Pressure mounted in the dimly-lit chamber like a city under siege. Everyone's breath had been stolen, their voices caged, bodies locked into place. A second stretched into eternity. The moment did not pass; it sharpened.

  And then – release. A breath, a shift, a subtle surrender. Instead of fading, the tension was merely filed away, stored in the marrow of their bones, in the backs of their minds. But for now, the mood felt lighter.

  Because Elder Lorival evidently now understood threats would not work on Adam, Lord of Penumbria, King of the Frontier.

  "I have no more liking for games than you." The Elder's voice was raspy, laced with irritation, each word spoken very begrudgingly. "Would you mind, then, Child of Paved Roads, if we forego politeness for the sake of candor?"

  "Yea."

  "Everyone dies at some point, and I am not arrogant enough to question nature's wisdom on the matter. Much better, if you ask me, to focus on the one thing we do have control over – how we are remembered."

  Only now did Adam consider Lorival as a living being, rather than a personification of an obstacle. With this new frame of mind, he immediately focused his attention on the man's features.

  Lorival...doesn't really look like an 'Elder' if you ask me. The Painter raised an eyebrow. His hair is silver, but not white, and he just looks...young. Not that much older than Solara.

  It wasn't an oddity that Adam could justify as a biological difference between elves and humans. The other members of the Council appeared much older, with frailer bodies that had been weathered by the storms of passing years. Why was such a young elf the 'Elder' of the group?

  And why was this baby-faced Elder speaking of how he'd like to be remembered? That speech sounded ill-fitting coming from someone so young. Did he care about his legacy that much?

  If so, Adam knew how to respond. "You will be remembered as the man who saved countless elves," he said. "Without you, all those who refused Vasco of Gama's offer would have perished."

  "Aye," Lorival agreed. "And it prides me to be remembered for that. It was always going to be the case that many of our kind would have rejected the Kinslayer's proposal. Savior or not, he spilled blood of his own family. It is not a good omen, no, it is not."

  Solara stirred with discomfort and suppressed anger. Her reaction didn't go unnoticed by the Elder. "Take no offense, Wayward Child," he said. "I have no ill-will towards the Butcher. He did all he could – as did I. There are limits to what just one person can accomplish on their own. The lives he saved and the ones I did aren't any different."

  The Lady of Gama relaxed her shoulders. "I am...glad to hear that. My father would be delighted to hear it as well. He...he still has nightmares over that day. Regrets that he could not save more."

  "And I would be delighted in telling him as much."

  Lorival's tone was kinder now. It almost sounded downright paternal.. "We all have nightmares from that day, Wayward Child. You...him...and I."

  Nobody spoke for some time. No words, no gestures.

  Just a gulf between what was said, and what could have been said.

  "Were my nightmares confined to my past, however, mayhaps they wouldn't be so urgently dire," Lorival continued. "But I fear worse. I fear the future – that the monster who ordered our deaths will come to finish the job he wanted done so badly."

  He drew in a shuddering breath. "I fear that I will be remembered as the last Elder of our kind. The failure who took his people to a doomed shelter, having them hide away like cockroaches as they waited to be exterminated by the man who calls himself Emperor."

  Solara and Adam's gazes focused on different people. The Lady of Gama's suspicious eyes laid upon Nayt, who maintained a disinterested look on his face throughout the conversation. Meanwhile, the Lord of Penumbria focused on the Elder himself – because he now had an idea of where the elf was going with this.

  It would be better to show that now, before Lorival said it out loud. "So you have goals of your own, then," Adam remarked. "What are they?"

  "As a man of my people, my dream is no different – nor is it grander than theirs' might be," Lorival said, with a self-deprecating laugh. He leaned forward from his highrise chair and threw out almost like a curse:

  "I WANT TO KILL THE EMPEROR!"

  The Elder's words lingered in the air like a tangible presence. His voice did not fade, only shifted – from the aloud and into their souls. Lorival's roaring proclamation had carved a place for itself there, and would not leave.

  "We wish to do that as well," Adam affirmed. "You may not have heard of it, but Penumbria–"

  Lorival dismissed the explanation with a wave. "I know more of the outside world than you think, Child."

  Now that he'd recognized the Elder's youth, Adam couldn't help but find the word 'child' to be a little on the pretentious side of insults. "Then let us kill the Emperor together!" he shouted. "You must know that he's looking for this place as we speak, and that he intends on converting the Village into a supply station for his army as he invades–"

  Again the Elder waved him off. "Feed his army? Oh dear, and with what? We are far from the ocean, and it is not as though we can hunt. Not when venturing outside my illusions too often would be dangerous. This village is barely surviving as-is, I'm afraid. The Emperor will be quite disappointed if he tries."

  "And try he will," Adam insisted. "Even if you don't have anything to give, he'll raze the village down trying to take what you don't have! Ciro will bring forth another Greenisle if we let him!"

  "On that point, we are in agreement." Elder Lorival raised his chin. "Which is why I must kill him."

  "How? You and your men couldn't so much as touch me, and I'm far less powerful than the Emperor."

  Lorival's grin stretched, slowly and deliberately, all teeth, little warmth, pure pride. "That, Child of Paved Roads–"

  He gestured beside him. "–Is why he is here."

  Elder Lorival lifted his hand in a slow, commanding gesture at Nayt. The Hangman blinked, his shoulders tensing before slumping again. A faint recognition crept into his gaze; just enough to comprehend the situation, yet not enough to actually care.

  "That is true," Nayt said, on the verge of yawning. "It is, in fact, why I am here."

  Solara wordlessly asked Adam if he still held any objections. Before his hesitant nod was even finished, she stepped up and said, "Elder Lorival! This man works directly for the same Emperor who sought to erase our kind from this world! Why would you trust him of all people?"

  "He was raised by the Mother of the Forest, same as us."

  The Elder's reply came without venom, yet it coursed destructively through Solara's veins. She bit her lip, seemingly fighting off the desire to voice a response–

  And lost that duel. "SO WHAT?" In that dimly-lit chamber, her voice echoed even louder than the Elder's. "You think that just because he was raised in Greenisle, that you can forget all of the atrocities he committed in the Emperor's name? That he would be willing to betray the Empire? That little bitch of an Imperial lapdog you have sitting beside you would drop to his knees and bend over the moment Ciro said–"

  Suddenly, Valeria interrupted with a velvet-smooth voice – one laced with much mirth, and little solidarity. "Most regrettably, my dear Lady of Gama, I am witness enough to his disagreements with the Emperor. During the invasion of Penumbria, Nayt ignored Ciro's direct orders whilst dueling Ferrero."

  She smiled professionally, as if informing everyone of this detail was part of some sacred duty. "To be certain, I cannot vouch for the man's loyalties...but at the very least, I can testify that he disagrees with the Emperor at times."

  Nayt's slouch instantly dissolved. "Wait a minute," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "You were there for that duel? I wasn't aware we had any witnesses."

  "Aye, my Hangman." Valeria gave him a deep and flamboyant bow. When she raised her head again, she lifted her eyes to meet his. "I was the raven."

  "Huh." Nayt's voice was flat – as was his stare. "You don't look much like a bird."

  He narrowed his eyes. "You don't look much like a bird at all."

  Adam coughed to draw their attention back to him. He didn't want to lose track of what actually mattered here. "Putting aside the issue of the clearly evil Hangman–"

  "What do you mean putting it aside?!" Solara shouted, though Adam was forced to ignore her.

  "–I need you to understand, Elder Lorival, that even if you don't wish to ally with me...I still don't want to see you and your people die. If Ciro comes here, he will slaughter all of you."

  Adam's voice discarded some of its royal tone, his real, genuine desperation rising to the forefront. "At the very least, evacuate your people. We'll protect you in Penumbria. In Gama. You know this illusion of yours won't last forever!"

  "And why would you shelter us, Child, if we have nothing to offer you?" Lorival asked sharply. "If, as you say, we have no way of surviving the Emperor, nor a way to feed his army to buy our survival...then your kingdom benefits little from harboring so many refugees."

  He tilted his chin, prodding the King for a response. "What reason could you have for this?"

  It was a fair question. Adam had come here thinking the Hidden Village could feed the Emperor's army. He'd believed that persuading Lorival was of the utmost importance.

  But if the Village barely had enough food for itself, that wouldn't be as much of an issue – although it could still be a way for the Imperial army to hide before launching an attack on Penumbria.

  The lordly answer, the correct answer, would have been to point this out.

  Adam couldn't. Worse, he didn't want to. It would have felt like a lie.

  Instead, he dropped the harshness of his gaze and met Elder Lorival neither as the King of the Frontier, nor as the Lord of Penumbria. Not even as Adam Arcanjo.

  He faced him as just Adam. The man who hadn't been raised in the Painted World – who hadn't grown up with wars so ruinous and destructive that they made death banal.

  "I don't want anyone to die," he said, his voice falling to a near-whisper. "I know...no, I don't know, that's presumptuous of me. I can only paint a hazy picture in my mind, and that's always going to be far too distant from the real thing. But I've heard Solara talk about Greenisle, and I know that even that distant picture is too cruel to impose on anyone."

  Adam shook his head. "I have no reason for helping," he admitted. "But just as much – even more so, I have no reason to let you die!"

  A silence stretched on once more, albeit softer now.

  "Truth be told, Child...King Adam," Elder Lorival began. "I believe your words. There is sincerity in your plea."

  "Then–"

  "But as a leader yourself, do you really think," the Elder said, his voice kind, "that it would be wise of me to entrust the lives of my people so readily? To heed these reckless feelings in my heart, so easily clouded by sentiment?"

  His sad smile widened. "That I should entrust our fate to a human, when your kind nearly annihilated mine?"

  "I..."

  Adam stopped. Until moments ago, agreeing would've been easy. Now, when the Elder met with him with a gentler tone, the task felt too monumental – too arrogant to do.

  "No," the Painter reluctantly confessed. "I...I don't think it would be wise."

  Elder Lorival let out a somber laugh. "That's the devilry of leadership, isn't it?" he mused. "Sometimes you have to make difficult decisions. You have to make sacrifices – accept some suffering, some consequences, some losses, in order to protect as many people as you can."

  He sighed. "I believe your honesty, truly, but what if you need to sacrifice my people to save yours? I wouldn't even blame you, if that were the case. In that scenario, even someone like you could be guilty of a most vile act."

  "But...is placing your bet on him much safer?" Adam pointed at Nayt. "You have to know the risks involved."

  "I do," Lorival firmly stated. "Believe it or not, Nayt tried to save Greenisle – and lost his duel to the Emperor. He only served Ciro in order to acquire Orbs and increase his strength, so that such a tragedy would never happen again."

  Adam hesitated. He didn't know enough about Nayt to be sure of whether this was true or not. However, Ferrero had told him a little about their duel.

  'I swear to you, King of Arts, he's a good man!' Ferrero excitedly said. 'Nayt figured out some things during our duel. We promised to duel each other in the future, but I'm certain it will be a friendly one – not on a battlefield.'

  'How do you know that?' Adam asked. 'How can you be so certain about the kind of guy he is? It's not like you two had any deep talks or anything.'

  'Oh, dear heavens, no. Not with our words. Even so...you get a sense for a man's soul when you cross blades with him.'

  What was Adam supposed to do with that? Should he, much like Elder Lorival, entrust the lives of the elves to vague sentiments?

  No. There were still other things for him to focus on. "Let's say Nayt really is on your side," the Painter said. "What makes you think he can beat Emperor Ciro? You said it yourself, he lost the last time they dueled."

  Lorival flashed a triumphant grin. "Back then, I was not Elder of Greenisle. Now...things are different. I will not be frozen with indecision as our people are slaughtered – I will call upon our proud history to slaughter the devil known as Ciro."

  The Elder's came together, a crisp sound in the chamber's stillness. His men promptly carried out a wooden chest that looked both artistic and absurd. It was intricate beyond reason, with gilded edges swallowing torchlight.

  Adam's fingers twitched absently. In his mind, he started to sketch it. Were he given the chance, he would've loved to give up all lordly duties and draw it right there.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "That – that's the Tesouro Prateado!" Solara exclaimed. Her face had gone blank, lips quivering as her eyes blinked rapidly.

  Adam glanced at her. "Do you know what this is?"

  "Yes!" she fired back, in a scandalized tone. "Only our most sacred treasure, hailing from an elven civilization so ancient that we don't even know how it was made! The Tesouro Prateado is said to contain the souls of our people! It's invaluable."

  "It is, most fortunately, not without a value." Elder Lorival leaned back, hands folded and chin raised. "According to our brilliant keepers of history, the Tesouro Prateado is an artifact of incredible, unsurpassed worth."

  His eyes glittered with purpose. "And we will use it to raise Nayt's Rank. He shall become the fourth person in history whose Talent reaches the Rank of Emperor. There was Ciro the Kinslayer, the Dark Captain Valente, the Grandmaster of the Puppets..."

  Lorival spread his arms wide. "And now, Nayt, the Champion of the Elves!"

  Adam wished he could feel surprised.

  Thankfully, Solara picked up the slack for him. "Are – are you mad?" she cried out. "That's a treasure that our kind has kept for thousands of years! Even I know that!"

  "And are you the kind of person who'd like to be buried with your belongings, Wayward Child?" Lorival asked, his voice hard but not unkind. "Better to make use of our treasures than to let them turn to ashes alongside us."

  I can understand his logic, to a point, Adam thought. With that said...

  "Your people aren't opposed to this?" he asked. "To use such a priceless artifact on a man who was once an Imperial Hangman?"

  "Still am," Nayt added. "For the sake of clarity – the Emperor ordered me to infiltrate this village, I told him I'd probably backstab him, he told me to have fun and that he'd see me next week." He shrugged. "Ciro does that sometimes."

  Does what? Adam shook his head. "Listen, is everyone here seriously okay with entrusting your fates, your history, your lives to this man?"

  Hushed voices bled into the dim light. Murmurs thickened, gathering like storm clouds. They were less of a chorus and more of a kaleidoscope – some of approval, some of doubt.

  Would you look at that, Adam marveled. It isn't a unanimous decision after all.

  "There is, admittedly, some resistance to the idea," Lorival said. "Regardless, we have no better choice, and the decision is mine. This burden of responsibility is one I accepted long ago, when I buried the other scholars in Greenisle. I shall not waver."

  "What about me, then?" Solara demanded. "Make me the Champion! Let me use the treasure, if we must burn it! I've earned that right more than a fucking Hangman! If your knowledge of the outside world is as extensive as you claim, then you must know that my Genius Realm can–"

  "–We cannot entrust this to you," Lorival interrupted, "for the same reason we cannot entrust it to King Adam."

  Only Adam's new, superhuman instincts granted to him by Eric's Talent of Hanging allowed him to respond in time. Solara stepped – no, stalked – forward so quickly, angrily, and violently that even then he just narrowly managed to restrain her.

  "YOU THINK I'M LESS TRUSTWORTHY THAN THAT HANGMAN OVER THERE?!"

  Her breath was ragged, her pulse a wildfire beneath her skin. She twisted, shoved, clawed. Adam barely held her back, barely wanted to.

  "I NEVER KILLED AN INNOCENT PERSON! I WORKED TIRELESSLY FOR OUR PEOPLE AS THE HEIRESS OF GAMA!" Her shoulders shook as she spoke, her hands curling into tight, white-knuckled fists. The heat of her fury radiated outward from her, like a wildfire that threatened to encompass all. "I EVEN SOLD MY SOUL TO THE DARK SORCERER TO FIND A WAY TO PROTECT OUR PEOPLE! I–"

  "That is precisely the problem."

  The Elder's voice was unperturbed. It felt all the sharper, all the more cruel, because it still contained an apologetic note in it. "Ask around, if you doubt me. Mayhaps you have forgotten how elves see those who contact the Dark Sorcerer, but–"

  "Don't give me that shit!" Solara shouted. "Don't you try for a moment to pretend this is because of the Ghost of Flames! It's because I was raised by a human, isn't it? Because–"

  Adam pulled her close. Her fists dug into his chest, every muscle still coiled in anger.

  Then, slowly, she exhaled – like a punctured lung, like a reluctant surrender. Her voice never returned, but the trembling in her lips said more than words ever could.

  The Painter turned to face the Elder, steel returning to his gaze. "We have much to think about, Elder Lorival," Adam said. "I think both of us agree that leaders are often tasked with making difficult decisions...yet there's no need to make them prematurely. May we discuss this again in the morning?"

  "Of course," Lorival concurred, with a genial smile. "I will see to it that you and your men can perceive the elves hidden by my illusions, and that you are all cared for within our domain. Even if we cannot fight together, I see no reason to not show you friendship. Are those terms acceptable?"

  "Yes, and thank you." Adam glanced at Solara. "Are you okay with this?" he whispered. "I'm not saying to disregard your own feelings, but a night of sleep before coming back to this might be a good idea."

  For a heartbeat, she seemed ready to argue, to fight, to burn the world down. Then something...cracked. Her head fell as she exhaled slowly. "Of course. I'm sorry. I...I didn't mean to make this harder."

  "There's nothing to apologize for," Adam said. It was no use – Solara's dejected expression wouldn't leave her face, and he didn't know how to help.

  "Let's go," he mumbled, after a pause.

  Adam glanced back at the chamber as they walked away. He watched as light from the braziers cast long, flickering shadows across the stone walls. They had been dismissed...

  But not truly. The conversation would haunt them still, lingering in the air like a storm waiting to break. While Lorival hadn't refused them outright, he hadn't given them what they needed, either.

  I'm going to have to convince him somehow in the coming days. And that meant nothing had changed. The pieces remained in motion – though the board itself felt unsteady beneath their feet.

  Adam sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, as he continued walking away from the meeting chamber. He hoped Solara was taking this well, but imagined that she wasn't, that she couldn't. There was simply too much for anyone to accept. He turned his head in her direction to–

  "Oh, ah, please forgive this silliness of mine," Valeria said, spinning around on her heel to face the Elder. "If it's acceptable for me to speak, then I just have one more thing I'd like to ask."

  Every eye in the chamber snapped towards her. Her voice had been long absent in their discussion, yet it carried the weight of a blade drawn in a room full of nerves.

  The Elder's fingers twitched. Solara hesitated. And Adam...Adam barely stopped himself from gasping out loud. I'd almost forgotten she was here.

  Lorival smiled graciously. "Go ahead, Child. You are one of our own too, are you not? Speak away!"

  "Oh, how very kind of you, dear Elder-of-Mine." Valeria bowed her head deeply – far too deeply – and rubbed the back of her neck with an uncharacteristic awkwardness. "But much like Solara, I was raised outside of Greenisle. So there's a lot I don't know about our sacred customs and our people's brilliance. I'm afraid that makes me quite the ignorant fool."

  "There is no shame in ignorance," Lorival assured. "You were robbed of your roots – we shall gladly replant them. Ask your questions."

  Valeria bowed again and again. "Oh thank you, thank you!" She laughed nervously. "See, I was just wondering...as you said, the Village couldn't possibly feed an entire army. There's no ocean nearby, people can't come and go as they please to hunt, and it's hard to grow enough food even just for those who live here. That's what you said, yes?"

  "Correct," Lorival agreed.

  "Well, I love walking outside. I'm a nature kind of woman," Valeria said, flipping her hair with a shyness that – to Adam – seemed ill-fitting on her. She laughed meekly, prompting a murmur of paternal agreement from the Council. "It's just...I've never seen trees this beautiful before. So upon our arrival, I quickly snuck away from my group to see how wondrous your Village is! I hope that isn't a problem."

  Lorival smiled. "Far from it. It makes me happy to hear of your love for our – for your elven culture," he said warmly. "Did you enjoy your walk?"

  "I did! And it was quite a nice walk, too, as I even reached the edges of the village, where your illusion stops working. I felt dizzy, trying to leave the illusion, and that's how I knew the edges. It's so big! We could house thousands of elves here! Why, it's almost as big as Penumbria!"

  "Indeed! I had the village built to house many of our people, so that we would never run out of space. It is smaller than Penumbria in space by a considerable amount, but the multi-level residences and elevated walkways make it capable of housing the same amount of people."

  "And, well, I like paying attention to silly little things, because I'm a silly little girl," Valeria said, giggling apologetically. "So, you know...I was a little confused."

  Elder Lorival lifted an eyebrow. "About what?"

  "See, it's a big space, but not so big to house any farmland, and you can't go outside to hunt, there should be as many elves here as Penumbria has humans, but, but, but!"

  Valeria tilted her head in confusion. "But no one is starving here." She showed the same innocent laughter from before. "So I was just wondering..."

  Her golden eyes flared with frightening resolve. "...Where the food comes from."

  There was a long silence.

  "It...shames me to say," Lorival slowly began, "but though we have buildings prepared to house that many people, most of them are empty. You couldn't tell because of my illusions, but our occupancy rate is quite low."

  "Ah, is that so?" Valeria answered, in a performatively cheerful tone. "That explains it then!" She giggled happily once more. "Thank you for entertaining my, oh, so silly questions!"

  "Not a problem at all," the Elder said, with a stiff smile.

  Adam met Valeria's gaze. For a second, the chamber faded. There was only a quiet, unspoken agreement passing between them. The Detective's lips quirked; the Painter sighed.

  They had their answer.

  And so they moved forward. Whatever may come.

  "–Oh, one more thing," Valeria said, whirling around yet again. "I almost forgot, sorry. I'm quite scatterbrained."

  She tapped at the side of her head with a contrite expression. "See, Elder Lorival, there's something I have to admit: I cheated."

  The Elder regarded her carefully. "Cheated?" he said, his suspicion growing. "How so?"

  Valeria pointed at her golden eyes. "These eyes of mine aren't natural," she said, her voice dropping to the low, sharp taunt that she usually employed. "I lost my eyesight at the Grandmaster's discretion. He plucked them out and tossed me into a jail cell, as per the Puppets' code. I expected as much and prepared replacements."

  Adam recoiled, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Valeria, he gouged out your eyes?"

  She shrugged. "I was going to get rid of them anyhow. Knew it would be easier to locate the Hidden Village if I had eyes that weren't affected by illusions. If anything, I thank my dear Grandmaster for the removal – it made the procedure much cheaper for me."

  Lorival leaned forward in his chair. "Your eyes...aren't affected by illusions?"

  "Puppet technology often has a funny way of interacting with Talents – by which I mean, it often doesn't." Valeria grinned, her tone a blend of performative innocence and a verbally violent challenge. "So while King Adam and the others didn't quite see the elves outside, I did."

  Her fingers twitched with anticipation. "And you know what's strange? The village appeared quite lively, though they were keeping distance from us. Why, I wouldn't think you were struggling to fill those houses at all."

  Blood-colored mist twisted toward the Detective's sword. Valeria merely touched its hilt, the barest command setting steel alive.

  "Which brings us back to my earlier question: how are you feeding so many elves?"

  "I, I am afraid I cannot share that with you," the Elder said, his face tightening. "Some things are not for outsiders to know."

  Valeria's laughter cut through the air. How could someone's laugh feel predatory? "Dear Elder, everything is for me to know. Allow me to demonstrate."

  She withdrew her blade. "You are obtaining food from an outside source, Elder Lorival."

  Had her statement been wrong, Valeria's Bloody Truth would have backfired and cost her some of her limbs. It was why she wore a glove on her left hand – to conceal the prosthetic she now wore, after using her ability to learn of foul play towards her former life.

  But no such punishment befell her today.

  Like ink into parchment, blood-red particles in the air soaked into her blade, coloring the steel a vibrant crimson.

  "I–" Elder Lorival started.

  The Detective's assault was not yet done. "Let's establish some baselines. The elves living in this village are not an illusion – they are real people. They are not starving. They are being fed somehow. The village cannot produce food. Hunting is not an option. Agriculture is not an option."

  She raised her chin as each Bloody Truth strengthened her blade, with no punishment incurred. "Seems that I was right so far."

  Lorival steepled his fingers, his breath slow. "Mayhaps we should...discuss this tomorrow."

  "Mayhaps so," Valeria agreed. "And I take it that when we go outside and see the elves – King Adam and the others will see all of them, not just the small number you allowed them see in order to keep your story consistent, yes?"

  The Elder bit his lip. "Yes," he relented.