As the shimring lights began to fade—
Luka's breathing returned to sothing resembling normal—
The World Tree's voice then echoed gently:
"By the way. I can sense the turmoil in your thoughts. You're worried about your personal maid, aren't you?"
Luka stiffened, his eyes snapping up to the towering branches above him.
"I... Yeah," he admitted, almost reluctantly.
He had tried not to think about it, not to let the anxiety worm its way too deeply into his mind.
But it had been there, gnawing at him ever since the last encounter.
"Do you... know what happened to her?"
A whisper of leaves, almost like a sigh.
"She was not tortured," the World Tree replied, its tone laced with reassurance.
"She was arrested, yes... but she was quickly released. She's waiting for you now, back at the place you're staying. I must say, she's quite worried about you. "Hasn't stopped asking about you since."
Relief flooded Luka's features, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"Thank you..." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
He felt a knot of tension unravel in his chest, one that had been there for far too long.
The World Tree rustled again, almost like it was clearing its throat.
"You should be heading back," it said gently:
"The Annual Elf-Human Showdown is tomorrow, after all."
Luka blinked, surprise flickering across his face. "Ah... you're right."
He rubbed the back of his neck, already feeling the anticipation creeping in.
He turned to leave, but then his gaze lingered on Ahshala.
She still lay cradled in the soft grass, her hair fanned out around her like threads of moonlight.
Luka hesitated, his brow furrowing.
"What about her?"
The World Tree's branches shifted, groaning softly as they extended outward.
Thin tendrils of bark curled around Ahshala's form, gentle and deliberate, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
She floated in the cradle of branches, still fast asleep, her breathing steady.
"Do not worry," the World Tree assured him. "I will make sure she is taken care of. She will be safe here."
Luka watched as the branches slowly retracted, pulling Ahshala upward into the canopy, where light dappled through the leaves like falling stars.
He gave a half nod, satisfied but still a touch uneasy.
"Thanks..." he said, turning back.
He glanced over his shoulder one last ti, just in ti to see Ahshala vanish into the branches.
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
"Young Master?" a familiar voice was heard.
Footsteps followed, light and hurried, until Serene stepped into view, wiping her hands on a cloth.
"You're back!" she exclaid, abandoning the cloth on a nearby table and rushing forward.
Before Luka could react, she threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly.
Luka stood for a mont, then gently returned the hug, patting her back awkwardly.
"I... missed you too," he managed, a small smile appearing onto his lips.
Serene stepped back, her eyes shimring with emotion as she quickly blinked.
"I—I was so worried..." She straightened, regaining composure.
"I tried to ask around, but no one would tell anything. I couldn't leave here—I had to keep the place ready in case you ca back."
Luka's expression softened.
"I appreciate that... Really, I do."
He looked around the small but cozy interior, noting the fire was freshly lit, the floors swept, and the faint sll of tea lingering in the air.
"You've been keeping everything running, huh?"
"Of course," Serene replied, crossing her arms with a raised brow.
"I couldn't have you coming back to a ss now, could I?"
Luka chuckled, shaking his head. "I suppose not."
"…" Serene's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the edge of fatigue in his posture.
"You look exhausted... and you're hurt." Her gaze flickered to the faint traces of dried blood on his lip.
"Sit down. I'll make you so tea and take a look at that small wound."
Before Luka could protest—
Serene was already moving towards the kitchen, her hands deftly gathering herbs and a kettle.
"…" Luka sighed, taking a seat by the low wooden table.
Serene returned shortly, setting a steaming cup of tea before him and kneeling to inspect his injuries.
Her hands moved with care, dabbing his small cut with a damp cloth, her expression focused.
"You really should be more careful," she murmured, though her voice was soft with concern.
Luka took a slow sip of the tea, its warmth spreading through him.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I didn't an to worry you."
Serene's hands paused, just for a second.
"You always do," she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.
Then she straightened, brushing off her dress.
"There. That should help."
Luka smiled.
"Thanks."
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ
Next morning—
Luka stood near the edge of the stone platform, watching the grand stadium fill. Elves crowded the seats, their voices a constant hum of excitent.
Banners of red and gold snapped in the breeze.
"…" Luka leaned against one of the stone pillars, arms crossed as he scanned the field below.
It was enormous, a perfect circle flanked by massive stone columns enchanted to protect the audience from stray skills.
Despite the grandeur of it all, Luka's expression remained flat. "Hmm?"
A shadow fell over him, and he didn't bother turning to look.
"Trying not to piss yourself?" ca Arthur's voice, sharp and smug.
Luka rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm shaking in my boots."
Arthur stepped up beside him, gaze fixed on the distant iron gates.
"You ready for this?" he continued, voice dripping with superiority.
Luka's eyes remained on the crowd, utterly uninterested in the conversation.
"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied with a shrug.
He didn't need to play into this nonsense; the guy already thought he was invincible.
Arthur's grin widened. "Good. Wouldn't want you slowing us down."
Luka just gave him a lazy glance. "Wouldn't want you getting in my way."
Before Arthur could bite back, heavy footsteps approached.
Gregor, the Tank of their team, stomped forward, his armor clanking with every step.
The guy was built like a mountain, with thick plated armor and a massive tower shield strapped to his back.
"You two done posturing?" he grumbled, his voice like gravel. "Ceremony's starting."
Behind him, the others erged.
Elara, the Healer.
Sylas, the Mage.
"Try not to embarrass us out there, Luka," Arthur sneered, his eyes glittering with that sa arrogant spark.
Luka didn't even flinch. "I'll try not to steal your spotlight, Arthur."
Gregor barked a laugh, clapping Luka on the shoulder with enough force to nearly knock him forward.
"If you two are done, the elf princess is about to make her grand entrance."
Arthur's expression changed instantly, softening at the ntion of her.
Luka rolled his eyes.
He knew exactly what that ant.
Arthur didn't just admire the First Princess—he was infatuated.
It was painfully obvious, even if the main character tried to hide it under layers of bravado.
Another horn blast echoed through the stadium, silencing the crowd.
The iron gates on the far side groaned open, revealing the elves' procession.
At the forefront was Princess Nuvian herself.
Arthur straightened up imdiately, brushing nonexistent dust off his armor and fixing his posture.
Luka nearly laughed.
It was as if the main character thought standing straighter would make him more noticeable.
"She's gorgeous…" Arthur breathed, his eyes never leaving her body.
"Uh-huh," Luka replied flatly, barely glancing at her.
He'd seen her before in the ga, and while she was certainly striking, he couldn't bring himself to care.
Arthur shot him a glare. "Show so respect. She's royalty."
Luka raised an eyebrow. "And?"
Arthur's mouth opened, but before he could launch into whatever—
The announcer's voice bood across the stadium, amplified by magic.
"Welco, one and all, to the Annual Elf-Human Showdown!"
The crowd erupted into applause.
"Today, we honor the traditions set by our ancestors—a day of competition!"
The cheers grew louder, banners waving wildly from both sides of the arena.
Luka stifled a yawn.
"And now, may the representatives of the Empire step forward!" the announcer called.
Arthur was the first to move, predictably.
He strode out onto the field with his head held high, sword glimring at his side.
Gregor followed, lumbering forward with steady, earth-shaking steps.
Elara glided after him, her hands already wrapped in shimring cloth.
Sylas brought up the rear, adjusting his staff with every step.
Luka waited a beat before stepping forward, hands shoved into his pockets as he strolled to his position.
He could feel the main character's eyes on him, probably irritated that he wasn't making more of a show.
Luka couldn't care less.
"And representing the Kingdom... Princess Nuvian and her chosen ones!"
The elves glided forward, led by Nuvian, her expression serene and confident.
The crowd erupted again, louder this ti—
The two groups faced each other across the stone platform.
Luka could practically feel the main character vibrating with anticipation.
"Try not to drool," he murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.
Arthur shot him a murderous glare but said nothing.
"…" Luka sighed, scratching the back of his head.
He supposed it was better that the main character was distracted—
It ant fewer stupid remarks coming his way.
The announcer's voice bood again.
"Let the Opening Ceremony begin! May both sides fight with honor and pride!"
Magic flared at the edges.
Luka watched as the mana settled.
'Ti to kick so elven ass.'
Reviews
All reviews (0)