for those... immature children."
Unexpectedly, she glanced at Lyselle before refocusing on Shall.
Shall seemed confused.
"Pardon?"
She shifted topics first.
"Before stating my purpose, I should introduce myself."
A mischievous, old-child grin appeared.
"My name is Sylowei. My designation is 00019. You must understand what our numbers mean."
Lyselle was slightly startled.
As Sylowei said, she and Shall knew exactly what the numbers signified.
So...
Lyselle studied Sylowei up and down.
The nineteenth? Was she among the Matriarch's earliest creations?
Shall thought the same, but his face betrayed it. Sylowei easily read his mind.
Her smile deepened.
"Just as you suspect. I am indeed one of the first Elves the Matriarch created."
She sighed.
"And the last one still clinging to life."
The sudden shift left Shall speechless.
Perhaps because he, too, walked time alone after losing his love, he strangely empathized with Sylowei.
He exhaled slowly.
"I'm sorry..."
Sylowei waved it off cheerfully.
"No need to apologize. It's not your fault—just this old thing muttering to herself."
Shall had no reply. He just nodded.
"...Mm."
Then he asked again:
"You said you came for those... immature children?"
Sylowei shook her head, her expression turning solemn like at the meeting.
"Not entirely. To be precise..."
"You may not know this, but even before Lundeheim's anomalies, some Elves sought to defy the Mother."
[To be continued]
