Lyselle frowned.

What did this Old Sage mean?

Long before the weirdness appeared in Lundeheim and the Matriarch went mad, some Elves had already wanted to defy her?

Could someone translate this for her?

But perhaps no translation was needed.

Lyselle suddenly recalled Mula’s words—

He saw himself as a gear, one that had to spin day and night without rest, only finding “freedom” when it broke down or was scrapped.

In Lundeheim’s great machine, a single gear had no freedom. So Mula couldn’t even quit to become the clockmaker he dreamed of—because in the Elves’ world, “quitting” might not exist.

Shall seemed to realize this too, so he blurted out:

“But what does this have to do with the Matriarch going mad?”

Lyselle wondered the same.

Had the Elves’ defiance driven the Matriarch insane?

That didn’t make sense.

Children always rebel, whether human or Elf.

Elves were long-lived, so their adolescence and rebellious phases lasted far longer than humans’.

As kids, they might be obedient, like caring little companions. But once puberty hit and self-awareness swelled, it was over.

Rebellious youths were despised by all.

Thinking they were grown, strong enough to stand alone, they refused to listen—talking back, arguing, sometimes even lashing out at their parents.

But nothing under the sun was new.

A kid who kept rebelling just needed a harsh reality check to straighten up.

Most parents would let them be; a few would gently guide them back.

But the Matriarch was different.

Her thinking was unconventional, her methods extreme—

The Elves were rebelling? Fine! She decided to confront them head-on!

So that’s why she went mad?

Lyselle doubted it.

From the Elves’ reports, their defiance was all talk, never action. Otherwise, Lundeheim would be far more chaotic.

So why had this Old Sage Elf sought them out? What was her goal?

Lyselle and Shall turned to Sylowei, seeking answers.

And Sylowei gave one:

“Do you recall the meeting where we proposed Elves handle the city’s abnormal youths ourselves?”

She answered a question with a question.

It wasn’t satisfying.

But Shall nodded.

“I remember.”

“He was the leader of those rebels…” She paused, choosing better words. “Or rather, the spokesperson the youths elected.”

She sighed, shaking her head as she continued.

“Those youths heard about ‘parliaments’ from outside and built their own—though it was crude, rules changed daily, with no real power. Like children playing house.”

“They didn’t grasp what a parliament was for, why it existed, or if it fit our city.”

Her deep, moss-green eyes locked onto Shall and Lyselle beside him.

“Laughable, isn’t it?” Sylowei asked.

Yet no trace of amusement touched her aged face.

She didn’t expect an answer.

Slowly, she raised her Lantern higher, as if to burn away the mist and wake the hidden Lundeheim beneath.

Only then could she study this city—familiar yet strange.

But she couldn’t. Straining, she lifted her head, eyes unfocused and lost, gazing up at the giant tree shrouded in fog.

Abruptly, she said:

“Three thousand years… Lundeheim has stood for three thousand years.”

“For three millennia, all Elves were like children, obediently following Mother’s will. Each played our part, keeping Lundeheim’s great machine turning.”

“Among us, the first children Mother created, a saying passed down—”

“Mother is never wrong.”

Sylowei smiled faintly, as if remembering.

“Under Mother’s guidance, we built Lundeheim—our home.”

“She gave us food to fill our bellies, clothes against the cold, roofs over our heads. Even precious knowledge. So we lived peacefully on this tree, in calm and harmony.”

“That life lasted three thousand years.”

“In that time, I heard often from travelers how chaotic the outside world was.”

“Dynasties and empires rose and fell. Humans, orcs, and dragons warred endlessly. Countless lives were lost.”

“But Lundeheim stayed safe. Too safe, perhaps… You might not believe it, but Lundeheim today is nearly identical to three thousand years ago.”

Sylowei flashed a mischievous, old-childlike grin, pointing at herself.

“Well, some things changed—like me. I’m a withered old thing compared to my younger self.”

She lowered her eyes, whispering softly.

“But to Mother, a three-thousand-year-old Elf and a few-hundred-year-old one are still just children.”

Lyselle disagreed inwardly.

Could a three-thousand-year-old Old Sage call herself a child? Then Lyselle would be a newborn!

But she grasped Sylowei’s meaning.

Three thousand years of peace were too precious for elders like Sylowei to lose. Elves, being long-lived, clung to routine. Lyselle guessed Sylowei had come to beg them not to kill the Matriarch.

They thought She could still be saved.

But time’s wheel crushes all who block its path, without mercy.

Lyselle felt she should urge the old woman to accept reality.

She said carefully:

“But all abnormalities in Lundeheim seem to stem from the Matriarch. If we don’t kill Her, every Elf might vanish one by one—like Mula.”

Sylowei’s shocked expression surprised her.

“Oh…”

The old woman shook her head, a strange, pale smile spreading across her face.

“Did you think I came to stop you and the Champion from killing our Mother?”

Lyselle froze.

“Aren’t you?”

Sylowei pondered deeply before replying.

“Perhaps, Sorceress. If I could, I’d spare Mother’s life.”

“She nurtured us for three thousand years. She is every Elf’s mother. Even the youths who want Her dead wouldn’t raise blades against their own mother.”

“Even if She stifled Lundeheim’s growth. Even if She turned us into gears. Even if we never knew ‘freedom’ under Her rule. Even if She tried to ‘kill’ us with fog and disappearances.”

“But She… is still our Mother.”

Weariness flooded Sylowei’s face.

She gripped the Lantern’s handle tightly.

Her body trembled slightly.

“I understand those youths,” she murmured.

“We old ones are used to stillness. But they… they have strength. Time. They won’t wait idly like us.”

“Three thousand years ago, Mother was always right. Now, after so much time, even I marvel at the new era.”

“Like your teacher founding the White Tower. Or the human empire’s strange gadgets across the Forest Sea.”

Sylowei’s bitter smile returned.

“Unnoticed, Lundeheim fell far behind. I did too. Mother did too.”

“We’ve… become relics time will discard.”

“But to Mother, we’re still children needing care. She still dotes on us, stubbornly keeping us in Lundeheim. I don’t know how She went mad—but I feel Her love remains.”

Her expression calmed.

Staring at the raised Lantern, she whispered:

“Mother forgot one thing—children always grow up.”

“The path is painful. Full of parting, tears, blood, and fire. But one day, children leave their mother’s arms for their coming-of-age.”

Sylowei’s gaze left the Lantern.

She looked at the Sorceress and Champion.

“This rebellion—selfish, willful—might be our first and last against Mother…”

“She may never forgive us. We don’t deserve forgiveness. But we’ll carry Her blessing or curse forward.”

Her face hardened with sorrow and resolve. She made her plea:

“Please help us kill our Mother!”