Fawena finally agreed with the young Elves’ proposal.
Thus began the war against the Matriarch.
Sylowei told the Sorceress and the Champion that the Matriarch’s true form lay deep within Lundeheim.
Then she led everyone to the heart of Lundeheim—
where the colossal trunk of the Great Tree stood.
“Our Mother is inside,” Sylowei murmured, pressing her palm against the bark. “But even knowing Her location, reaching Her won’t be easy.”
Lyselle frowned. “Why?”
“Ever since Mother went mad, thick fog has filled the interior—just like outside. Lanterns can clear the mist in the outer layers, but deeper in? Even Lanterns fail.”
Fawena gave a bitter smile. “After Mother’s madness began, some Elves tried entering as before. Every single one vanished without a trace.”
“So there was no fog here originally?”
“No. The mist appeared alongside the anomalies in Mother’s Nursery Chamber. You could say it’s one manifestation of Her madness.”
“But I recall you calling the fog ‘the Matriarch’s Dream’…”
Lyselle trailed off, suddenly remembering the Matriarch’s Dream she and Shall had endured earlier.
Outwardly serene, yet riddled with flaws—as if someone had surgically removed every concept tied to the Matriarch from Lundeheim, then clumsily patched the resulting gaps. A jarring, makeshift illusion.
*Why would the Matriarch dream of a Lundeheim without Herself?*
*Does the Elven Matron carry Uchiha blood in Her veins?*
Lyselle felt she’d grasped a crucial thread linking the Dream to the Matriarch’s madness—but the insight slipped through her fingers.
She simply told Sylowei: “We’ll find a way. Let’s go in first.”
Sylowei nodded in agreement and stepped aside for Fawena.
The Governor approached, pressed her palm flat against the bark—just as she had to open the Nursery Chamber—and unlocked another door.
The door to the Matriarch’s true form.
A ripple of liquid light shimmered. With a soft hum, a perfectly square door hidden within the trunk slid open.
Sylowei, Fawena, and the Elves seemed accustomed to this. Lyselle, however, stared oddly at the geometric door until Shall nudged her to move. She snapped out of her daze and hurried after the others.
Fawena shot her a curious glance.
Lyselle shook her head. *Nothing.*
She lied.
She *had* noticed something—but now wasn’t the time to speak of it.
With a strange weight in her chest, Lyselle followed the Elves deeper.
The Matriarch’s true form resided far within the Great Tree’s core. From the canopy entrance, they descended endlessly downward.
The hollow trunk held vast space. Under a weightless spell, Lyselle, Shall, and the Elves drifted like dandelion seeds through the darkness.
Endless fog swallowed everything. The large group splintered into small teams, each carrying a Lantern. They glowed like fireflies, sinking through the mist.
Naturally, the Sorceress and Champion were paired together.
This time, the Sorceress didn’t cling to the Champion’s sleeve. The Champion no longer needed to grip her offered Magic Wand for stability.
Ever since Lyselle’s teasing last time, Shall had deliberately kept his distance.
Normally, his avoidance would’ve spurred her to provoke him further. Today, she stayed silent.
Shall found her quietness unsettling—but wisely held his tongue to avoid another round of teasing.
Silently, they sank through layers of thickening fog.
Then Fawena’s warning came true.
Their Lantern flickered like a failing signal. The flashes quickened, then spasmed wildly before dying out completely.
Darkness and fog swallowed them whole.
Lyselle nearly called out Shall’s name to confirm he was still there—
—but a hand reached through the mist.
Followed by the Champion’s steady, grounding voice:
“Take my hand.”
*Heh.* Lyselle almost smirked.
*‘Yesterday you ignored me—today you’ll find me too good for you!’*
She’d meant to taunt him aloud. But the darkness was absolute, the fog suffocating. She chickened out.
Obediently, she grasped his hand.
*Holding hands ≠ surrender.*
*I’ll get him back later.*
Just as she thought this, a faint glow sparked in the darkness.
It swelled rapidly—from firefly to miniature sun—illuminating the mist with blinding light.
Shall had cast a Luminous Spell.
The fog remained, the darkness unbroken—yet Lyselle’s fear vanished.
Perhaps because she could still see Shall’s face, close enough to touch.
But Shall wasn’t looking at her.
His gaze lingered on the light in his palm, tender and distant.
Before Lyselle’s eyes, he was thinking of another woman—
His Priestess.
Lyselle froze, unsure what to say or do.
It felt as if thorns had sprouted on Shall’s hand. She could no longer hold it without guilt.
A quiet shame crept over her. *Had she gone too far with her teasing?*
What had she gained? She didn’t even like men—yet she’d played the seductress, risking the lingering effects of their contract. (Why wasn’t *he* affected?)
*Don’t lose yourself in the game.*
With sudden clarity, Lyselle resolved: *No more flirting with Shall.*
Too risky. Too revealing.
Convincing herself with this logic, she released his hand and drew her Magic Wand.
“You…” She looked away. “Hold this instead.”
Shall froze, bewildered. But he accepted the wand with a grateful nod.
“...Okay.”
His quiet reply hung in the silence.
They drifted downward again. Endlessly.
Until—
Sudden noise shattered the stillness.
Lyselle, scanning the fog for the Matriarch, jolted and turned to Shall.
The fog had vanished.
So had the hollow darkness of the trunk. Light returned. Solid ground met their feet.
They stood in Lundeheim.
But like the previous Matriarch’s Dream, this Lundeheim was fog-free.
*Another Dream?*
Lyselle glanced sideways.
Shall still stood beside her. She held one end of the wand; he gripped the other.
Relief washed over her—but she masked it perfectly. The DawnDusk Witch remained poised.
With elegant calm, she asked the Champion:
“Is *this* why Elves struggle to reach the Matriarch’s true form?”
“No wonder,” she sighed. “Past a certain depth, Lanterns fail. We’re forced into the Matriarch’s Dream. But escaping it requires a Lantern…”
“—A near-impossible loop.”
Shall was silent for a moment. “No other way?”
Lyselle shook her head. “None. My magic fails against the fog. Your Magic Nullification does nothing. This mist likely isn’t magical at all.”
Her voice turned thoughtful. “So… what *is* it?”
Shall sensed the shift in her tone, opening his mouth to ask—
“Shh—” Lyselle pressed a finger to her lips, yanking him behind a wooden hut.
He fell silent, following her gaze.
Lundeheim should have held only Elves.
Few outsiders ever entered. Lyselle had confirmed with Fawena: *“Including you two? Fewer than twenty in centuries.”*
Streets should have teemed with sharp-eared, fair-faced Elves.
But this Dream-born Lundeheim held something else.
Another outsider.
No—not even human.
Just a shadow.
A Tall Wraith: limbs unnaturally long and thin, movements stiff, towering twice Lyselle’s height.
[To Be Continued]
