The next day, in the early afternoon, as we’d agreed, Aquaflora and I flew off toward the northeastern horizon. We were heading to visit her old home.

Compared to the Umbryan corner, which was mostly grassland dotted with occasional trees under typically clear skies, the region we flew over was verdant but punctuated by a mountainous landscape. Above it hung a dark gray fog that threatened rain at any moment.

With Veilleuse-19, we mostly flew above the clouds to avoid being drenched. But as Aquaflora announced we were nearing our destination, we descended. Sure enough, something soon came into view: nestled in a depression surrounded by elevations was what looked like a settlement, built around a lake formed by the depression itself.

“This is it, right?” I asked Aquaflora for confirmation.

She nodded. “We’ve arrived. This is the village… the one the Mistwood Arbor’s Argyrian refugees were evacuated from.”

With nowhere else suitable to land a creature as large as Veilleuse—and not wanting to risk damaging the village buildings, even if most were already in ruins—I chose to land Veilleuse-19 in the large natural pool at the village center, freezing the water with ease.

After dismounting, I walked to the shore, taking in the sight of what remained of the village. The streets were littered with toppled blocks and collapsed roofs. Monstrous trails ran through the rubble, evidence enough of what had caused the destruction.

Walking alongside me, Aquaflora murmured, “With everyone evacuated, I was hoping they’d spare the village somehow, for people to one day return. It seems I was too hopeful.”

“I can’t say you weren’t,” I replied, taking in the devastation.

As we moved through the rubble, I noticed Aquaflora stopping occasionally to inspect certain ruins. Though I didn’t ask what she was looking for, her focus made it clear she had a purpose. It wasn’t until we reached what appeared to have been the largest building in the village—now reduced to a pile of collapsed rubble—that I broke the silence. As we worked together to lift the debris, I asked, “You have a particular reason to care for this village, don’t you?”

“I do,” Aquaflora admitted. “This is where Charle and I stayed before I ultimately…” She paused, then corrected herself. “Charle, or as you’d know him, Alphonse. Do you remember him?”

“Yes, I remember,” I said. “I never forget a name or a face.”

“I see,” she said, her relief evident. “This is where he and I stayed the longest before I moved to the Argyrian capital,” she explained, lifting a large block to reveal what looked like the remnants of a cradle.

“This used to be such a warm place,” she said wistfully.

“I can imagine that.”

She chuckled self-deprecatingly. “So much so that it gave me a very wrong idea of what life would be like in the capital.”

Without her elaborating, I understood. Goblin’s own testimony had already given me a glimpse of what she meant.

There was a stark difference between elven village life and life in an elven capital. Villages like this one, or Mistwood Arbor, were shaped by love and a desire for independence from the monarch’s influence. Capitals, however, were different. If I were to use Goblin’s words, villages and capitals were equally stifling, but in different ways.

Elven villages often began as havens for elves seeking freedom from their monarchs. These villages were built by those who, for various reasons such as passionate love, found life in the capitals untenable because it didn't allow their love to unfold naturally—specifically, it didn't allow them to have children of their own choosing. In the capital, children are created and bestowed by the monarch, not born of personal choice. Thus, those whose passion burns strong enough muster the courage to leave the capital to live in small villages like this one. Not surprisingly, children born in these villages may or may not return to the capitals from which their parents came. More often than not, they remain in the village, marrying fellow elves also born there, or, as sometimes happens, marrying other sentient species, most commonly humans. This gives birth to what’s commonly called a "Charlie."

Needless to say, children born from such unions were rarely welcome in the hyper-homogeneous societies of the capitals. Aquaflora, with her silver hair and mixed heritage, was a prime example. Even after rising to the high status of Clan Leader, she sought to leave the suffocating environment of the capital for this place.

As we cleared more rubble, I noticed small toys and clothing emerging. “What’s this place?” I asked.

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Picking up an intact toy, Aquaflora replied, “This is what remains of where I raised my children.”

“Your children, huh?”

“Yes, my children,” she said with an innocent jest. “They may not have been mine by blood, but they were mine nonetheless.” She glanced at me. “As are yours.”

I chuckled. “So, you were some kind of caretaker? A teacher?”

She nodded. “When I wasn’t trying to harvest affinity points, I was teaching the little ones all they needed to know.”

“Oh? Like what?” I asked, curious.

Aquaflora gave me a doubtful look. “You’re going to tease me again.”

“No, of course not. I’m genuinely curious about what you taught them.”

Her expression made it clear she didn’t believe me, but with a sigh, she relented. “I mostly taught them about the world outside, how to level up, and what not to do when doing so.”

There were indeed critical lessons elven children needed to learn. For instance, humans could make mistakes like investing in the wrong attribute, but elves faced unique risks—such as investing too heavily in a sub-affinity that might attract the unwanted attention of a patriarch. In a village like this one, so close to potential enemies, those lessons were a matter of survival.

Not mocking her as she expected. “I can see you love this village,” I began. “So, why did you stay so long in the capital—a hundred and fifty three years—before deciding to move back here?”

“I…” She hesitated, pondering her answer. “Because most of the time I was there, I thought I was accomplishing something.”

"What something?"

"That I don't know... but I think I just understood that I wouldn’t be able to achieve it when I surrendered my ancestral tree to him."

Listening to her speak, I understood—perhaps even before she did. That understanding brought a small smile to my face, one Aquaflora didn’t miss.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," I answered. "I just realized something about you that makes me think we might not be so different after all."

"What do you mean?"

"You wouldn’t understand if I told you. You’ll have to figure it out yourself."

"Wha—"

Before she could complain, I cut her off. "Tell me," I said, changing the subject as I looked around. "How did the village exodus go? I’ve heard bits and pieces, but I got little from Goblin himself. So, I’m curious. How did it unfold?"

Aquaflora seemed reluctant to let go of the previous topic but eventually relented. "How did it go? I don’t know what you expect me to say. It went exactly as anything involving Lee—or Goblin, as you call him—would."

"Smoothly?"

"Roughly!" she corrected, her annoyance clear. "He just barged in and literally threatened to destroy the village himself if they didn’t leave immediately. He gave them no time or choice."

I glanced around at the ruins of the village. "But did they have either, though?"

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But still..."

"He did what needed to be done. Sure, there was malice in his actions toward your people for reasons you and I both understand, but the result is that those villagers are now somewhere safe, which renders their feelings over his actions irrelevant."

At this, Aquaflora asked, "Is that how you expect him to rule the Argyrian family after this is over? Because you’re not planning to just give them their freedom back, are you?"

I smiled. "You’re starting to understand how I work."

"I had to," she said, her disappointment evident. "As much as it pains me to admit."

I sneered. "You’re right. We’re not going to let go of such a precious resource."

Due to its nature, Ancestral Trees as a monarch sigil is unique. It can be stolen, or "obtained," unlike the sigils of other races. For example, no one could wield the sigil of an Emperor, Seraphim, or ArchDuke of Hell except themselves. But for elves, the requirements to wield an ancestral tree are minimal. For someone like Goblin, who once manifested his own ancestral tree but was forced to surrender it, acquiring the Argyrian ancestral tree would be almost seamless. In fact, it would be easier for him to accommodate it since one of the Ancestral Tree comprising that makes up the Argyrian Patriarch’s Ancestral Tree was originally his. For his sake, it’s best we seized the Argyrian’s subjects, as they would immediately strengthen Goblin's if he gets the Patriarch ancestral tree.

While he could operate without the current Argyrian family as his subjects, it would be a waste. For an ancestral tree wielder, subjects are akin to stored energy for a mana-storing staff. The sigil is the staff, and the wielder is the wielder of the ancestral tree. The staff functions independently, but not using its full capability would be inefficient. Considering our mission to cripple the Argyrian patriarch by depriving him of his subjects, it only makes sense to take them and put them to use.

"Resource," Aquaflora mumbled, bitterness seeping into her tone as her clenched fists betrayed her feelings.

"You must admit that it’s a better fate than having the Argyrian seized by one of the elven monarchs in this coalition, isn’t it?" I said matter-of-factly.

"I’m not so sure about that," Aquaflora replied.

In that moment, I realized she was letting her opinion of Goblin cloud her judgment. There was no way the Argyrian subjects would be better off under the Umbryan patriarch or the Aurian matriarch. Integration into their homogenous populations was impossible. These monarchs had literally manufactured their societies to mirror their ideals, seeing them as the pinnacle of beauty. The idea of integrating a completely different population was inconceivable to them. I felt compelled to point this out but chose to hold my tongue.

Glancing at the gray sky above, I asked, "Do you still have something you want to see here?"

"No."

"Then is it alright if we get moving?"

"Yes."