[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: The Great Forest]

[Elfame]

Cobweb let out a slow, tired sigh, one she hadn't realized she'd been holding back until it finally escaped her.

The small fairy sat in what passed for an office—though calling it that felt strangely insufficient. The space was clearly functional, yet Elfame in nature. Nothing here had been built in the conventional sense. The walls were vines, thick and braided together, their surfaces smooth and the floor beneath her chair was uneven planks of grown wood, their grain twisting in organic patterns, some portions slightly raised as if the tree had decided where one should step.

Above, the ceiling rose far higher than one would expect for a room meant to host a single desk. A vast, translucent leaf stretched overhead, veined with light, allowing a glow to pass through. It gave the impression of being indoors while never fully shutting out the forest beyond.

Cobweb sat behind an oddly crafted wooden desk—gnarled and asymmetrical, its surface worn smooth from use. Papers of odd shapes and thin leafs were stacked neatly to one side, small stone weights anchoring them in place. The chair she occupied was sleek by comparison, shaped to her size.

Her single eye lifted as footsteps approached.

"What do you want, Ku'ṭar?" she asked, voice flat, neither sharp nor welcoming.

Before her stood the armored figure of Ku'ṭar, posture disciplined as ever. Even beneath the helm, Cobweb could sense the tension, the small hesitation before they spoke.

"Hēafodmann Cobweb," Ku'ṭar began carefully, inclining their head just enough to show respect. "I would never presume to openly question your decision." A pause followed. "But even so… even if that man truly is kin to dragons—are you not placing far too much faith in him?"

Cobweb let out a short, humorless sound.

"Faith?" she scoffed, leaning forward slightly, resting her elbow against the desk. "Don't mistake this for faith. Or trust. I told him as much myself." Her eye narrowed. "This isn't belief. It's merely desperation."

Ku'ṭar remained silent, listening.

"He's our best chance right now," Cobweb continued, voice steadier. "The Queen is missing. We have no trail, no word, no signs—nothing. But if that man truly draws the attention of Albion, then by extension he draws closer to her. Whether he intends to or not."

Ku'ṭar shifted, helm tilting ever so slightly. "Even so… that man." Their voice lowered. "Something about him sets my instincts screaming. Like a wild beast—one that hasn't decided whether to bare its teeth yet."

Cobweb's gaze drifted to the desk, fingers tapping against the wood once.

"He could cause damage," she admitted idly. "If he chose to." A brief pause. "A lot of it."

Ku'ṭar stiffened slightly.

"But," Cobweb added, lifting her eye back to them, "I think he's more like me than you realize."

That gave Ku'ṭar pause. They said nothing, waiting.

"I couldn't see his expression," Cobweb went on, voice more reflective. "But when you've lived as long as I have, you stop relying on faces. You listen to how people speak. What they dismiss. What they don't bother defending."

She leaned back in her chair, the wood creaking beneath her weight.

"The way he spoke of his lineage—calling the dragon he descended from 'nothing special.' The way he reduced himself to being useful only for battle or strategy." Her eye turned aside. "That kind of detachment isn't arrogance. It's something else entirely."

Ku'ṭar absorbed her words, clearly trying—and failing—to piece them together into certainty.

"Someone like that," Cobweb continued on quieter, "doesn't cause harm for amusement. Not for chaos and certainly not for cruelty. If he destroys something, it will be because he believes it necessary. Or perhaps just to feel something."

A moment passed.

"…I see," Ku'ṭar finally said, though the words sounded more like an attempt at understanding than success.

Cobweb waved it off with a short breath. "It doesn't matter now. What's done is done." Her tone hardened again. "Let's move on. What's the situation in the Great Forest?"

Ku'ṭar straightened immediately, slipping back into their role.

"Our scouts report increased incursions by Heart Kingdom forces," they said. "At least five large encampments have been established, along with twelve smaller forward positions."

Cobweb leaned back slightly, eye narrowing. "So they've decided to make themselves comfortable," she murmured. "What else?"

"They've deployed additional golems," Ku'ṭar continued. "These models are… different. More advanced and more autonomous."

That earned a sharper look.

"Hm?" Cobweb questioned. "They're committing that much?"

"Yes," Ku'ṭar replied. "Though most of the golems remain on standby. It appears they're waiting to confirm something before initiating full movement."

Cobweb frowned, fingers going still atop the desk.

That, more than anything else, unsettled her. The Heart Kingdom was always a constant presence no matter where one was in the world. It was one of the bigger kingdoms of the realm, as well as one of the most advanced. A kingdom not content with anything, possessing a greed that did not make sense.

"How very swell," Cobweb sighed, the words dry and heavy with sarcasm. She leaned back slightly, the chair giving an organic creak beneath her weight. "As I can remember, the Heart Kingdom also tried conquering the Yokai Mountains to the east." Her single eye lifted again, unfocused, clearly dredging up the distant memory. "An utter disaster for them. Thousands lost to terrain alone, never mind the yokai themselves." A pause, then she added in a much sharper tone: "What are these fools hoping for this time?"

Ku'tar hesitated before answering, the tension in their posture betraying any uncertainty. "Perhaps… worldwide control?" they suggested, the words chosen carefully. "I've heard tales—rumors carried by the merchants who steer close to the forest and deserters alike—of their Queen. They say she is… ambitious. Relentless. Not the sort of ruler who knows when enough is enough."

Cobweb gave a soft, humorless sound that might have once been a laugh. "The Queen of Hearts," she murmured, rolling the title around as if testing how it sounded. "Or the Crimson Queen, depending on who you ask." Her tone flattened. "Fancy nicknames. Humans are very fond of those. As if dressing tyranny in pretty name makes it less irritating." She leaned forward again, resting her forearms on the desk. "But it isn't the names that make her an annoyance. It's her actions. Typical of humans and their ambition—never content with what they have, always convinced the world owes them more than it already gives."

Ku'tar shifted, their armor giving a small scrape. "Do you think…" They paused, then pressed on. "Do you think she wants to conquer Elfame as well?" The question carried unease; their shoulders were tight now, rigid with a small sense of foreboding.

Cobweb did not answer immediately. When she did, her voice was thoughtful. "I wouldn't put it past her," she admitted. "A human queen with a hunger for dominion would certainly covet Elfame, if she knew what it truly was." Her eye narrowed slightly. "However… it may not be Elfame itself she seeks." A brief silence followed. "It may be the Hawthorn Tree."

"What?" Ku'tar tensed instantly, leaning forward, both hands braced against the edge of the desk. "But—how would they even know about that?" Their voice dropped, alarm bleeding through their firm tone. "That knowledge isn't meant for human ears."

"It's only a thought," Cobweb said, lifting a hand in a calming gesture, though her own expression had grown darker. "Elfame is unorthodox compared to human civilizations. We do not expand, we do not exploit, and we do not consume endlessly. That alone would make us an anomaly worth investigating." She tapped a finger lightly against the wood. "The leylines of the Great Forest remain stable—but only because we maintain them. Without fairy stewardship, they would fracture within decades."

Ku'tar straightened slowly, their gaze lowering as the implications settled. "There is nothing barring the Hawthorn Tree that prevents us from relocating," they said carefully. "If the situation worsens, evacuation—"

"Yes," Cobweb interrupted, nodding once. "And if this Queen of Hearts truly is as cunning as the rumors suggest, then she may know—or at least suspect—that the Hawthorn Tree is the lynchpin. The one thing that anchors us here." Her voice hardened slightly. "But for now, that remains an assumption without merit. Speculation alone does not justify panic."

She waved the thought away with a gesture of her pale hand, decisively closing that avenue. "For now, we act." Her posture straightened, authority settling naturally into her frame. "Assemble the Custodes Firmi. Have them split into groups of five." Her eye sharpened. "We eliminate the smaller encampments first—swiftly and quietly. Once those are gone, we regroup and dismantle the larger forces." Cobweb leaned forward, her tone firm but calm. "I expect success. We are fighting in our home, on land that answers to us. There is no reason—none whatsoever—to lose."

Ku'tar inhaled deeply, then raised both arms above their head, forearms crossing as they brought their hands together in a formal salute. "Yes, Hēafodmann Cobweb," they said with renewed resolve.

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