I leaned toward Lyra, keeping my voice to a whisper, lips barely moving as I spoke into the space between her ear and her golden hair. “Wouldn’t one of them figure it out anyway?” I hissed. “I mean, someone has to have an identification skill or magic. What happens when they scan me and go ‘hey, that’s not an elf, that’s a fox girl with rhythm gamer stats and questionable stamina’?”

  To my surprise, Lyra’s expression didn’t change much, but her voice dropped to match mine, tight, low, and very annoyed. “What are you, crazy?!” she whispered sharply. “Elves have standards. They wouldn’t do something that intrusive. Especially not on someone who might be part of a sacred vision or whatever. That’s like a diplomatic disaster. They’ll keep pretending until the entire prophecy colpses or you sprout tails in public. Just act mysterious and humble. You’re good at that.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not mysterious.”

  Lyra shot me a look. “You eat food like you’ve never seen it before, you talk to Sivelle Spirit sometimes, sorry, your fox spirit friend and you wear a hood all the time. You practically scream ‘enigmatic forest orphan with secret power.’”

  I blinked. “…That actually sounds kinda cool.”

  “Then embrace it,” she growled under her breath, before turning back to the elven leader with a bright, innocent smile like we hadn’t just been conspiring in whispers.

  I sighed, adjusted my cloak, and looked up at the trees ahead. Alright. Fine. If they wanted the mysterious moonblood who wandered through dreams and moss and moonlight, I’d py that role for now. Just… hopefully no one tried to cast Fox Detection III anytime soon.

  Just as I adjusted my cloak again, tucking in one of my ears that had threatened to peek out, a sharp voice cut through the growing silence like a broomstick to the ankles.

  “Ahem. Excuse me.”

  We all turned at once. A woman stood squarely in the doorway, arms crossed, her heavy dle tapping slowly against one palm in a rhythm that felt more threatening than musical. Steam curled from the kitchen behind her, carrying the mouthwatering scent of simmered garlic and bone broth, her domain, clearly, and one we’d just marched a small elven army into.

  She wasn’t wearing armor, but she didn’t need it. Her apron was stained with a consteltion of stew spshes, her rolled-up sleeves exposing forearms that had probably lifted more cauldrons than most adventurers lifted swords. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it looked like it could snap the will of anyone who dared slouch in her dining hall. Her eyes flicked over the gathered elves, assessing them like they were undercooked dumplings.

  “You,” she said, dle now pointing directly at the elven leader like a general addressing an intruder. “Are standing in front of my door.”

  One of the younger elves stepped back on instinct, brushing against a potted herb pnt by the window.

  The woman took a slow step forward, the wooden floor creaking under her boot. “This is a pce for meals, not militia. Unless you’ve all suddenly come down with a strong craving for stew, I suggest you take this dramatic reunion somewhere that doesn’t involve my clean floors and paying customers.”

  Lyra leaned over and whispered, “That’s the owner.”

  “I got that,” I whispered back, trying not to look directly into the dle of judgment.

  One of the elves at the back shifted uncomfortably, lowering his bow like a student caught passing notes in css. Another one quietly tried to hide his antler-decorated helmet behind his cape.

  The innkeeper pointed her dle toward Lyra and me. “You two came in for stew. You paid for your meal. You got stew. I don’t care what kind of divine forest reunion is going on here, but if you’re done blessing each other with ancient poetry, I suggest you take it outside before someone spills their turnip mash from sheer tension.”

  Lyra raised both hands, looking sheepish for once. “Sorry, Granny. They’re not trying to start anything, I swear. They just… uh… came to pick us up.”

  I followed her lead and offered the most innocent, peace-loving, definitely-not-a-threat-to-your-business smile I could manage. “We were just having a meal,” I added. “And possibly being roped into a prophecy. But we’ll leave before dessert, promise.”

  The elf leader gave the innkeeper a polite nod, regal despite being clearly scolded. “We did not mean to disturb your patrons. Our intentions were peaceful.”

  Granny narrowed her eyes. “Then be peacefully quiet about it. And preferably somewhere not blocking my front door.”

  There was an awkward shuffle as the elves began to step back, some filing out into the yard, others still eying me with reverent curiosity like I might start glowing or levitate. The elven woman gave me a final nod, as if to say we'll talk ter, and then turned to lead her group off the porch with a grace that only came from centuries of tree-based etiquette.

  As they cleared the doorway, Granny May gave us one st look, her voice low this time. “If you’re going to go off wandering with the forest folk, do it after you’ve finished your bowls. I won’t have anyone calling my food cold because of some dramatic exit.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lyra said instantly, practically saluting.

  “Of course not,” I added, gesturing toward my half-finished stew. “This is sacred.”

  Only when Granny disappeared back into the kitchen, muttering about “elvish soap operas,” did Lyra exhale and lean back in her seat.

  “That was the scariest part of today,” she whispered.

  I took a bite of stew. “Yeah. No amount of ghost vegetables prepared me for her dle of justice.”

  ? ? ?

  The clearing outside the restaurant was warm and golden in the afternoon sun, with the soft rustle of leaves above and the earthy scent of pine and cooked stew still lingering in the air. The elven group had gathered again, their lean forms casting long, elegant shadows over the mossy ground as they prepared to return to the forest. Horses with braided manes and saddlebags made of woven reeds waited patiently nearby, their breaths misting gently in the cooler air of the woodnd edge.

  I stood just outside the inn’s wooden fence, the rough stone path under my feet warm from the day. My cloak still hung over my head, ears hidden beneath the dark fabric. The rhythm gamer in me would’ve called this the “farewell song cue” gentle strings, maybe a little woodwind. Something nostalgic and awkward.

  “So,” I said, folding my hands behind my back and rocking slightly on my heels. “Thanks for the, uh… dramatic entrance. It was very action cutscene. Ten out of ten. A little sudden, but appreciated.”

  The leader, still calm and commanding, gave me a faint smile. “The forest remembers kindness. You were there for Lyra when she was alone. You will be remembered.”

  I blinked. “Wow, okay, that sounds… incredibly ominous and heartfelt at the same time.”

  Another elf stepped forward and handed me a small, silken pouch. Light as air but faintly glowing with some kind of soft internal shimmer. “This is a charm of quiet steps,” they said. “It hides presence and muffles movement. It is not much, but perhaps useful for one who walks through both shadow and starlight.”

  “Oh… thanks.” I accepted it gently, tucking it into my inventory. “I’ll try not to trip over anything important while using it.”

  Lyra stood beside me, already chatting softly in Elvish with a couple of the younger elves, her whole posture visibly lighter than before. There was an ease to her now, a quiet joy that hummed under her usually guarded expression. It was like watching someone remember how to breathe.

  I didn’t want to interrupt, but when her gaze flicked to me, I smiled. “Guess you’re famous now. They’re probably already composing songs about your daring escape from Rasta and your glorious return.”

  She snorted softly. “Don’t jinx it. I’ve had enough attention for one week.”

  Finally, the elves began to mount up. Their leader gave a nod, her hair rippling like moonlight in the breeze. “If you ever find yourself beneath the ancient trees of Elyvarien, speak Lyra’s name. The forest will listen.”

  “Will do,” I said, waving zily. “Take care. And, uh… tell your seers I’m honored to be part of their fanfiction.”

  Lyra rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her lips twitched at the corners.

  And with that, the elves turned and rode off into the forest, disappearing between the trunks and branches like they’d never been there at all. Just faint hoofbeats and the rustling of leaves left behind.

  I stood there for a moment longer, watching the woods recim the silence, and then turned toward the distance.

  “Well,” I murmured, “time to see if Yuzu is finally back.”