“The fuck’d you say?!”

The leader of the drakonids stood up and slammed his red, scaled hands onto the table. The poor wooden table creaked precariously under the impact.

Before one could say “ah”, he was restrained by two frail-looking, slender, androgynous people who were standing on either side of him. Despite their flimsy forms, the two of them proved more than a match for him, given how well they kept him in place.

From their pointy ears and androgynous forms, it was easy to deduce they were elves. They whispered a few calming words into the drakonid chief’s ears, although one could question how effective that was.

He fluttered his wings in apparent frustration and mumbled several more curses, but he did sit down. From the sound of it, the chair, made of a wooden stump, was none too pleased with his weight.

“I do believe you heard perfectly well what I said.”

The elf who sat across from him had a business-like smile on their face as they spoke. Unlike most elves, the bulges on her chest made her gender easy to discern. “As we have made a pact of protection with the treants who live in that area,” she continued, “we cannot permit the passage of you fire-attributed brutes, for fear of their safety.”

“I’ve told you this already,” the drakonid said, smashing his fist into the table once more, “but stop it with the damn insults already!”

“I am simply naming things as I see them. It is your freedom to be offended, or to ignore my words,” the elf said in return, her smile unwavering.

Given she did not possess any noteworthy combat ability, the source of her confidence was a mystery. Regardless, whatever her source was, it appeared to be a bottomless well.

In any other situation, it might’ve been comical to see the blood vessel almost pop out of the drakonid’s forehead, as though this were a manga. Yet currently, he possessed the ability to burn the entire treehouse with a single well-placed firebreath, so his anger was no laughing matter.

“You…” he grumbled, the beginnings of a roar welling up in his throat as he looked at the elf before him. His mouth, lined with unnecessarily sharp teeth, distorted as his expression grew in anger.

“Now, now,” the elf said, her smile unchanged, “if your goal is to disprove my words, then such behaviour would do you no favours, would it?”

The drakonid grunted in frustration, but he let the roar die down where it started and unclenched his teeth. Despite his short temper and the generally fiery disposition of drakonids, he seemed to be trying his best to seem a worthy negotiator.

He stood up, turned around and flapped his wings in an intimidating gesture.

“Oh? Where are you going?” the elf said, tilting her head to the side as her smile seemed to widen the tiniest bit.

“I can’t decide how to deal with your shit alone,” the drakonid answered as he turned back to look at the elf, “so I’m getting our Council over here. I do hope you don’t mind.”

Both parties knew this was akin to a child fighting another child, and then running off to get its father, but neither party felt any real desire to mention this.

“Oh my?” the elf said, faking an unexpectedly convincing surprised expression. “Could it be you don’t have full control over the drakonids?”

“Of course not. No one can rule a whole species alone. You, of all people, should know that, miss Elven Council Vice-President.”

For the first time, the elf’s carefully constructed facial expression snapped, and it was as if one could see the cracks running across her face, like an old, dusty mirror, found neglected in a late grandmother’s attic. The other elves, and the drakonid, quickly looked away—that’s not a pleasant sight.

Within seconds, she rebuilt her façade and smiled once more.

The sharp, toothy grin on the drakonid’s face implied he knew exactly what he was doing as he walked away.

The tension in the room was so thick it was as if one could cut it with a butterknife, and its strained atmosphere made it rather desolate in the eyes of the elves, despite being occupied by the councils of two nations.

The reason for this was simple—spirits did not like atmospheres of conflict. Thus, apart from the few contracted spirits, the room was entirely devoid of them.

The drakonid chief, who now stood at the head of the group of drakonids, looked no happier than earlier—if anything, it seemed that meeting up with his tribe had instead served to further agitate him. His hair, orange as the sunset, could not have looked messier, to the point where it hid about half of both of the ten centimetre-long black horns on his head, and both of his clawed, scaly hands were clenched into tight fists. His wings were spread around his brethren, half in intimidation and half in protection.

The Elven Council Vice-President, too, carried the same expression as earlier—that beautiful, business-like smile. It was as though its radiance was amplified by the row of elves sitting on either side of her.

Yet the most important elf was not her, but the elf sitting next to her, and the most beautiful of all—the Elven Council President. They exuded an aura of complete peace, as if they had found tranquility with the world, and their face seemed to embody the very concept of ‘androgynous beauty’. Their somewhat messy, green-tinted blonde hair, which reached to their waist, accented the slenderness and ambiguity of their figure, and their mellow, forest green eyes could soothe any heart. The elf seemed almost as gorgeous as Lady Sylph was rumoured to be—men and women alike would by charmed by them.

Without a word, they simply looked at the drakonid chief, an enigmatic smile on their face. In their eyes, a piercing gaze, almost a glare—or so it seemed to the drakonids; In truth, their gaze was mellow as ever. It was simply that the drakonids were under the effect of the skill [Magic Eyes of Reflection]. What the drakonids did read correctly was the invitation to speak first.

The drakonid chief cleared his throat before he started talking. “As you know, we drakonids are a nomadic tribe.”

Without a word, the President nodded.

“Our migration is guided by Lady Salamander’s divine providence, praise be to her, and this time, she has guided us to a location on the other side of your forest. She has previously assured us that straight passage is required—therefore, it is absolutely necessary for us to pass through-”

“Like I have said before,” the Vice President of the elves cut in, “we cannot simply allow you brutes to pass through our grand Sacred Forest. It is a recorded fact that many of the areas you have passed through have become outright volcanic in nature.” Her business-like smile carried a certain air of… superiority, as though that of a child in an argument on the playground, which knows the teacher is on its side.

“That’s a damn blessing!” the drakonid chief responded, slamming his fists into the table as he stood up, “And even if it weren’t, that’s temporary!” Although the drakonids by his side restrained him, their facial expressions made clear as day that they did not disagree with his words. The table, on the other hand, did disagree with the cracks that formed in the wood.

Once more, the chief flapped his wings in frustration and sat down.

The Elven Council President raised their hand in a rather pacifying manner and opened their mouth to speak, but right that moment, an elf approached them from the side and whispered something in their ear.

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Their long, pointy ear twitched and a slight blush settled on their face, but none present paid it any mind.

On the other side of the table, a drakonid approached the chief and whispered something in his ear, as well.

“Getting Lady Salamander involved…? I suppose that could work,” he said, nodding to himself. Not a second later, he covered his own mouth.

The President’s expression did not change, but it was as though their smile deepened and a mysterious flame lit up in their eyes.

“Ah~ That’s perfect~!” they said, their voice as clear as a bell and beautiful as a skillfully played piano. Their tone was almost like they were singing a song, yet not quite, and the masculine and feminine elements blended into a sublime paradoxical harmony. “Then~ We can simply let the goddesses decide~!”

“... Huh? Don’t tell me, you too?”

“Yes~ Lady Sylph has offered her oracle~”

A certain room.

In contrast to the earlier room, it was filled to the brim with spirits. Though they were of many types, currently, the green and red ones were especially numerous. High on the room’s wooden walls hung gorgeous tapestries, and the floor was covered in what appeared to be handmade carpet, soft enough to fall asleep on.

In the centre of the room stood two thrones, which resembled each other only in that they were thrones and that they carried an aura of divinity. One, wooden, green and very much alive, seemed almost as though it were growing out of the floor itself. On it sat what appeared to be a rather young elf—though it was nigh impossible to tell an elf’s age from their appearance—dressed in some manner of ceremonial robe, white, embroidered with various green forest scenes. Notably, their eyes glowed a peculiar shade of dark green.

The other throne was black and stone, as though carved from volcanic rock, and looked considerably out of place. Presumably, the drakonids had dragged it here. On it sat a young drakonid, well-endowed despite her age, and dressed in a robe which was uncannily similar to the elf’s—only, instead of green scenes of the forest, hers was embroidered with red scenes of fire and heat. Like the elf, their eyes glowed a deep red, unlike a simple blessing of Salamander.

A fair distance away from these chairs stood the drakonid chief and the Elven Council President. The chief seemed significantly less agitated than earlier, though the President’s mood remained unchanged.

After a few moments of silence, some manner of connection seemed to have solidified—the shrine maidens on the thrones began glancing around the room. From their unsteady gazes, it was easy to tell these were not the bodies’ original occupants.

The air around the drakonid shrine maiden wavered slightly with heat, while wind rustled the elf shrine maiden’s hair.

“Lady Salamander,” the drakonid chief asked, caution in his tone, “are you there?”

Almost like the tail of a dog, the drakonid girl’s wings perked up at his voice. This alone told him all he needed to know—although the shrine maiden had a fondness for the chief, she alone was convinced she had managed to keep it a secret, and she was extraordinarily cautious not to openly display affection.

Quickly, the drakonid girl turned her gaze to the chief. “Oh,” she said, “it’s been a while! You’ve sure grown up, haven’t you?”

She rushed in his direction, took one of his claws in one of her own and affectionately ruffled his hair. The gesture made her seem a little like an older sister, or perhaps an older brother—quite unworldly, given the shrine maiden was a head shorter than the chief. Given the scales, it also seemed a little painful.

“We should go out drinking sometime! Or maybe you’d prefer a spar? Either works for me,” she continued, a peculiar smile on her face.

“No, Lady Salamander, I’m afraid your shrine maiden is underage-”

Meanwhile, the other shrine maiden-turned-goddess…

“Munya… So soft…”

Was lying on the ground, caressing the carpet.

“Lady Sylph,” the Elven Council President said, crouching down, their voice unusually equal-toned.

“Mn?” She raised her head and directed her gaze at the President.

“Ah… ’S you.”

Although the half-lidded eyes certainly did enhance the shrine maiden’s cuteness, they did not do much for her dignity, either as a goddess or as a person.

“Did you,” she said with a yawn, “summon me so I,” she paused a moment, “could pat-” She yawned once more. “-your head?”

She sluggishly sat up and extended her legs in front of her, then patted her thighs.

Although the President was about to accept on reflex, they restrained themselves and shook their head.

“N… No, Lady Sylph, pleasant as that may be, that’s not it, this time~” they said, returning to their usual sing-songy tone and extending a hand to the young elf as they stood upright.

She let out a curious, lazy cry, but still grabbed the President’s hand.

With a “Please excuse me, Lady Sylph~” the President pulled her to her feet. Though a bit unsteady, she stood.

It took the two goddesses this long to so much as notice there was anyone else in the room.

The moment they did, they separated from their respective leaders and faced each other, then took a step towards each other. It was not very hard for the chief and the President to notice the metaphorical sparks, and the atmospheres of mild warmth and gentle breezes clashed between the two.

“Why are you here, you tomboy?” Salamander asked, placing a hand on her hip.

“Mh,” Sylph said, “isn’t that-” Once more, she yawned. “-my question? ‘S my forest.” An almost smug smile surfaced on her face. “ ‘Sides, even if…”

She looked Salamander up and down.

“Your chest ‘s bigger ‘n mine, real bodies and now…”

For once, she covered her mouth to hide her yawn.

“Isn’t your behaviour more like-” She paused, for no apparent reason. “-a tomboy?”

“Wha-” Salamander let out, a competitive fire burning in her eyes.

“Since, y’know.” She gestured towards the chief. “You invited ‘im drinking, right? Isn’t that, uh… something a man’d do, with his…” She yawned once more. “Male friends?”

“Geh- Just a little is fine, isn’t it, you walking stick?! We both know we can’t drink in Akasha!”

“But-”

She took a moment to drop to the ground.

“-is it really, the first thing you should do?”

Ah, this discussion isn’t going to go anywhere—the chief and the President had roughly the same thought at roughly the same time.