"Now that they have realized they lost the White Dwarf, they will send someone. Most likely, they will send that person."

"Who?"

"The Junior Fleet Admiral."

***

Burn already knew him. He was one of the outsiders Burn remembered from his previous loops, and it was quite an unpleasant memory.

SCREEEECH!!

As the ear-splitting screech pierced the air, he raced towards the northern border, the landscape below whizzing by like a frantic squirrel on caffeine. Atop the griffin, he glanced at the blur of mountains and forests, its metallic wings slicing through the morning air with a swish that screamed, "I'm in a hurry, baby!"

The griffin itself shone like a polished gem in the dawn light, its pulsating energy conduits casting a glow that could make a disco ball jealous. A majestic creature crafted from pure imagination, now hovering around in steel feathers instead of your run-of-the-mill fluff.

He considered giving the other one to Morgan, but he decided it was best to not let the elves see her use the outsiders' technology.

But hey, she could always use it later.

Soaring through the crackling air, the mechanized steed surged forward with a sense of purpose that could rival a motivational speaker on double espressos. The griffin exuded a power that whispered of tales untold, capable of jazzing up even the dullest of landscapes with a sprinkle of techno-magic.

And there he was, hurtling towards the North, expecting a war… and hoping for little to no complication.

***

In the heart of the Great Forest, nestled snugly between the borders of the Inkia Kingdom, the Soulnaught Empire, and the Edensor Kingdom, resided an elven community so pristine that even the most cynical pixie would have to admit it was pretty darn idyllic.

Led by the ever-elegant Queen Tashr, the widow of the king, this community of elves thrived in their arboreal paradise.

The elven settlement itself was a sight to behold, with alabaster towers peeking through the canopy like bashful debutantes at a ball.

Vines as thick as a dragon's tail snaked around the mighty oaks, creating natural archways that whispered secrets to those who dared to listen. The air hummed with magic, and the laughter of the elves danced on the wind like mischievous sprites.

Queen Tashr, with her silver hair cascading down her back like a shimmering waterfall, ruled her domain with a delicate yet iron-fisted grace. Her two daughters, the wise Princess Shorof and the ethereal Princess Nahwu, loved each other in their sisterly bond.

The palace itself was a masterpiece of elven craftsmanship, its walls adorned with tapestries that told stories of battles won and loves lost. The gardens, tended with obsessive care by the queen herself, boasted blooms so vibrant that even the sun had to squint in admiration.

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But beneath the veneer of elegance and beauty lay a community steeped in secrets. Now, alliances were as fragile as a fairy's wing and betrayals as common as dragon sightings.

And as the winds of change began to sweep through the Great Forest, the elves knew that their peaceful existence might soon be shattered like a mirror in a cyclone.

Or… would it be saved?

Trees couldn’t talk. They couldn’t move very fast. They couldn’t listen or see, but they could certainly feel.

It was summer. The trees definitely enjoyed the heat and the sunlight, with the occasional pleasant humidity and rain. But that day was worse than winter.

The aged oaks and graceful pines began to groan. Their branches rustled in a chaotic symphony, their leaves swirling in a frenzied dance of descent.

The elves, guardians of the forest, watched in horror and disbelief as their ancient companions succumbed to this inexplicable madness. Like marionettes with their strings cut, the once towering trees shrunk in fear, shaking the very ground the elves stood upon.

Panic spread through the elven community like wildfire, as they scrambled to comprehend the inexplicable calamity befalling their home.

Whispers of a cursed enchantment rippled through the air, mingling with the pungent scent of boiling sap. Some elves clutched their hearts in fear, while others raised trembling hands to their mouths in shock. The forest, once a sanctuary of tranquility and serenity, had been transformed into a scene of horror.

Queen Tashr emerged from the confines of her regal palace, her voice carrying a note of urgency and concern as she addressed the trees, "Why do you cower in fear, my dear friends?" she implored, her words trembling with emotion in the face of the inexplicable chaos unfolding around them.

As her gaze lifted skyward, Queen Tashr beheld a mesmerizing sight—a figure, ethereal and serene, perched upon a floating white branch suspended in mid-air. A gasp escaped her lips as she beheld this otherworldly being who exuded an aura of tranquility amidst the turmoil.

The figure, with a voice as gentle as the whisper of the wind through the leaves, addressed the queen and her trembling subjects with reassurance and grace. "Fear thee not, fairest queen and cherished trees," she spoke, her words weaving a tapestry of calmness.

"I bear no ill will nor harmful intent. Place thy trust in my presence."

Queen Tashr observed how the trees began to slowly gather themselves once more, still shrunk and cowering, yet showing improvement.

It was fortunate that the ancient trees, responsible for upholding the grand structures of the elven civilization, had weathered enough trials in their long lives to react less than their younger counterparts.

Nevertheless, they trembled.

"Your Holiness," Tashr addressed the floating figure in the sky. "Thou hast not changed in the slightest."

As fierce as a hurricane, yet exuding an aura of quiet danger.

Morgan sighed, lowering the branch as she alighted on the palace grounds. "Bid thy young seedlings to eschew such drama in the future. Every century or so, I do make this pilgrimage; it is time they acclimate."

"Their dramatic nature stems from the aura thou dost radiate. The trees within these walls differ from those beyond. Their consciousness is more profound, akin to sentient creatures. Your Holiness, what stirs thy ire?" Tashr inquired.

"Where dwell thy daughters?" Morgan inquired in return.

Tashr's countenance blanched, realizing that perhaps her daughters' problem had now reached the Holiness's ears.

"Tasha," Morgan pressed, met with the queen's silence.

"Your Holiness, Rekre relayed that nary a hint of discord hovered about thee when encountered yesterday. Might our cries for aid have aggrieved thee in some manner?" Tashr asked with humility.

“They recounted the tale of my husband feasting upon a unicorn and the monarch of the merfolk. Verily, where did thy second daughter chance upon such tales?" Morgan revealed.

Tashr recalled Rekre's account of how the Holiness's visage shifted abruptly upon learning of the rumors concerning the human tyrant. She opened her mouth, but closed it again.

"I ventured here for the purpose of reprimand. Summon them forth," Morgan directed.

With a mixture of desolation and resolve, Tashr lowered her head in deference before swiftly moving to organize a grand assembly. Yet, before she could fully enact her plan, Morgan seized her hand and clasped it firmly for a significant moment.

"Your Holiness?" Tashr inquired, her perplexity evident.

Maintaining her composure, Morgan absorbed Tashr's point of view. After a pause of ten heartbeats, she released the queen's hand and gave a slight nod. "Proceed."