“Gather ‘round, ye fine folk, the wee ones too, and lend an ear to this old bard’s tale. Let me tell you a story from the Age of Gods and Magic, the story of Shanmu and Pama, and their love that changed the world. You see, there once was a tree so big, they say it could be seen from all corners of the land, and its roots were what held the world together. That’s why they called it Shanmu, the World Tree.

“But Shanmu, he was not like the other trees. For you see, he could think, just like you and me, and he’d fallen in love, with an enchanting and kind Jaldehim woman named Pama. Alas, their love seemed doomed. For all his majesty and power, Shanmu was yet a tree—all bark and no bite. Hehehe… Ahem.

“So the wooden god beseeched Belhad, begging for freedom from his vegetal body. The Force of Life granted his wish, but she warned Shanmu he would always remain tied to his original form. The next day, the god split from his tree and embraced his wife, and although he could never stray far from the World Tree he once and still was, the two lovers lived happily in the Sacred Forest.

“And here, my little friends, we find the origin of the elves and dryads, born of a love transcending the boundaries of wood and flesh. But the story doesn’t end here. When the–”

“What’s a dryad?”

“Well, they’re not around anymore, little one. For you see, when the Dragon Demon K–”

“Daddy says elves are duck-worshipping weirdos.”

“Ahem. Morbeak isn’t an actual duck. He’s a powerful elemental spirit that–”

“Well, if it looks like a duck…”

“Listen here, you little shit–”

—conversation between Wit Warbler, travelling bard, and a group of children, 252 AK.

–

Rest 29, 2497 AK, Radiant Empire, Cleft Isles, Greyport, Cliffside.

The cramped abode welcomed Kaydence and her mother out of the cold and into a riot of warmth and bright, garish colours. Annet might have had to forsake decorating her façade, but she had instead doubled down on transforming the inside of her home into a chaotic eruption of rainbow colours, halfway between a strange indoor garden and the cave lair of some insane witch.

Mismatched rugs of all shades hid the grey stone walls and floor; old furniture and chipped utensils vaunted cheerful coats of paint; dyed arrangements of dried flowers, leaves and branches occupied more space than the dwelling could reasonably spare; pinned butterflies dotted the room like as many motionless fairies; and as always, an iridescent whirlpool overlaid the low, curved ceiling, inexplicably making it seem higher.

The many rugs also helped trap the heat inside, and Kaydence hurriedly closed the door behind them, barring entry to the outside chill.

Annet released her daughter’s hand to put away her water bucket and fetch the few wooden plates they owned—multi-coloured, obviously, and stashed on a wonky, sunflower-yellow shelf. Kaydence went to empty her backpack onto a small grass-green drying rack. She quickly selected the herbs that could be salvaged from Flynt’s trashing and dumped the rest into a strawberry-red waste basket. Then she joined Sarmin by the fire pit, sitting cross-legged on a cornflower-blue carpet, threadbare and faintly singed.

The tiny half-elf was animatedly talking to his father, who listened mutely to his ramblings about their uneventful day. A patient smile floated on Lenril’s lips; he nodded at the appropriate parts, sometimes gestured for clarifications, but never interrupted his kid. All the while, he slowly stirred the content of a soot-black pot hung by a chain and a metal bar in the air vent at the centre of the rainbow swirl. The simmering stew filled the dwelling with a delicious, spicy smell. Annet had a knack for conjuring miracles out of the simplest ingredients.

Lenril had barely changed in the past decade: tall, slender, and almost too pretty for a man, with the pale white skin, eerily symmetrical features, and long, pointed ears characteristic of elven kind. His clear blond hair weaved a lengthy braid down his back, one that shined faintly green under the shifting light of the fire.

He wore his habitual hunting garb, consisting of a plain green tunic, dusty brown pants, and simple but sturdy boots. Kaydence seldom saw him wear anything else. His worn leather chest piece hung on a hook by the door, but a battery of knives remained sheathed at his belt, and his short bow and a full quiver leaned on the wall behind him—set aside but within reach. Despite her ambivalence towards the elf, Kaydence could not fault his readiness.

The two of them greeted each other with polite, shallow nods when Kaydence sat by the fire. Lenril let go of the ladle to move his fingers in her direction, in a series of gestures that roughly translated to: “How was your day? Did Sarmin cause you any trouble?”

Masters at stealth, elves had long ago developed special hand signs for silent communication. During his time in the Radiant Kingdom army, Seifer had learned quite a few—by interrogating captured elven spies. But that had been over two thousand and five hundred years ago. It seemed the elves’ secret sign language was not so secret anymore in this era. Lenril had readily taught it to every member of their little extended family. Or perhaps he simply did not care.

Kaydence shrugged and signed back, “He’s weak and annoying. He doesn’t know when to quit.”

Like many things elven, the signs had not evolved much with time. Of course, Kaydence had feigned ignorance when Lenril taught them, but she was unsure how much the elf bought her act. His milky jade-green eyes rarely betrayed his thoughts. However, she could feel his ponderous gaze on her when he thought she was not paying attention.

“Was that a compliment?”

“…he’s going to get himself hurt someday. That’s all I’m saying.”

Hawkish pale green eyes considered her.

Kaydence thought she and the elf had an unspoken understanding. Though she doubted Lenril had any concrete evidence, he seemed adequately wary of her. His sharp elven instincts and her poor acting skills were likely to blame for that. In turn, she was suspicious of his reasons for being here, exiled from his people. The closest elven settlement was weeks away by sea, and none lived in this city besides Lenril. Nor were elves known for their wanderlust. People in Greyport would be lucky to meet more than a handful of pointy-eared folk in their lifetime.

Moreover, the man himself matched the strangeness of his circumstances. Even without poking, Kaydence could feel the potent Earth magic he was trying to conceal. Not that it was entirely surprising. Because they descended from a literal god, magic dwelled in the elves’ blood much more strongly than in humans. Lenril also looked oddly old for his kind. An ignorant human might estimate his age in the late thirties, which for an elf should mean closer to a millennium. His blond hair was streaked with white, and the streaks seemed more numerous every passing winter. Lastly, birth defects were unheard of for elves, making his disabilities highly conspicuous to someone in the know—someone like a master at Life magic who had spent decades studying the elven genome prior to her death and reincarnation.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

However, Kaydence never intended to confront Lenril.

If nothing else, she was convinced of his affection and protectiveness towards Annet, and that’s all she truly needed from him. She had an inkling he held a similar opinion of her.

That did not mean she enjoyed being stared at.

“What?” she gestured defensively. “He’s not hurt right now.”

Lenril bowed his head slowly. “Thank you. For watching over him.”

With a click of her tongue, Kaydence grabbed the metal poker and used it to stir the embers in the fire pit. “I’m not doing any of that,” she grumbled out loud. Lenril snorted discreetly, having read her lips. Irritated, the girl retaliated, “Have you finally started courting my mother properly?”

The elf choked, startling Sarmin, who rushed to offer his father a cup of water. It was Kaydence’s turn to snort—loudly in her case. Father and son looked very alike when they blushed. Unexpectedly, she found the spectacle very entertaining.

Through the steam over the cooking pot, Kaydence watched Lenril interact with his half-human son, appeasing a fretting Sarmin. In her past life, she never could have imagined a meeting with an elf not ending in bloodshed. Seifer would have killed both of them on the spot, without hesitation—one for being the enemy, one for being an abomination.

Interracial relationships had not been tolerated in the old days. In those times of constant warfare, fraternising with the enemy was treason, and the fruit of that treason was condemned as monstrous.

Yet, here she was, tolerating the presence of a half-breed, willing to entrust her mother to an elf. Times have sure changed, Kaydence thought idly. Her gaze lingered on the embarrassed little half-elf fending off his father’s head pats.

Her expression darkened.

There’s only one monster here.

However, she planned to remedy that soon.

Soon, she swore to herself for what felt like the ten-thousandth time. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. I’ll be gone soon.

The reincarnated Dragon Demon King could not afford to dally much more. For too long already, she had indulged in her selfish desire for normalcy. But every day she stayed was a risk to everyone around her.

Her grip on her temper was precarious at best. She could never trust herself. Her mere existence gathered hate, tainting anyone she held dear. Everyone could see the evil beast within her. It was not as if she hid it well. Kaydence was certain it was only a matter of time before the monster resurfaced.

Then all would die.

Annet, Sarmin, old Neela, even Lenril… Visions of their charred corpses haunted Kaydence’s dreams, during those nights when she was spared reliving her bygone memories.

There was no good end with her in it, no Hero Kayden left to stop her. She was alone. She alone could do it, had to do it, somehow. She needed to take care of the problem, remove the threat—permanently. Maybe that was the reason she received this stupid name: to take her brother’s place and save the world from herself.

Once again, she promised herself she would leave—soon—as soon as she could guarantee Annet’s safety. Another year, maybe… She had a plan, kind of. Planning had always been more her brother’s thing. She was a much blunter tool. But she could do it. She just needed to work out a last few kinks and stop putting it off. It’s just another year. Her hands tensed into fists, nails digging into her palms. Another year, to make sure everything will work out. But no more. No more. Her pulse was picking up again. No more. I can’t risk more. Can’t risk them. I can’t– Her breath was shortening, chest tightening, sight narrowing, shakes spreading through her limbs… I can’t– Not– Not again– I don’t want–

SLAM!!

The door banged against the wall, snapping Kaydence to attention. She jumped to her feet, muscles tense, ready to strike, magic at her fingertips—but quickly relaxed at the sight of a huffing and swearing old woman hobbling in along a freezing gust of wind. “Aaargh! Uat’s milky tits! Annet! You wouldn’t put a cat out in this cold, but you’ll have me drag my old bones all the way over?! Goodness gracious, you silly girl! Ain’t you getting sillier every day?”

Neela’s temper had not improved over the years.

“Gran! I’m so glad you could make it!” A smiling Annet skipped over, deaf to the old woman’s verbal abuse. In passing, she dropped the plates in Kaydence’s lap. “Hand them around, will you, Sweetie?” she whispered, then took Neela’s coat off while soothing the grumpy crone, who continued to complain loudly.

“Crazy lass, when did I become your grandmother, eh?! And what’s that nonsense out there? Are you redecorating? How tacky. In my days, ruffians at least knew how to spell! Why, I’d give them a good–”

“Oh! Just shut it, old bag,” Kaydence called out as she offloaded the plates onto Sarmin. “If chilly weather could end you, you’d have croaked with the last ice age.”

The old herbalist turned her way. Sunken eyes framed in wrinkles met red ones curtained in black hair, and the two shared a moment of familiarity and mutual annoyance.

“Bah!” Neela hobbled further inside, stopping by the fire to glare down at Kaydence. “Careful, demon brat.” Off her sharp tongue, the insult nevertheless lacked the mean edge others would have put into it. “I walloped your buttcheeks before, and I’ll do it again!”

“Don’t you have some poor children to frighten somewhere else?”

“As if you’d leave me any. Heard you made Burtin’s boy cry the other day, and that little cur might as well be half-troll, body and brain.”

“At least I’m not a dusty old bag full of cranky bones.”

“Nah. Instead, you’re a little overgrown shithead she-orc.”

“I take that as a compliment, hag.”

“That just shows how daft you are, brat.”

“Al~righty!” A crisp handclap halted both grumps in their tracks. Two sets of eyes shifted to Annet. “Everyone, I’m glad to see how well you’re getting along, but don’t let the dinner get overcooked.”

With matching huffs, Neela and Kaydence leaned away from each other. The old woman lowered herself onto a cushion Annet had provided, Kaydence mutely helping her sit down, neither acknowledging the act.

“Overcooking might actually give that grub some flavour. I don’t see how your insipid cooking could get any worse anyway,” Neela grumbled, even as she held out the empty plate Sarmin had just given her.

“No one’s forcing you to eat,” Kaydence retorted, serving her a healthy portion of fuming stew.

“Bah! Show me the fool who turns down free food? And you wipe that silly grin off your face, lassie.” Neela pointed a bony finger at Annet. “I’m warning you. I don’t care how poor you are. If you invite me over, I’ll eat my fill. Got it?”

“Of course, Gran,” Annet replied cheerfully.

“I don’t remember having a silly granddaughter like you. Bah! Why do I bother coming here?”

Kaydence chipped in, “Because no one else can stomach your insufferable personality?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” the herbalist grumbled and stared into her plate. A brief sadness in her cloudy eyes betrayed that the girl’s words had struck a nerve this time. Kaydence’s gaze lingered on the elder’s deeply etched wrinkles, resembling ravines on her dry parchment-like skin stained by old age. She noted the faint tremors in Neela’s limbs and how her thin grey hair had become scarce in places.

She clicked her tongue. “Well, at least your presence spares me from delivering those herbs to your home later, so you might as well keep coming. Annet won’t stop inviting you anyway. Silly woman indeed.” Having said her piece, the girl focused on her food to escape her mother’s warm gaze.

Annet locked the door and came to sit between Lenril and Neela—ever-so-slightly closer to the elf. The fire was now the only light source in the room. Its dim, dancing orange glow cast shifting shadows on the carpeted walls, tightening the cosy space further around its occupants. For a little while, the only sounds were the crackles of the logs, the whistle of the wind outside, and the ladle lightly hitting the pot as people filled their plates. Once everyone was served, Lenril, Sarmin and Neela recited a prayer to both human and elven gods. Annet joined them quietly, though she seemed to be mouthing entirely different words than everyone else. Kaydence stayed silent.

The prayer concluded; they all dug in. The food should have tasted bland, with sparse vegetables and common forest herbs as the only spices, but instead, the warm stew was inexplicably delicious.

The meal was lively, as usual. Finding nothing better to do, Kaydence had started nicking pieces of meat from Sarmin’s plate, much to the half-elf’s dismay. This went on until Annette noticed and started to scold her. Sarmin then had the nerve to smirk at her predicament, which earned him a murderous glare from Kaydence. The fair boy instantly turned whiter than the snow outside.

It all culminated in Kaydence chasing the half-elf boy around the room, armed with the ladle. Annet was shouting at them to sit down between bursts of giggles. Meanwhile, Neela emptied the pot without anyone noticing, and Lenril tranquilly finished his small serving of food, unruffled by the chaos around him.

Life was good.

And nothing could terrify Kaydence more.

* * * * *