"We've arrived," said Beri.
Before them stood a grand residence—no less stunning than the city itself. But it wasn't a stone palace or a lavish mansion. It was a massive tree named Elenvar, said to have lived for thousands of years, growing into a kind of "natural castle."
Its trunk curled open in the middle to form a natural hall. Branches stretched in every direction, supporting small bud-shaped houses. From the gaps hung vines of glowing flowers in hues of green and gold. The canopy above shimmered, its leaves changing colors with time, and tonight, they glowed softly—like falling stars suspended in the air.
But before they could step inside, Beri paused and gently grabbed Sylphia's hand.
"Verin… I think I changed my mind," he said, serious but hesitant. "Maybe I should be the only one escorting you to the capital."
Sylphia turned to him, eyes cold. "And you think you can?"
"…Maybe?" Beri replied, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.
Sylphia's gaze sharpened—like an arrow of ice not yet fired but ready to strike. "Forget it. I'll go in alone."
Beri raised an eyebrow, considering. "You sure?"
Sylphia stepped forward—but before she could take another step, roots shot up from below, gently but firmly wrapping around her.
"Oh come on, Beri! Are you serious?" Sylphia yelled, half-laughing out of frustration.
Beri gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry. It's for your own good."
But Sylphia didn't back down. With a whispered word, the air around her shivered, and a thin layer of frost coated the ground, freezing the roots that held her. Ice and root began their quiet battle—like two old folks bickering in a market line, neither willing to yield.
A strange tug-of-war ensued. Beri pulled the roots back. Sylphia didn't budge, only glared harder.
"Can you just cooperate for once?" Beri muttered.
"No," Sylphia replied flatly, her tone as sharp as snow slipping into your boots.
Just as the tension peaked, the great door at Elenvar's base slid open with a soft ssshhhrrrk. Warm light poured out, and from it stepped an elderly elf man with a moss-like beard and bark-colored skin. He wore a robe woven from willow fibers.
"Ah… Young Master Beri," he greeted warmly, his voice like a morning breeze. "Welcome home. I am Thendral Lieve, steward of Elenvar. Young master, young lady… is there anything I—"
Before he could finish, fast footsteps echoed from the hall—thud thud thud thud thud—and a tall woman emerged. Her long emerald-green hair flowed to her waist, and she wore a gown of rippling leaves and earthy fabrics. Tattoos traced from her hands up to her neck, and from her head grew two horns like young tree branches, each adorned with little flowers that moved like springtime ornaments.
Her amber eyes were sharp, her face noble and striking—but her expression…
"BEEEEERRIIIIIIIIIIII!!!"
Beri paled. "NOOOOO—"
He turned to run, but too late.
Like a sacred panther, his mother lunged forward. As Beri tried to leap into a nearby bush, Thendral calmly raised his staff, and with professional precision, made a root rise in front of Beri's foot.
THUD!
Beri faceplanted like a sack of potatoes hurled with love.
His mother pounced—hugging him tightly, pressing his face into her chest with tears streaming like spring rain.
"My child! You're back! I was so worried! You've lost weight, and—and who's this?" she sniffled while hugging him, then glanced at Sylphia.
"I'm still tied up. Hello," muttered Sylphia, half-wrapped in roots and standing on a layer of frost.
The woman looked her up and down, then smiled warmly.
"Pretty. What's your name, dear?"
Sylphia opened her mouth, but Beri quickly stood and answered first, "No one! I mean—her name's Verin. She's my friend, we met in the forest."
His mother raised an eyebrow, then narrowed her eyes like she was reading the fine print of his soul.
Thendral cleared his throat. "Ahem. I believe we should head inside. Dinner is ready… and the front floor appears to be freezing."
The roots around Sylphia began to frost over, and a wood-lizard nearby slipped and dramatically flopped to the ground with a plop—a sound that was oddly hilarious.
Everyone froze for a moment… then Sylphia chuckled softly.
Beri glanced at her. "You laughed?"
"My choice."
Thendral interjected, "Everyone, let's go inside first."
With that, each of them withdrew their powers.
The four of them walked together into the residence of the Huxlen family.
Servants lined the hallway, bowing on either side as they passed.
Thendral stopped. "Young master, madam, please proceed to the dining hall. I shall take the young lady to change."
"Alright, I'll leave her to you then," said Beri's mother, still holding him tightly.
Thendral nodded politely to her, then turned to Sylphia. "This way, young miss."
Sylphia simply gave a faint nod and followed without the slightest hesitation.
Inside the Huxlen family dining room…
The night sky hung softly outside the glass windows, framed by winding vines—as if eavesdropping on the family conversation. Inside, gentle light from moss-lanterns floated like lazy fireflies, illuminating the long dinner table packed with strange yet tempting dishes.
There was forest rabbit stew (rumored to be traded from a reclusive fairy who only spoke in poems), spirit-root salad (still slightly trembling), singing mushroom soup (some of them were still harmonizing in high notes), and of course—the legendary wind-sweet cake, a dessert said to make children float a little. It had even caused the infamous "Mirani-on-the-Ceiling" incident last week. Since then, it's officially served every other day only.
Seated at the table were seven family members, each so unique that the room felt more like an audition for an absurd theater troupe than a family dinner.
At the head sat Harder Huxlen—tall, stern, like an old tree silently judging all your potted plants. His beard was dark green and thick as a registered bush. He wore ceremonial attire… despite no ceremony in sight. His rule: if there's nothing to celebrate, then it's time to dress seriously.
A tattoo of an ebony tree wound around his right arm—sign of his post as eastern forest guardian. The roots of the tattoo glowed faintly whenever he was deep in thought.
Beside him sat his wife, Sila Huxlen, known to all. Tiny flowers bloomed in her hair and fell whenever she was upset—an emotional indicator more accurate than any lie detector.
Across the table sat their firstborn, Kelvon Huxlen, age 17. Tall, lean, always looking like he's about to declare a manifesto. His dark green hair was tied neatly, with small leaves adorning his ears. A tattoo of a crossed quill and leaf marked his shoulder—the emblem of a "Young Speaker" in their tribe. He held his fork like it was a rhetorical weapon.
He kept checking his pocket mirror. "My left leaf is tilted by two degrees… diplomatic disaster."
Next to him was his sister, Lireya Huxlen, 14—family's drama queen. Wavy short hair, wooden bow headband, and a flair for exaggerated tales.
"That caterpillar grinned at me, I swear! Then it—"
"—died under your sandal?" Kelvon cut in without looking.
Lireya ignored him with the dignity of a war general. The tattoo on her arm was a swirling wind with a red dot in the center—the symbol of a "Seeker of Truth." (Though she was often why truth stayed hidden.)
Selani, the third child, 10, looked like she hadn't fully woken up since… ever. Hair a mess, eyes half-closed—but her left hand? Ninja-level speed. Buns disappeared from plates like magic.
A tattoo on her palm showed a falling leaf with a blurred trail behind it—a sign of a silent wanderer. She didn't remember getting it. Probably asleep during the process.
Then there was Beri, sitting as if he were the only character aware that all of this was far too absurd to process. His arms were crossed, his gaze sharp. He dodged the wind cake with the instincts of a veteran.
And lastly, Mirani, three years old. Her leaf dress was far too big, but her spirit rivaled that of a baby dragon mistakenly fed coffee.
"I'm eaaating by myseeeelf!" she declared proudly, stabbing a carrot and offering it to—of course—Kelvon's nose.
Kelvon dodged with the reflexes of diplomatic training. "Mirani, that's not my mouth."
"But you're so quiet! I thought you were a statue!"
Laughter burst out like vines leaping from a salad of root-spirits. Even the mushrooms in the soup let out a faint "fa" note.
After the commotion died down, Harder cleared his throat. The moss-lamps dimmed gently, casting a mood of "important moment."
"So, Beri," he said, his voice deep yet warm like tree roots. "About the little girl who came with you… who is she, really?"
Beri opened his mouth. "She… she is—"
"Excuse me."
Every head turned.
Sylphia—or Verin—entered with footsteps as silent as snow falling on rabbit fur. Her white dress was calm, flowing like morning mist woven from wind-silk and Eirlis tree leaves. Her gaze was cold, gray eyes barely blinking. She looked like a porcelain doll watched over by the god of logic.
Lireya elbowed Kelvon. "Look, she's like the main character from Frozen Forest Princess Who Never Smiles!"
Selani murmured, "Or the dark version: Little Queen Who Can Freeze Your Heart... and Your Soup."
Mirani stared at Sylphia in awe, full of innocent faith. "Are you a fairy?"
Sylphia merely turned her head slowly. Then nodded. Or… did the wind move her head? It was hard to tell.
Harder stared sharply, then slowly turned to Beri.
"So… who is she?"
Beri closed his eyes for a moment.
Then, he explained Sylphia's situation to everyone at the table—how he found her in the forest, what had happened to her, and why she came here.
Harder listened carefully, nodding slowly throughout. When Beri finished, he leaned back and said calmly, "Very well. Tomorrow morning, I'll assign someone to escort her to the capital. For tonight, you may eat and rest, child."
Sylphia merely nodded, then sat and began eating quietly, as if she was used to being among noisy strangers.
One by one, the family members left the table after finishing their meals, leaving behind empty plates, half-filled cups, and gently rocking chairs.
Only Harder and Sila remained, sitting across from each other in silence.
Sila looked at her husband. "Why did you agree to her request? It's obvious the child was lying."
Harder closed his eyes briefly. "She did lie. But there was no malice. Besides, she's just a child. We can have hi
m escort her and find out more."
Sila stared deeply at him, then slowly nodded.
And so the night continued, quiet… but with the sense that a storm had just begun to stir.