On the twenty-fifth floor of the Hundredfold Haven lay the broadest expanse of land within Orc held territories. It was also where one would find the Elven Kingdom.

At the center of it all stood Lothlórien, the Elves’ radiant capital, resting beneath the presence of something old and reverent.

Lothlórien was more than a city. It was exquisite. A monument to Elven design, sculpted around a colossal tree known as Sylvandor. Its silver green canopy fanned out in intricate layers, casting dappled light and gentle shadow across everything it touched. The trunk rose into the air with solemn weight, its surface glowing with a calm, internal cadence. The whole tree seemed to breathe in its own quiet way.

Runes and ancient spells wound through the bark, etched deep by spiritual hands. They clung there, stubborn and proud, written by those who had lived long enough to forget what youth felt like. Sylvandor’s roots anchored beyond soil and stone. They reached into the past, into something older than wood. To the elves, it was not just sacred. It was memory. Their last tether to what once was.

People forgot what really transpired on the Orc floors. History got engraved. Neat sides. Sharp lines. One side was labeled heroes. The other, monsters.

But what actually unfolded had no elegance. No poetry. Just horror stretched across centuries. The war between elves and orcs had raged too long to track.

Morgath Skullcrusher ruled from the Shadowed Peaks and commanded one side. His voice alone could rattle stone. His rage burned so hot that anyone might have lost a limb for standing in the wrong place.

Across the battlefield stood Queen Elaria Silverleaf, the White Sorceress. Her magic churned the skies. Her strategies made seasoned commanders forget how to breathe.

At first, the elves held every advantage. They drove the orcs back again and again, forcing them to retreat with such consistency it appeared effortless.

Then everything collapsed.

Drakarion, the Eternal Flame, arrived.

He entered the orc territories as a calamity bound in armor and wings. Fire followed him. So did devastation. He sided with the orcs and placed a curse on the twenty-fifth floor.

And that changed everything.

However, it did not happen all at once.

The elves did not fall with a crash. They dwindled, their strength hollowing inward. Slowly. Silently.

Their power thinned. Their magic faltered. Even Sylvandor began to unravel.

Its light dimmed. The leaves dulled. The soil, once warm with life, turned cold, and frost gripped every root and stone. The elves had spent centuries building their legacy. Now they felt it slipping beyond reach.

Still, some clung to the belief that the tree could be healed. Others stopped pretending. Many believed that when Sylvandor finally died, Lothlórien would vanish with it. The elves would not break, tumble, or burn. In the same silent moment that breath left a body, they would vanish.

But then there was a change.

In one stretch of wilderness, the endless conflict paused. Orc forces thinned. Patrols grew careless. Raids became rare events.

Fifty square miles of tense quiet.

To the elves, the area seemed untouched. Violence had never left its mark there. Streams flowed clear and slow. Forest clearings stayed unscarred. Ponds reflected the sky with a stillness so complete it felt like the world itself had paused. The elves believed the gods had laid a quiet hand upon the land, so they named it Haven Glade.

Orcs, true to their bitterness, called it Bloodgrove. To them, it stood as a reminder of failure and death.

But somewhere within that beauty and loss, a new legend rose.

Orcs vanished. Skirmishes ended before blades crossed. Elves whispered about a masked protector. A shadow who fought in their name. Questions trailed every whisper.

Why stay in Haven Glade? Why not march to Lothlórien and stand with them in the war?

No answer ever came.

But something else returned for the first time in years.

Hope.

Beneath the unrelenting sun, three female elven warriors had just completed their patrol around the Glade. The sun scorched the treetops and threw light across their armor until every inch glimmered.

They were traveling in the direction of a creek tucked deep within the woods. The place remained quiet and distant. It belonged to them. The sound of water slipped through the trees in a thin pull that guided them home.

They stripped down with the ease of ritual, setting their ranger gear on the bank.

But today, something was different.

The scent hit first. Not leather, not sun warmed sweat, not the sharp bite of moss. It was cleaner. Brighter. Carried on the air with a trace of spice that lifted and lingered. They knew it. The soap. The one they had acquired from those gremlin merchants just last week.

It wrapped around them.

Without a second thought, they stepped into the stream. Just naked skin, water, and heat fading into something bearable.

The chill sliced through the warmth, rushing up their spines. Laughter followed, bright and unrestrained. It rang off the bark, drifting through the trees, lighter than breath. The day’s weariness slipped away, driven off by the current.

One of them, Naerwen, waded farther, water curling around her knees. She turned toward her older sister. “Did you bring it, Sis Naida?” Her grin lit every part of her face.

“Of course,” Naida replied, pulling the soap from her satchel.

Naerwen’s grin deepened. She took the bar and ran it down her arms, across her shoulders, her expression softening into relief.

“This stuff is magic.”

“You know,” said Nyrisse, the youngest, stretched out in the shallows with her usual crooked smirk, “our guys have been staring at us a lot harder since we started using this soap.”

“Forget them,” Naerwen giggled. “I just want to know who actually made it.”

The water rippled with their laughter. Birds answered somewhere above the canopy.

Then it changed.

A rustle. Soft. Leaves stirred in a cadence that did not belong to the wind.

They froze. Just for a heartbeat. Eyes lifted. Ears twitched.

Then they glanced at one another, wordless but certain it was probably nothing.

They let it pass. The splash of limbs returned, and the edge of caution slipped away.

“I did ask the gremlin who sold it,” Naida said, leaning back against a smooth river rock. “He said the maker’s identity was confidential.”

“Gremlins and their dumb secrets,” Nyrisse muttered. “I hope it’s one of our guys. Or someone from another floor.”

More splashing. More laughter.

Then that sound again. Not a rustle. Louder. Wrong in a way that tightened the spine.

The three sisters went still.

This time, they did not shrug it off.

It could have been the wind. Or a squirrel.

Nothing moved. No birds. No torrent. And they dismissed it again.

“Well, whoever they are,” Naerwen said, sweet and slow, “if I ever find who made this soap, they’re going to learn exactly what the appreciation of Elven women feels like.”

The laughter came loud.

And then it happened once more.

Another swish. Fast. Getting faster.

The mood split open.

“Scouts?” Naerwen asked, her voice sharp now.

“Probably,” Naida muttered, her hands already reaching for her blade.

A bush ahead jerked once, twice, then froze.

Silence followed. Even the stream held its breath.

Then, out of nowhere, the unmistakable sound of a zipper flying up at pervert speed tore through the quiet. ZZZIIIIPPP. Followed closely by a scream.

“YOWCH!”

The voice was male. Panicked. And far too close.

“Orcs!” Naida snapped.

Blades flashed in their hands as the three exploded from the water.

Whoever thought spying on them was a good idea was about to learn just how much pain three naked, angry elves could deliver.

And maybe get scrubbed down with something far worse than soap.

________________________________________

Cursing myself for always picking the worst possible moments to wrestle with my zipper, I tore down the forest trail.

The forest burst with noise and tension. Wind cut through the trees in rapid sweeps. Branches shifted and dropped leaves in a frantic spill. My lungs ached and worked in uneven, ragged pulls of air. Behind me, something was keeping pace and steadily eating the distance between us.

Death waited. Or something far more personal.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but elves? Yeah, they’re basically the parkour gods of the fantasy world.

They moved from branch to branch with unnatural ease. My own motion turned into a clumsy tumble that carried speed without a shred of grace.

So I had to hustle if I wanted even a slim chance of avoiding three angry forest fairies.

“Stop right there! We just want to talk!” one of them shouted.

I barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right! Like that line ever works!”

Then I glanced back, and my survival instinct took a nosedive.

Three naked Elven females. Athletic bodies. Stunning enough to make anyone forget how blinking worked. They charged straight at me as if I had insulted their pointed ears.

I’ll be honest with you. Anyone else would’ve stopped to set out blankets for a picnic.

Maybe flirt. Maybe die smiling.

Me? I started composing a mental monologue about polygamy and flexible cultural customs.

Then I caught a root, and my entire escape strategy collapsed. The trail vanished under my feet. I lurched sideways. The tree did not do anything to help.

Impact. Pure and blinding. My skull met bark, and the rest of me quit on the spot.

Pain erupted. Vision went white. I hit the ground when some unseen force yanked my strength away.

Lying there in the dirt, I felt that familiar buzzing creep in.

Regret. Confusion. Dizziness. Also, a definite concussion.

As I breathed through the haze, three shadows fell across my face.

Oh no.

Oh yes.

Oh… wow.

Honestly, the view was phenomenal. I could’ve died happy right then.

But before I could ask for a selfie, everything went foggy. My eyelids weighed a thousand pounds.

“Don’t faint now, you idiot,” I muttered. Not when things were finally getting interesting.

The world tipped sideways.

And then everything went dark.

When I woke, things felt different. Still trees, still forest, but now I was vertical in the worst possible way. Back against rough bark. Arms tied. Legs half numb. And I was down to nothing but my boxer shorts.

Dignity bled out fast.

What the hell just happened?

This felt eerily similar to the goblin twins, only with more dignity and far fewer loincloths.

I groaned and tilted my head.

There they were. The trio. Fully clothed now. Gear strapped. Blades sheathed. They looked like a fantasy RPG squad that had just finished a side quest.

Hold on a second. Was I the side quest?

“You’re awake,” one of them said. Naida. She had that voice people use when they had cleaned up your mess too many times.

“Yeah… unfortunately,” I said, tugging at the rope. Tighter than it looked. Not exactly forgiving.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Aoi player,” I said, trying to hit that lead character vibe. Calm. Collected. Which was rich, considering I was mostly half naked and tied to a tree.

Her sister, Nyrisse, stepped closer. “You’re really a human male?”

“Last time I checked,” I nodded. Though honestly? Jury was still out.

Naerwen giggled, her gaze drifted down before flicking up to meet mine. “I’ve only seen pictures of human man in books. I didn’t know they could be so… cute.”

My eyes lit up.

Jackpot.

“Have you read about any of their virtues?” I said with a grin that tried too hard to sound casual.

“Which ones?” Naida asked with a lilt that mixed curiosity and challenge. One brow arched as if she expected trouble.

“The cuter they are,” I said, “the more trustworthy they seem.”

They burst into laughter. Real laughter. Not mocking. Actual amusement.

You ever get that strange rush that tells you fortune just landed in your lap without any clue why it happened? Hey, that beat getting stabbed any day.

“Sis Naida, this guy’s got charm,” Nyrisse said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“Oh, he does,” Naida said, smirking as she stepped closer. “But do you know what we do to cute men?”

My survival instincts were out back doing something illegal. “Uh… have a drinking game under the moonlight and then snuggle together until morning?”

Naida laughed. “No, silly. We test them.”

“Test? What kind of test do the Silver Maidens have in mind?” I asked, and yep, my voice definitely squeaked.

Naerwen’s eyes sparkled. “So you do know who we are?”

“Of course. Who doesn’t know the legendary Silver Maidens?” I said, laying it on thick. Still tied to a tree. Still rocking boxers. Pride? Gone.

Naerwen leaned in. “So, my dear sisters, what’s your take? Shall we show him our appreciation?” She dragged her tongue across her lower lip.

“Absolutely,” Nyrisse said, sounding a bit too eager. “I don’t mind stripping off my clothes again.”

Oh, dude. Let me be real with you for a second.

This is it. It’s finally going to be my year. I’m about to stumble and flail my way into adulthood.

My eyes went full anime sparkle. I’m the protagonist. And this is the reward route.

Then came the plot twist.

The sisters looked down.

Nope, not that kind of down. Down down. Their gazes locked on the situation that had suddenly pitched a tent beneath my boxers.

And I went red. Not embarrassed red. Microwave meets metal red.

“Okay, hold up,” I said, my voice cracking. “That thing down there? It’s got a mind of its own. Don’t look at me. I didn’t authorize it.”

Naida grinned and lifted two fingers to her lips. She whistled sharp and clean.

I blinked. “You’re calling someone?”

“Yup,” she said.

“Who?”

“Our youngest sister,” Naerwen replied.

“You ladies have another sister?” I looked between them, eyes wide. “Man, I didn’t know the Silver Maidens came in four pack. I’m so ready to meet her.”

They giggled in perfect harmony.

I probably should’ve known better. That should’ve been my first red flag.

Then came the sound.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Heavy footsteps beat through the forest, deep enough to rattle my teeth and shake birds from branches.

And then she appeared.

Not a beautiful elf girl. Not even a mildly attractive one.

Nope.

A white wolf the size of a horse stepped out from between the trees with slow menace and stopped in front of me.

I swallowed hard, pretty sure I peed a little.

“That’s your sister?”

“Mm hmm,” Nyrisse hummed pleasantly. “From the same mother but different fathers.”

“Huh?” My brows scrunched.

How did that even work?

Naida stepped into view. “Nymeria, you can start with that thing between his legs that just shrunk.”

Nymeria, the fluffy demon, let out a low growl.

Then she lunged.

Not a warning nip. Not a theatrical bark.

She went full vengeance missile, teeth bared, aimed straight for the crown jewels.

I shrieked. Not yelled. Not shouted.

Shrieked.

“Ackkkk! You bitches!” followed closely by, you probably guessed it, System Failure.