Keya lay awake, staring up at the immaculately flat and featureless grey stone ceiling of what was now apparently ‘her room’. The bed was far too comfortable, the pillow far too soft and the linens far too clean, and smelling faintly of lavender.

The temperature was also perfect; slitted holes in the ceiling blew a soft breeze that circulated the room with fresh air. A trinket attached to the wall could shift the wind from warm hearth to icy chill. The functions had been explained, but its workings remained baffling. She opted to leave it be after Master summoned the zephyr.

Jon had a number of these extra rooms simply 'available', five by her count, along the same connecting curved corridor. Jon’s room lay at the end. With hers two doors down, opposite the kitchen. Master insisted she choose which quarters she wanted! As if he were offering a chair to sit on, rather than a royal suite. In any event, space all her own was a reprieve she savoured. Jon’s room, by her estimation, was somewhat larger than hers. Not that she felt short-changed, her domicile was already so extravagant as to make her shameful to be using it.

The ‘On-sweet’ bathhouse and outhouse were indulgences she had never even considered. Jon’s response rung in the back of her mind, “Yes, you shit, shower, and shave whenever you want. Welcome to the future!”

It was morning, or at least an opaque square in the wall gave off that impression with soft light. Keya rubbed her arm where Jon had taken her blood the previous night. The ‘Medy-Kal’ ritual as he called, had been a far more harrowing experience than anything prior. She’d rather face more direwolves than all those tools and artefacts around her and on her skin. She hoped never to see that hellish white room again, and she made such demands quite clear.

Master Kel countered with dinner: warm freshly cooked ‘Peat-za’, after which the negotiations stalled. Unleavened bread spread with a blood-red vegetable paste, succulent melted cheese, and spices. She knew of no vegetable like it. ‘T'maa-toes’ they were called. Jonathan retrieved one for appraisal from his magically cold closet. Voluptuous vegetables and fruits stocked his cookery; produce to make all farmers quail with impotence at their measly crop.

What wonders I have witnessed. Pinching her cheek, she arose.

Momentarily washed and dressed, she emerged from her door and slunk toward the kitchen following the growing sound. It was music. Melodic notes and a rapid beat wove beneath a female voice so profoundly beautiful she would make High Elf minstrels and bards jealous. The instruments were multitude and none she could identify.

Smells of breakfast hit her nostrils, and she slapped herself to regain composure before turning the corner.

“Morning sunshine! Bacon, eggs, broccoli and rice, the breakfast of champions. Yours is done over there on the counter. Sit down and dig in.” The music suddenly became softer. She found her seat and beheld the feast.

“Do you eat so many foods at each meal? I imagined last eve’s supper to be a welcome feast.”

“It’s normal, and you’re malnourished. Eat.”

“I cannot pay for this.”

“You’re my responsibility. That includes your health. Your livelihood is well worth any expense. I bear it freely; you owe me nothing. Eat.” Reluctantly at first, she relished the meal.

“Where is the minstrel band?” Speaking after a few delectable mouthfuls. She surveyed the kitchen and attached living area seeing no one else. The sounds unmistakeably came from thereabouts.

“It’s recorded music, those black boxes you see in the living room are producing the sound. It’s just us here. Quarantine procedures are still in full effect; you won’t be seeing others of my kind for a while still.”

“Music without people, your miracles never cease.”

“Yeah, sorry my tastes aren’t great this is just a playlist the AI compiled, run of the mill electronic stuff. I’ll get Evy to set up your profile. Account access will be to your room terminal. Then you can chill to your own beats.”

“I understood almost nothing of what you just said.”

“Looks like you’re gonna need your coffee.” He poured a steaming cup for her from a ready-made kettle, or at least it looked like a kettle. It could start flying about the room for all she knew. And worse still she might not even be surprised.

She took the brew in hand and tentatively sipped. It was bitter, like Grandpa’s hot leaf drink, but not disagreeable. She brought a few seeds she wished to plant when she found the opportunity. Jon observed her reaction as she drank.

“And we have a winner! Not everyone likes the stuff, but trust me, it’s one of the world’s best drugs.”

He sat down across from her, clattering his meal on the counter. They ate; music and the ritual of sustenance suffused her senses. To feast so well and so comfortably was alien to her. Where were her morning chores? Master had not even bothered to rouse her. And why was he making all the food and drink? Granted, she did not know the first thing about how his hearth worked. Nonetheless, she felt irrationally cheated out of honest work. The fault was entirely hers, to expect any kind of normality from this man was folly from the outset.

“Alright, your test results from medical are back. The living room screen would be best,” He took another bite and swallowed, “but we’re already here.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

He pulled forth a black glass panel from above the counter. A single metal arm hoisted it as he effortlessly swung the rectangle in view. From the polished black board came illumination with a blink. Images, along with words skittered about its surface according to some esoteric covenant. Varied rectangles materialised and shifted in the foreground, while the background was a pristine forest scene. As with all paintings before, it was flawless and indistinguishable to the eye save for being far too idyllic. I should very much like to visit so serene a vista.

“And what is this ensorceled painting?” Similar panels were in the torturous ‘Medy-Kal’ room, but they were nowhere near as colourful, and she was otherwise occupied, avoiding needles and the like. Come to think of it, such black glass artefacts were all about the manor, even in her room.

“It’s a screen, a touch screen. I had the whole bunker recently upgraded. Us early 21st century Gamma guys don’t have free roam of the nice stuff from the Beta or Alpha worlds. That said, getting those Romans to use a mouse and keyboard was a pain in my ass.” Jon shuddered, “Never again!”

Recovered from his reverie and continued, “Your results:”

With a few dextrous taps on the glass, the painting vanished below a white canvas with writing and many lined boxes. What a shame, I liked that scene. In one corner of the plain sheet was a tiny coloured portrait: Keya’s portrait. A fearfully wide-eyed depiction stared back at her; she utterly understood its shock.

“Congratulations, near as we can tell you’re a mostly healthy elf. Of course, you are also the only elf we’ve ever tested.”

“When did you have time to paint me? Astounding work, though rather small. A recent gawk at her visage in the polished metal of the bathing room affirmed the likeness.

“Ja-nee, Kay, just like we can record music, we can capture images. Both moving and still. I’m rather proud of this mug shot. No one ever looks good in their ID photos, and the tradition continues.

“Is there anything you and your ilk cannot do? I’m beginning to think we should start with the impossible and work backwards.”

“Hey! Not a bad suggestion. Consult Lee in your free time on that. Anyway, forget your photo. Let's check results.”

Much deliberation in flawless ink-black script littered the rest of the ‘Skreen’.

Master Kel asked, “Can you read this stuff?”

“I see numbers and Common script, both of which are familiar. However, I do not grasp their arrangement or meaning. The word 'blood' is over there,” she pointed.

“Let’s start with bloodwork then. More specifically, your DNA ancestry. Extremely close to us. Human precursors without a doubt. Mutations here and there, but the labs conclude human-elf offspring is quite viable. You’re hardly speciated.”

“Yes, half-elves are possible to sire, though often shunned. As for the former claim, many Fair Folk would find your allusion to Mortal progenitors unconscionable. Of the Elder Races, Elves are considered the purest of bloodlines. Their beauty, longevity, and grace attest to it. High Elves would most certainly rebuke such a notion. Humans are the impure bloodline, tainted descendants of Elders, the converse of your claim.”

“I’m just reading the numbers. Believe what you want.” Master threw up hands in placation.

“That said, the cultural heritage of Wood Elves, my kin, is not so disdainful as the High Elves. All springs forth and returns to nature. For the interim, might I remain dubious of your proposition?”

Her intransigence was dismissed with an off-hand shrug. He graciously affords dissent: a propitious quality for a lord.  “Sure. How long do you guys live, anyway?” 

“A thousand years is not uncommon.” Jon almost choked on his food as she replied.

“Mother fucker, a thousand fucking years!”

“Refrain from your crass comments about my mother this instant!”

“Wha? Oh, sorry, it’s an expression of shock. I’m not in any way referring to your parents or family.” Pounding his chest to clear his throat.

Keya was stern. “Very well, but for a noble, I must say your language runs a wide gamut at times.”

“A thousand fucking years! How many days in a year?”

“Three hundred and sixty-five.”

“Hours in a day?”

“Twelve.”

Jonathan squinted, “Is that only daylight?”

“One can hardly gauge night with a sundial, now can they?”

“I suppose your hours don’t vary by season either.”

“Indeed, though we know the light is lesser, winter elements are harsher, and crops do not grow. Shelter and warmth take precedence, as the Gods intended.”

“Pre-Gallilean time, huh? Still, a thousand fucking years!”

“Yes, you have said this three times now. I suppose I understand your shock coming from a realm of only humans. Your life span of barely forty years is rather pitiful by comparison.”

“Yeah, we can push that to a hundred with modern medicine, but a thousand is something special. Maybe par for the course for Alphas and Betas but… my girl you just put us on the map!”

“Is that a request for courtship?”

“Uh…no?”

“Good.” An uncomfortable moment passed.

“Ja, tsuzukimashou! Let’s continue with stuff you probably already know. Your eyes are superhuman, it’s like someone stuck eagle eyes in your skull, and your hearing is certainly better than humans’, but my dog back home had you beat. Pochi however, was an idiot, so having a better brain attached to those ears probably makes you win out.”

“Are you honestly comparing me to your dog?”

“Aaaand, your bones are indeed porous. Plus streamlined body composition puts you at thirty-five kgs. No wonder I still have ribs. No doubt you’re a spry young thing when you aren’t falling out of trees.”

“I will have you know that though I am only twenty-five years of age I am no less skilled with a bow as other elves. Please bear that in mind next time you compare me to your dog.”

“You’re only twenty-five!” He clapped as part of a non-existent audience. “Oh, this is precious! You may well be the first elf in all of fiction that isn’t a cradle snatcher!”

“Truly, your stories fall far from the mark; Elves would never do such a horrid thing as stealing babes.”

Master laughed; it was a proper bellowing laugh and took a long while for him to find composure once more. Spontaneous chuckles of mirth continued well past the end of the meal.

Keya did her best to ignore the fool and enjoy the repast. Men will be men; she realised, regardless from whence they hail.