A gentle hum echoed across the fortress, a sound that came and went, an odd but constant reminder that we were not on solid ground but perched atop a colossal, flying whale. The enormity of it never failed to humble me.

The sound of water being poured filled the warm, misty air. Two young female Terran Elves moved gracefully through the haze, their rust-colored hair bouncing with each step. They approached a large, ornate basin nearby, their slender fingers sprinkling aromatic crystals into the water. As the crystals dissolved, the water warmed, releasing a fragrant mist that mingled with the existing ambient vapors. The room, already saturated with warmth and scent, became even more inviting.

These two elves were part of the twenty or so Terran elves stationed here, forming the aerial fortress’s staff. Being of an age—or, at the very least, appearance and gender that made her fit to serve me—one of the girls has been assigned to me, and ever since, she has been eager to assist me, even during moments like this. The other girl was the one assigned to Blondie.

We were currently in the fortress’s bath area, a space as expansive as a one-story mansion. I sat on a cushioned stool beside one of the smaller pools, Blondie’s back resting against my knees. Her long blonde hair cascaded over my hands, damp and heavy. I combed through the strands carefully, marveling at the luxuriousness of this Ferron bathhouse. Despite its otherworldly design, it put even the grandest bathhouses I’d visited in the land of men to shame—and I’m saying that as someone who’s been a Queen.

The first time I experienced a Ferron bathhouse, I’d suspected its creator might be from another world. But no, it was simply my overthinking. This technology—or rather, the ersatz of technology—was entirely Ferron in origin. The harsh, cold climate of their homeland had just compelled them to develop bathhouses that not only shielded them from the deadly cold but also turned bathing into a surprisingly enjoyable experience.

As the fragrant mist thickened, the two elves turned their attention to a certain someone swimming in a nearby pool. Despite the goblin’s protests and splashes, they insisted on scrubbing him clean. Ignoring the commotion he caused, I focused on the task at hand.

“It’s been a while since we bathed like this together,” I murmured to Blondie, my voice soft.

The heat, the scents, the way the steam curled around us—it all stirred memories of her childhood. Back then, we bathed together in the old wooden tub at the mansion. As the years passed, there was less and less room for the two of us, until eventually, there wasn’t any.

She nodded slightly, careful not to disrupt my work. “I missed this,” she said.

I smiled, reaching for the bowl of herbal wash beside me. “Me too.” The mixture, a blend of mountain herbs and oils, was said to nourish the hair and cleanse the soul. While I was skeptical about the latter, I couldn’t deny its effect on hair. It was enough to convince me to use it on Blondie’s beautiful locks.

“Careful with the eyes,” I warned.

She complied, resting her cheeks on her knees as I gently poured warm water over her hair. The damp strands caught the light, shimmering like tiny stars. I massaged the mixture into her scalp with slow, circular motions, my fingers weaving through her hair.

From the now-muted sounds behind me, I could tell the attendants had miraculously managed to calm the goblin. And indeed, when I glanced back, I saw the goblin being scrubbed clean, sulking in silence. Once I finished tending to Blondie’s hair and noticed the attendants were done with the goblin, I signaled for them to leave. They bowed and exited gracefully, allowing us to resume our earlier conversation.

“Goblin, I will ask again, and this will be the last time,” I said, my tone firm. “Are you sure about your earlier decision?”

Goblin stepped out of the pool, droplets of water tracing rivulets down his barely curved body. Without a hint of shame, “he” asked, “I already gave my answer.”

“And I want to be sure it’s not one you’ll regret,” I replied, standing to face him.

“Do you not like my decision?” he countered.

“No. In fact, I like it. It’s the choice that’ll be the most convenient to me. But that’s exactly why I want to be sure it’s what you truly want. Because once things are set into motion, they can’t be undone. So I need to know if it's truly what you desire.”

He walked over to a rack and retrieved a peignoir, slipping it on as he approached. “My ultimate decision remains the same,” he said firmly.

Handing me and Blondie a towel, he continued, “I know it might seem like I’ve chosen this path because this option lets me maim down these assholes. And I won't deny that it's one of the main reasons I'm okay with this outcome. But I have other, far more sensible reasons for believing that this is the best possible outcome, so no, I'm not going to regret my decision.”

“I see,” I said quietly, accepting the towel.

"I look forward to it," he said, a vicious look spreading across his face. At this point, there was little I could do but smile warmly in response.

"Patience," I said. "It’s for soon—very soon. I just need to get everything ready. Namely, inform Licht, prepare—"

I paused, my words catching in my throat as, in the corner of my vision, the very person I was about to mention appeared at the room's entrance. Following my gaze, Goblin's frown deepened instantly at the sight of Aquaflora.

"Well, I’ll let you get everything ready then," he said, asking Blondie, "You’re coming with me or?"

Blondie exchanged a brief nod with me, then stood and followed him out of the bathhouse. I watched them leave before returning my attention to Aquaflora. After a moment of silence, as she closed in, she asked the question she was bound to ask, "Who was that little girl?"

I burst into hearty laughter at her question. As I calmed down, I asked her, "Do you know any lunor elves who would look at you the way she just did?"

It took her a moment, but eventually, she registered the implication. "That was Goblin? That little child was Goblin?"

I don’t think Goblin gave you the credentials to call him that nickname but well…

"It was," I confirmed.

"How?"

"How else but skills?" I explained, as that was the usual answer to any supernatural phenomenon in this world.

At his birth, like many of us Dungeon Masters, Goblin exhibited a unique trait: he unlocked innate skills or abilities. However, what set him apart—a peculiarity I attributed to his elven heritage—was the sheer number of skills he was born with. Unlike most of us, who are typically reborn with one skill, perhaps two if we are lucky, and on the rare occasion, an ability, Goblin was an anomaly. He came into this world with several skills and abilities, far exceeding the norm.

I could only rationalize this extraordinary beginning by pointing to his elfhood, specifically the unique aspects of the elven system into which he was born. From the start, he had three sub-affinities prepared for him to allocate affinity points: Blood from the elemental main affinity, and BeastBinding and Fleshweaving from the nature main affinity. These sub-affinities seemed tailored to match the skills he innately acquired, aligning perfectly with his unusual capabilities.

Among these myriad skills, there was one skill and one ability that particularly transformed Goblin—for better or worse. The skill, Assimilation, and the ability, Attributes Adaptation, worked in remarkable harmony. Together, they allowed him to absorb a monster completely, encompassing its skills and abilities. The ability, Attributes Adaptation, ensured this absorption was feasible by adapting Goblin's body to match that of the monster—a crucial adaptation that the skill alone did not guarantee.

This combination of skill and ability was not only convenient but also versatile. It worked in perfect sync not only with [Assimilation] but also with [Physiomorph], another skill of his that would typically allow the wielder to alter their form to a certain extent, one that doesn’t encompass change like gender. With Attributes Adaptation, however, he could take on any form he deemed suitable for himself and the circumstances.

In retrospect, if I, in my earliest days, when I was still brimming with that masculine pride, had possessed such a convenient set of skills and abilities, I would have chosen a distinctly manly form and died with it. However, over time, as I came to accept my condition for what it was—since time has a way of fostering acceptance—Goblin grew comfortable with his various forms, embracing them with an ease I, too, have come to admire. It didn’t take him long; by the time he could crawl, he was as comfortable being Lee as he was being Lee.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Aquaflora seemed to take a moment to process what she’d heard before finally speaking. "That explains the glare.” Making her way toward the pool Goblin had just exited, she asked. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?"

"No," I reassured her. "We were having a serious talk, but we were already done by the time you arrived." Following her to the pool, I sat by the steps rather than submerging myself like she proceeded to. "You shouldn’t take the way he looks at you to heart. Sure, I won’t contest that he doesn’t exactly stand your very existence, but at least it’s not personal."

"Not personal, huh?" Aquaflora chuckled at the notion.

"To be honest, having heard your story and seen what kind of person you are, I think, ironically, the two of you could have gotten along. Or at least far better than you do now. You two have so much in common."

"Like what?" Aquaflora asked, clearly skeptical, if not outright offended.

"A lot, actually. Other than the obvious fact that you’re both of Argyrian descent—clanless and elven-family-less vagabonds. If I had to name one thing, it would be the fact that you two were once victims of the same theft."

Aquaflora’s expression shifted to confusion before realization dawned. "You mean… I see…So he was a monarch once too."

"Not for long. Only for thirteen short years. He didn’t even get the opportunity to do anything remotely Patriarch-like before his ancestral tree was taken from him."

"...He’s the ancestral tree wielder you once mentioned."

"Alas, yes," I replied bitterly. "And that’s how “he” and I met—as he came to claim what was Goblin’s."

Since each of the five affinity sub-affinities was governed by a monarch, rising to monarchhood or achieving greatness was a gamble few elves dared to take. Opting for a quiet life was a safer choice for most, aware that striving for greatness would place them directly in the sights of the existing monarchs. Owning an Ancestral Tree could—and indeed would—lead to its confiscation, while lacking one, if one had significant strength or a particular talent, would force one into service; resistance would have dire repercussions. Beneath its facade of tranquility, Quel’thalas was under the tyrannical rule of its elven monarch. In many ways, the suppression there was more severe than in the lands of Men, making Cleon's approach seem almost sensible by comparison.

“What sub-affinity did he manifest his ancestral tree from?”

“Blood,” I replied. I noticed the shift in her expression and pressed further. “Does that tell you something?”

She nodded slowly. “He once asked me, back when I’d just become one of his Clan leaders, to focus on increasing my affinity in that sub-affinity, along with half a dozen others, should I ever unlock them. But years later, he told me and the other Clan leaders not to pursue it anymore.”

A Clan Leader is simply the Argyrian equivalent of what I refer to as an elder. In other words, elves whose strength and experience have earned them a place in a monarch’s entourage. Considering how old and strong she is, it’s not unreasonable to say that Aquaflora didn’t fit that conventional mold, but she earned the title by manifesting an ancestral tree. A title that, upon closer examination, reveals itself to be merely a leash for the monarch to keep you close enough to extract what he needs from you.

All current elven monarchs are exceptional individuals who achieved what few dared. Yet, none of them had the talent to single-handedly unlock all the sub-affinities within their main affinity. No one can be that fortunate, and even if someone were, they would not be able to spare that many affinity points to invest. Their only recourse was to either steal an ancestral tree from another or have someone in their family manifest it on their behalf. Those believed to have the potential to manifest the ancestral tree they sought were kept close, nurtured, and given prominent titles like "Clan Leader," as was the case with Aquaflora, in exchange for surrendering her ancestral tree upon manifesting it.

“You and Goblin share the same tragedy,” I said to Aquaflora, my tone thoughtful. “Though perhaps you see it differently. Unless,” I added inquisitively, “that’s why you chose to distance yourself from him?”

While she had been one of the Argyrian Patriarch's elders, a role that typically bound her existence to him, she eventually left his side to live elsewhere. Needless to say that this wasn't just benevolently permitted by the patriarch; it was allowed because she promised to produce a second ancestral tree, one aligned with the Wood sub-affinity, which the patriarch had yet to manifest. In exchange for this ancestral tree, she gained her freedom—albeit a very limited one.

“I…I’m,” Aquaflora stammered, her voice faltering.

“It’s alright,” I interjected gently. “You don’t have to justify yourself. I just wanted you to know that Goblin doesn’t hate you—not you personally, at least. Just your patriarch and everything remotely tied to him. After everything he stole from Goblin—his ancestral tree, his brother, his friends—I can’t even really blame him for that.”

Aquaflora floated silently in the pool, her expression serious. “And you?” she asked.

I raised an eyebrow, considering her question. “You’re asking if I hate your patriarch and everything he represents, like Goblin does?” I paused, frowning. “What I think of the patriarch is one thing, but I’d like to think I’ve shown you, over our time traveling together, enough to answer that question without words.”

Her silence lingered, awkward but telling. I sighed, dispelling the tension. “I’ve lived over 200 years. For you elves, with your easily leveled Longevity skills, that might not seem like much. But for a human like me, it’s a lifetime of experiences. Enough to learn that hating so deeply serves no purpose. I've hated some people before—Sigh, I hated them so much. But looking back, I see how little it mattered in the grand scheme of things.

“So, no,” I continued. “I don’t hate you or any Argyrian just because of your patriarch. That said, I won’t deny wanting his downfall. But as for the rest of the Argyrian? I genuinely don’t care. As for you,” I added with a teasing smile, “I’d even say I love you very much.”

“You,” Aquaflora sputtered, her cheeks turning red even in the misty warmth of the pool. “It’s always like this with you!” she exclaimed, splashing water at me in a mock tantrum.

I chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “You’re not used to affection, are you?”

“Shut up!”

Sobering, I added, “You might think I’m joking, but I’m serious. I care about you. I’ve grown to... I want you to know that.”

Standing from the steps, I prepared to leave. It was then that her voice called out behind me, stopping me in my tracks.

“Arianna.”

“Hm?” I turned to face her.

“About what you’re here to do… He… Lee is the centerpiece of your plan, isn’t he? You want the Clan Leaders to bend the knee to him. That’s your goal here right?”

I smiled faintly. “You’ve figured it out on your own.”

“I just did, listening to what you told me.”

We weren’t in Argyrian territory without purpose. Our mission here was critical to the coalition’s goal of taking down the Argyrian patriarch. Like any monarch, elven monarchs rely on their subjects to draw energy—MP, HP, and SP—from them, much like batteries. For our coalition, ensuring he couldn’t use that advantage against us was essential. Erasing the capital and its inhabitants would have been the simplest solution, but that option is just far too cruel and wasteful, considering the other alternatives.

“He’s going to be a very awful patriarch,” Aquaflora said, “to the Argyrian people.”

“I know,” I replied grimly. “But guess what?”

“You don’t care about them.”

“You guessed it.”

“The Clan Leaders won’t easily accept him. They’re already fighting for control of the capital and its denizens. They won’t just bend the knee.”

“I know,” I said, clenching my fists. “That’s why we’re here. If they won’t submit willingly, we’ll make them. There may… no, there will be bloodshed,” I admitted, addressing the reluctance in her eyes. “But we can minimize it. For that, I’ll need your help. Your diplomacy, your standing as a Clan Leader—these can make all the difference. Can I count on you?”

Aquaflora’s hesitation was palpable. Refusal would only mean more violence, something neither of us wanted. With a deep sigh, she finally said, “I will do my best.”

I smiled, satisfied. Pointing at her, I added with a playful grin, “And that’s why I love you so much.”

"Just leave me in peace with that," she said, splashing water toward me again.

"Alright," I was about to leave when she paused, turning back. "Say, Aquaflora."

"Mh?"

"We got here ahead of schedule, meaning we have a few days of rest before we dive into the tedious part of the work. Once we begin, there won't be time for a break. How about we take advantage of the time we have now to do something fun?"

"Something fun? Like what?"

"I was thinking… To be honest, I’ve been curious about the place you lived before being forced to move out. Since we started flying over the region, I couldn't help but wonder about it. How about we go there tomorrow?"

"...Sure," Aquaflora responded, feigning indifference, though it was clear to me she was ecstatic about the idea.

Having got her confirmation, I left the bathhouse and headed straight to my chambers to change. Once done, I immediately set out to find Licht, whom I conveniently found in a room resembling a conference hall. A large table dominated the center, surrounded by chairs, some of which were already occupied by Goblin, Blondie, Bortz, and Licht himself.

From his seat across the table, Licht was staring intently at Goblin, who was in yet another form. This one differed from the one he used in the bath and every other form he'd displayed to Licht so far.

Goblin’s fidgeting in his chair only emphasized the novelty of the situation, and Licht’s glare was likely due to the fact it was his first time seeing this particular form.

As I approached, I addressed Goblin, who was now in one of his main forms—a young boy in his early teenage years—with a hint of humor. "What's the occasion for this appearance this time?"

"I was told I wouldn't have any use for that appearance," Goblin replied, referring to his earlier form. "This original one will do, for now."

I smiled, glancing at Licht. "You heard that, friend. You’re finally granted the honor of beholding Goblin in one of his true main forms. So behold."

With that, I took my seat at the head of the table. Looking at those gathered, I declared, "Our table is still missing some very important members, but I’m already glad to see us all here. Today, we are closer than ever to our goal. We just need to push through the next steps, and the final line will be upon us. So now, let’s get to the briefing on what’s going to happen."