"So... what do we do now?" Samira asked, breaking the silence as the group rested around the makeshift arena.
There was still a faint sll of mana in the air, remnants of the battle between Strax and Lithara. So were still wiping sweat from their foreheads, others were just watching the sky above the arena, trying to get used to their own existence within those new bodies.
Strax looked at them all, his tone calm but firm.
"For now, you must focus on getting used to your new strength. No rush." He crossed his arms, watching each one closely. "Vorah can wait. You are still adapting—and I don't want anyone going into war unstable."
A brief silence fell, but soon ca the nods. One by one, they all agreed.
It was true: their bodies were different. Their souls were too. And the power... it ca like a river overflowing through newly discovered veins.
No one questioned Strax.
Not because he instilled fear. But because there was trust.
There, at that mont, they were not just soldiers, revived souls, or mythical creatures with obligations.
They were a family rebuilding itself.
After giving these orders, he headed for the elven capital, returning quickly. He wanted to see how things were going and if Evelyn and her mother, Frieren, were well.
The white walls of the palace glowed under the magical light that emanated from the very heart of the forest. Sentries stood at their posts, but their gazes were cautious, almost reverent, as Strax walked through the central corridors toward the queen's hall.
That's when he saw her.
Lyana.
Captain of the Elven Knights. The woman who, weeks ago, had confronted him with sword in hand, challenging his presence with the queen without hesitation.
Now she stood at the entrance to the royal hall, her shoulders stiff, as if preparing her body for battle—though her eyes betrayed sothing else.
She stared at him for a brief second... and looked away, almost blushing. A slight blush rose to her fair skin, and she pressed her lips tightly together, as if struggling with words.
Strax raised an eyebrow, slowing his pace until he stopped in front of her.
"...Are you okay?" he asked, his tone as neutral as possible, but still intrigued. "You look like you're about to confess a sin to ."
Lyana shuddered slightly. Her golden eyes t his for a mont — and then she lowered her head, her hair falling down the sides of her face. In a restrained but respectful movent, she bowed.
"Thank you," she said, her voice coming out lower than she expected. "For saving the queen... for protecting her, even after everything."
Strax blinked, surprised. He had expected resistance, pride... not that.
"You're going to thank ... for doing what no one else here could?" he replied, his voice laden with mild sarcasm, but without aggression.
Lyana looked up again, taking a deep breath.
"Actually... yes." She straightened her body, but still avoided holding his gaze for too long. "I thought you were just another monster with too much power. But the queen... she smiled. For the first ti since the curse began."
Strax didn't respond imdiately. Instead, he just watched Lyana for a few more seconds. There was sincerity in her. And a kind of sha that only ca when you broke down an internal wall.
He smiled slightly—not mockingly, but genuinely.
"Good. If you feel better now that you've thanked ... I can cross that off my list of miracles for the day." He took a step forward and touched her shoulder lightly, weightlessly, as if to say we're even.
Lyana froze for a mont, surprised by the gesture... and perhaps by the unexpected warmth it provoked.
"She wants to see you," she murmured, composing herself. "The queen is in the inner sanctuary. She's... waiting for you."
Strax nodded, his eyes growing more serious. "Then let's not keep her waiting."
Then he went on.
The Eternal Sanctuary was, as its na suggested, a place where ti seed to slow down. A garden suspended above the treetops, enveloped in veils of natural light filtered by ancient enchantnts. Golden petals floated gently in the air, carried by a breeze that ca from nowhere.
Strax passed through the arch of living roots that ford the entrance and paused for a mont.
There, in the center of the sanctuary, sitting in the shade of an ancient tree with leaves that pulsed slowly with living magic, was she.
Frieren. The forr queen of the Elves.
Unlike the majestic and unattainable aura she used to display in public, now she was... calm. Almost fragile, although he knew that this was the most dangerous mont to underestimate her.
Sitting at a small white marble tea table, her long silver hair falling like a veil over her shoulders, she calmly stirred the amber liquid in her cup with a small crystal spoon. There was another cup served—placed in front of her.
Without looking up, she said, "You're late. The tea has already cooled."
Strax smiled slightly and walked over to the table, sitting down without ceremony.
"Late? I thought elves didn't care about ti."
"We care about what's worth waiting for." She finally looked up, and her eyes t his with impossible clarity. "And you... well, let's just say I'm learning to fit you into that category."
For a mont, there was only the sound of the breeze rustling through enchanted leaves and the occasional clinking of porcelain.
Strax looked around, then at the cup in front of him. "Did you call here to poison with tea, or is it just nostalgia?" he joked.
Frieren smiled, and the expression was... soft. Rare.
"If I wanted to poison you, Strax, there wouldn't even be an echo of your existence left. Don't confuse courtesy with weakness."
"Fair enough." He picked up the cup and took a sip. It was lukewarm, but still delicious. Floral, with a hint of spice and... sothing ancient.
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Until Frieren lowered the cup and said, almost in a whisper, "You're interesting."
"?" Strax raised an eyebrow, sowhat amused. "You're the one serving tea... after becoming a succubus. Now that's unexpected."
Frieren didn't react imdiately. Her eyes slowly scanned the surrounding garden, as if searching for so answer in the floating petals, in the whisper of the enchanted leaves.
"I'm thinking," she murmured, almost to herself.
Strax leaned forward, resting his elbows on the white marble table. There was a disconcerting calmness in his posture, as if he could see right through her.
"Thinking about what?"
Frieren took a second longer than usual to answer. Her fingers played with the rim of the cup, absentmindedly. Then her eyes, now with a faint, strange glow—sothing between lancholy and restrained desire—t his.
"About giving in... and going with you."
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