Somewhere within the vast expanse of an ancient elven tree, a group of eight individuals sat around a circular table. Silence filled the room, each person waiting with idle impatience. Some toyed with their magic, others stared aimlessly or nodded off. One, of course, was picking his nose. However, the air shifted abruptly when an elf appeared at the table, seated as though he had always been there.

“Hello, I trust everyone is well today,” the elf said.

In unison, the group snapped to attention, their voices synchronized. “My king!”

The king leaned forward, his fingers interlaced. “I appreciate you all taking time from your busy schedules to meet. I know you’ve been regulating the kingdom in my stead.”

Nods rippled through the various races seated at the table, but no one dared to speak. The king, unfazed, continued. With a snap of his fingers, a thick stack of documents materialized before him, hundreds of pages in total. For the next few minutes, the room remained eerily silent as he flipped through them.

After what felt like an eternity, the king broke the quiet. “I’ve reviewed the policies that have been enacted since our last meeting.”

The room stayed still, faces blank, though no one dared question his claim. The king leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful frown crossing his features. “You’ve all been quite busy. While I know these policies were created with the country’s best interests in mind, some seem... arbitrary.”

A dwarf, his armor gleaming, spoke up. “We would never act arbitrarily, my king.”

A tigerman chimed in. “Every policy we put forth was crafted to help the people.”

A man with a radiant face nodded. “There is evidence across the kingdom that our work has improved the nation a great deal.”

The king, once silently listening, began shuffling through the pile of documents. With practiced ease, he pulled a single sheet from the middle of the stack, as if he knew its exact location. Running a finger along the lines, he read aloud, “For any and all registered businesses with a current registration of over fifty years, a referral for renewal must be submitted between...” He paused, cleared his throat, and continued, skimming further down the text, “...and a fifteen percent additional tax must be paid to the Office of Commerce based on the prior year.”

A tiny humanoid, barely visible over the edge of the table, piped up, “There may be some room for adjustments...”

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The king set the paper down gently, his movements deliberate, before rifling through the stack once more. With another quick pull, he selected a different sheet.

“All exports of exotic woods, herbal medicines, and other restricted forestry products are to be regulated by the Council of Resources. Requests for approval must be submitted a year in advance of any sales…”

Without missing a beat, the king grabbed yet another document, picking a random line to read aloud. “All subsidized funds for festival events in the second and third quarters must be submitted and approved five years in advance before funds are allocated…”

A black-skinned gnome with fiery eyes leaned forward and interjected, “It seems you have concerns with some of these policies, Your Majesty. Perhaps you might follow up with those who chose not to attend today? They may have additional insights.”

The king slumped slightly in his chair, fingers pressing against his temple in frustration. “Right... I suppose it's only fair not to hold those present solely accountable for this... Now, speaking of absentees, where are the noble houses of Moonshadow, Skyrend, and Vaelaris?”

A scaly-skinned man spoke. “They have refused to attend for some time now.”

The room seemed to tremble as the king groaned, dust falling from the ceiling. “I was unaware... This will change. From now on, I don’t care if they send an envoy—someone must represent their segments of the kingdom.”

The tension in the room thickened as the king’s frustration became palpable. Sweat beaded on the brows of those seated at the table, and a few trembled visibly. Before anyone could respond, the king yawned, and with a whisper of wind, a sylph appeared beside him.

She bowed deeply. “How may I assist, my king?”

The king lightly tapped her head with his thumb. “Take this message to the absent houses,” he said, though the rest of his instructions were communicated through thought. The display left the room in awe, even to those who had witnessed such magic before. Summoning a sylph across great distances and sending her elsewhere in the blink of an eye was a feat both wondrous and terrifying.

No sooner had she vanished than she reappeared. “Oh, and here’s a letter I forgot to hand you.” She disappeared again in a puff of air.

The king glanced at the letter, and with a flick of his hand, it burst into flames. “The sovereign beast tribes to the southeast have declared war on us. They’re attacking the border as we speak…”

Gasps filled the room, the group reacting as if they hadn’t known this was already happening.

Resting his head in his hand, the king muttered, “The problems around here are as plentiful as Ferah’s bosoms... pardon my elvish. I must leave post haste. Please, review these documents and correct the obvious errors. Goodbye.”

In an instant, he waved to them and vanished into thin air.

The room sat in stunned silence for several moments before someone dared to speak.

“You think he knows—”

The dwarf silenced the gnome with a swift clobber to the head.

“Ah, what gives?!” the gnome yelped.

The tigerman glared. “We don’t speak here. You know the rules.”

The gnome rubbed his sore head, and with sly grins on their faces, the group began to file out of the room.