"Cough! My dear sister is gracing us with her presence?" Shorof queried her lady in waiting, her speech almost drowned out by a symphony of coughs.

"Your Highness, just stay put. She'll make her way to you in due time… soon…"

"Oh, 'soon,' you say? Usually, she dashes straight to me upon her return. Where on earth has Mother whisked her off to now? Cough! Cough!" Shorof attempted to rise, her voice feeble. "Getting scolded again, is she...?"

"Your Highness..."

Despite her attendants' efforts to keep her in her room, Shorof persisted in her quest to seek out her sister. She was well aware of Nahwu's penchant for inciting chaos. The trouble she had stirred within the elven community’s youngsters by instilling them with humanistic ideals had caused quite the stir.

But, of course, why wouldn't she fall ill at a time like this?

If only Shorof could balance the winds of transformation ushered in by her sister and the unyielding grip of tradition within the elven community...

Approaching the grand hall, Shorof let out a fit of cough, teetering until her loyal servants swooped in to hold her steady. Even they seemed to quiver with nerves as they approached the imposing closed doors of the hall, the tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“W-who…” Shorof mused aloud.

Turning to the guard elves flanking the door, their faces drained of color, she raised an eyebrow expectantly. With solemn expressions, they simply shook their heads, a clear warning in their eyes.

“Don’t tell me—” Shorof lunged forward to push open the doors, announcing herself, "Shorof, Princess of the Green is present! Your Majesty, what’s—”

Her words caught in her throat. A gasp escaped her lips as she beheld the assembly before her.

Five revered elders, a sight as rare as a unicorn sighting, sat in judgment, their gazes piercing. Two figures knelt before them: her fiery sister, Nahwu, and a human boy—

But it was another presence that truly made Shorof's heart skip a beat.

Her Holiness, the Original Saint.

The elves had their oh-so-flawless looks that could make even merfolks feel a tinge of jealousy.

The High Elves arrogantly strutted around with their slim this, tall that, and noses seemingly reaching for the stars. Wood Elves, the athletic bunch, all tanned and freckled like perfectly toasted, sweet, sweet marshmallows, rocking fiery red hair and eyes that could give you a sun-induced trance.

And let’s talk about those Dark Elves. Dark, dark skin blending with shadows, light hair shining through like a rebellious beacon. When sunlight hits, their light yellow eyes would steal the show like a dramatic villain in a play.

Then you had the Sun Elves and Moon Elves, polar opposites in the aesthetics department. Sun Elves, all golden and muscular, while Moon Elves rocked the purplish skin and subtle curves. It was like a cosmic showdown of hotness.

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But compared to the one in the power seat? A walking contradiction, oozing perfection like it was no big deal. Sharp yet gentle, bold yet curvy – talk about keeping people on their toes. She looked like she could make fear itself cower in a corner, yet a hint of tenderness lurks beneath the surface.

After all, it was hard to imagine that beauty to be so harsh, or bad, or evil.

Make no mistake.

Just when you thought you had got her figured out, that smile vanishes and suddenly you were considering a heartfelt kneel. Those lofty eyebrows twitch, and you could practically hear your own tears welling up. And when those eyes narrow, forget ego – it was on a one-way trip to another dimension.

Once. Only once did Shorof catch a glimpse of her visage. It was when she was little, some decades ago. The impression she had of her then was unforgettable, just like her impossible-to-forget presence.

So the trembling trees a while ago were her doing.

"Y-Your Holiness…"

She dropped to her knees.

Despite her frail body, she made the effort to maneuver her sister behind her, presenting herself to the elders and the Holiness while suppressing her coughs.

"I admit my grave mistake. It was clearly my oversight to allow the younger generation to stray. My failure to guide them with the subtleties of intent is entirely my own. I shall speak with them promptly and arrange a meeting for discussion," Shorof hazarded a guess.

The presence of the Holiness signaled that the issue indeed lay in their interactions with humans, confirming her suspicions.

"Tasha, thy daughter doth show remarkable acumen," remarked the fair-haired saint. "As for the other, though possessed of intelligence, she doth seem more naive, driven by ambition."

"Verily, Princess Shorof. If thou dost claim to hold the solution to the elves' youthful plight, then, by all means, proceed," the saint's melodious voice resounded with grace and elegance.

"Your Holiness, if I may interject, my sister is unwell! Will you be forcing her to work in this condition?" Nahwu burst out. With an angry frown, she sarcastically hissed, "Oh, how compassionate of you..."

"Nahwu!" Tashr's sharp reprimand cut through the tension.

Tashr turned to Morgan, her eyes conflicted.

“How nostalgic. Wert thou as fiery in thy youth?” Morgan smiled warmly at the queen.

“Forgive me, Your Holiness. We, mere creations of God, must acknowledge our imperfections. We offer no excuses,” Tashr bowed her head humbly.

Seeing how no one could even hold a candle against the illustrious figure and facing the critical gaze of the five elders, Nahwu nervously nibbled on her bottom lip, unaccustomed to such treatment. Not even the pompous human politicians dared to display such arrogance!

"Why?" Morgan's sudden inquiry, like a blade forged in ire, did pierce the tense air that sought shelter within the hallowed chambers.

"A scold doth oft bestow wisdom, dost thou not concur? Just yesternight, I presumed to chide my lordly spouse, my husband, shedding tears in the act. A pathetic spectacle, indeed. Thou canst not comprehend."

The five elders and the queen, as if caught in a tempest's fierce gaze, turned their faces toward her, struck silent with astonishment, their mouths agape like the gates of a castle under siege.

"And how should I, as his equal partner bound by the selfsame cursed twist of destiny, feign ignorance of a dark deed enacted some fifteen or sixteen cycles past? A deed wherein he did transgress the sacred sanctity of life by laying low and partaking of two sentient souls: a unicorn and a merfolk," Morgan divulged sarcastically.

Huh?

Hus… band?

"I hearest thou hast disclosed unto the masses this slight transgression of mine husband, Princess Nahwu," inquired Morgan. "Pray tell me, hast thou indeed done so?"

There was only one man to whom she could refer. The human tyrant who started the war, rumored to have killed and eaten a unicorn, and the king of the merfolk: The Holiness, the Original Saint, was his wife?!