With the week of the formation, festivals are ending on the seventh night. All the visiting nobles would be heading back to their territories. Some stayed for the upcoming wedding of Wania Sapphire, others as consultants to the emperor about the matter with the elves. Everyone had their own business to handle.

Wania Sapphire wasn’t busy with wedding preparations but was getting ready to go for the first official—recorded—meeting with the elves. She sent a letter to the emperor stating that until the handover of her position and duties was announced, she would be handling them herself, and that included acting as the military and defence advisor in said negotiations. He reluctantly agreed after being urged by his first and second wives.

The hall for the meeting was rather simple. A two-level bench for the elves with a table and chairs set up for three in front. All the elves here hooded except the queen, centring herself, eyes straight forward, his skin the shade of an egg but most couldn’t tell due to the light emitting from her hair.  Their set-up faced an arc-shaped table consisting of the emperor in the middle, the general to his right, the minister of finance Henry Heartfield to his left, his secretary Truth Lawson at the far left and the headland surveyor Miguel Oku opposite him.

Behind them stood their guards, and two men who stood out among them, were Tushar and Agnius.

“So let us begin,” Truth said.

“We discussed your proposal internally and had reached a conclusion but upon discovering you house those two” – pointing at Agnius and Tushar “we can no longer consider it” said a female elf sitting beside the queen.

Furrowed brows from the human side excluding the emperor and the general. Wania did not impose on the matter as it may be viewed as an attempt to undermine the emperor, who at the moment was unshaken.

Tushar had made it known to him that his group had a history with the elves. It was anything too serious. We just stole some of their seeds and important elven farming secrets. Those were the worlds he told the emperor, and he believed him. From their interactions, Rasputin could tell that they are rather secretive. They always kept the replies to him short and only after they consorted amongst themselves in their language.

“We understand, and we are willing to compensate you for damages done to you and your people,” The emperor said.

They began their routine of speaking among themselves, the language was quick in nature. The words barely came out but they could hear and understand one another. To a regular person it sounds like winds blowing past your ear and slight hissing but every once in a while, you’ll hear the occasional tongue click mixed in.

The secretary had the hardest of anyone else in the room, how was he to record the minutes of the meeting if he couldn’t spell what sounded like pissschuutsk.

Just then as he decided to only record what he understood, the same manner of speaking came out of the emperor’s mouth.

The pause – like someone used a remote. Everyone facing the emperor who had his fingers interlocked under his chin wearing a smile that says it’s looking at an idiot.

“Since when can you speak elvish,” Wania asked.

“I took my time to length from them,” The emperor said.

“Nonsense” an elf from the bench stood up and slammed his palms on the table, “we never taught you anything” he ran out from his sit and knelt before the queen, “your radiance, I swear to you, no faithful follower would ever disobey your will”. He paused waiting for her response but it didn’t come. Two seconds. No three, he began to look up to investigate the silence. “Your radiance?” he said.

The sight he met was the elf queen frozen in place, she was dazed or maybe confused, her eyes shaking slightly like they couldn’t focus on anything. Her light would even flicker from time to time ever, once maybe twice a minute, only those who paid attention would notice. The touch from the man sitting next to her brought her back to the room.

“My queen?” he said.

Those words were the only thing she heard all morning. Unaware of the situation she was in the only thing she thought to do was question it in their language and was answered by the emperor in elvish.

“You can speak elvish?” she asked

“Indeed, your majesty,” the emperor said

“You didn’t mention. We could have conversed better”

“I’m not too fluent yet, so forgive me for any mistakes I might make”

The elves exchanged looks between themselves but kept quiet. Finally, the meeting got on its way. Accepting compensation for Agnius and Tushar through reduced taxes and imposing restrictions on other imperial citizens on tourism and immigration – They limit the places they could enter in all elven cities. The emperor also proposed they build a city on imperial ground as a front for interacting with others.

“Would you accommodate them general?” The emperor asked.

“Sure, we will discuss it later at my estate,” Wania said.

The meeting came to an end, but it would be one of many, the empire showed how welcoming they are by giving whatever was asked within reason, but to whom much is given much is expected. The elves left that meeting knowing what the weight of gifts was, their original plan was simply to mislead the empire and take as much as they could.

The door closed behind them with a low thud, followed by the whispering hum of a ward-lock sliding into place. Arcane sigils flared and dimmed—a brief shimmer confirming the chamber was sealed, mute to the outside world.

The queen moved silently to the centre of the room. Her council followed like old shadows, gathering in a loose ring around her. Four royal guards stationed themselves by the door, eyes forward.

“Your Radiance,” Nimue began, too quickly, her voice coiled tight. “How shall we respond?”

The silence held a moment longer.

“I still believe we should refuse alignment,” Thomae said, arms folded across her chest. “Their offer of unity is a chain and their gifts of friendship are its anchor. Did you not see how the emperor shrank when the general spoke? Power doesn't rest with the crown—it stands behind it, armed and watching.”

Alara clicked her tongue. “Unstable, yes. But their chaos is a strategy. They expand faster than we can predict. The war burned half their world—but already they've rebuilt cities along our borders. They move like fire. We’ve grown still like stone.”

“They push too close,” said Alfhild, leaning on her cane. “The ones who breached our forests years ago, I am surprised that invite even arrived. I expected an army ready to seize that village… those scouts saw more than they should have. They’ll have told the emperor. Our roads, our wards—our weak places.”

“They haven’t used what they learned,” Nimue said quietly. “If they’d meant to strike, they would have done it when we were still unravelling from the Mourning Years.”

Vaelar scoffed. “And if they simply waited? If they let us grow comfortable before they return with steel and justification?”

“That is why we feign loyalty,” said Ilaren, folding his hands. “Not for peace. For positioning. Empires rarely invade what they think they already own.”

Sylren, draped in a twilight-colored silk cloak, spoke without opening his eyes.

“Their surprise is what frightens me. They didn’t know we existed until recently. And now we’re a discovery. A fascination. To them, we are uncharted waters—rich with promise, ripe for conquest disguised as curiosity.”

Orren stepped forward. “Then let them sail. Let them teach our young their language and law while ours teach them the ways beneath those words. They will not notice the knife until it rests against their throat.”

“They will never truly belong here,” said Corthas, finally breaking his silence. “Their roots are shallow. Their memories are short. We simply outlast them. That has always been our power.”

A hush fell, this one heavier than the last. And then the queen spoke.

She looked unchanged, posture perfect, robes falling like water from her shoulders. But her voice… her voice held something strained. A thread unravelling beneath the glass.

“We walk a narrow edge,” she said. “To accept their offer is to pretend we do not see what it costs us: sovereignty cloaked as an alliance, culture diluted through proximity. And yet to refuse…”

Her eyes moved across the council, sharp and clear.

“…To refuse makes us the aggressor in their story. It gives them the excuse they do not yet have.”

Another silence, colder now.

“We are being rewritten,” the queen said finally. “And we must decide: do we guide the hand holding the quill—or do we wait for the ink to dry and find our names buried under theirs?”

She looked toward the warded windows. Her head began to hurt so she needed to leave – some fresh air to heal herself. A faint, practised smile played at her lips as she swept her gaze over the room like a quiet command. Her steps were soft but laboured, trying to keep herself upright. At the door, she paused, too dizzy to take the next step.

“Let us adjourn for now,” she said.

The moment to balance combined with the distraction of words to vile her use of magic to control her limbs, she headed out the door towards her room.

The halls leading to the royal wing were empty but for the soft footfalls of the elven queen. Her pace was fluid and purposeful, yet behind her came a second set—Nimue’s—deliberate and unwanted.

She stopped without turning. “You are not permitted here.”

“You dismissed the rest of us,” Nimue said coolly. “You never dismissed me.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough for her voice to carry sharp as frost. “You are not needed, Nimue.”

“But I am curious,” he continued, undeterred, stepping closer. “You tried to mask it well, Your Radiance. That flicker. A faint shimmer—magic strained past its limit. And earlier, when the humans spoke… you didn’t answer immediately. You hesitated.”

She turned fully now, her gaze flat and cold. “Tread carefully.”

“And your hair,” he added, eyes narrowing slightly. “Just for a bit, it’s shine wasn’t there. I dismissed the thought but then I found this” raising a strand of hair from his cloak. “It was on your seat. A strand fell from your head”

The queen’s eyes darkened. Her fingers twitched once—then the stonework trembled.

Vines burst from the walls, thorned and slick with sap. They coiled around Nimue’s arms, legs, and throat with terrifying speed, wrenching him to the ground. His knees cracked against the stone floor, and he gasped as a vine tightened at his neck.

She stepped toward him, voice low and glacial. “You think me frail? A wounded beast staggering behind its crown?” She leaned closer. “You presume to inspect me—question me?”

Nimue struggled, jaw clenched, but his breath hitched. “I meant no offence—”

“You meant power,” she snapped. “And found none of your own.”

“Please,” a new voice called from down the corridor. Councilman Sylren appeared; hands raised. “Your Radiance, forgive him. He’s young. He forgets his place, not out of malice, but ambition.”

The queen regarded Ralen in silence, then glanced once more at Nimue—strangled, humbled. Her eyes gave no hint of mercy. And yet the vines receded, slithering away as suddenly as they’d come. Nimue collapsed forward, coughing, trembling with rage and humiliation.

She turned from them both. “You may speak freely in council,” she said icily as she walked away. “But never presume to speak about me again.”

She disappeared behind her chamber doors without another word.

Inside, silence. The moment the latch clicked shut, her hand trembled. She pressed her palm to the wall for balance, breathing harder than she should. Her knees buckled. She slid to the floor, her robes spilling around her like wilted petals.

Her skin glistened with sweat. Her hair, once perfect, now clung to her face in frayed, tangled strands. Her eyes dimmed, just for a moment—her inner light, the soft glow beneath her skin, flickered… and nearly failed. “I missed one,” she said, her hands revealed from the robes holding strands she had been catching as they fell from her head. “What is happening to me? Why can’t I remember?”

She bit down hard on her lip to keep from making a sound but her eyes were watered up.