The tall figures shifted uneasily at the edge of the devastated clearing. Their eyes kept darting between the scattered destruction, the warped ground, the cavern behind their backs, and Idalia herself.

  The air still shimmered with fading portal residue. Burned leaves drifted down in slow spirals. The ground steamed where Gigaboa bodies lay scattered in craters and smashed trenches, some half-buried, some simply gone without a trace.

  They whispered among themselves in a sharp, flowing tongue. Idalia tilted her head, listening, but the words slid past her ears like wind through reeds.

  Idalia blinked at them. "Hello," she said brightly.

  The tall Wanderans stiffened as one. One of them slowly raised an arm and pointed.

  Not at her. At one of their own. The chosen long-eared one froze.

  He was slightly shorter and younger than the rest, though still taller than most Wanderans Idalia had seen. His pale hair was tied back in a loose knot. His robes were layered in gold and earth-toned fabrics, stained with sweat and dust and residue magic particles. His hands trembled faintly as every other pair of eyes fixed on him with sharp expectation.

  He swallowed. His ears twitched in panic as he realized he had been volunteered.

  He stared at Idalia. Idalia stared back.

  Her tail flicked once. "Oooh. You picked one," she observed cheerfully. "Is he the talker?"

  The elf hesitated, then took a careful step forward. He bowed low, nearly folding in half, his long ears pressed flat against his head in a clear sign of submission. Slowly and deliberately, he dropped his staff and raised both empty hands to show he held no weapon. He gestured to his own chest, then to his mouth, then gave a hopeful little shrug, as if asking permission using nothing but his body.

  Idalia watched him. His expressions and gestures were funny, but in an entertaining way. He did not feel like a threat, so she nodded.

  The elf let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his lungs for an eternity of blinks. He closed his eyes.

  Mana stirred around him in slow, careful waves. Symbols shimmered faintly along his forearms and up toward his mouth as he began to chant under his breath. The earth beneath his feet hummed in harmony, but the spell felt light and gentle, not hostile. His eyes opened. He lifted his head and looked straight at Idalia with reverent awe.

  "O Sacred Huntress of Scaled Dimensions," he said. His voice now carried her language perfectly, every syllable clear and shaped by practiced enchantment. "Please do not strike us down where we stand. We beg your mercy." He clasped his hands together and bowed his head in a near-hysterical show of devotion.

  Idalia's ears shot straight up. She stifled a giggle. Instead, she leaned in and sniffed his long, herb-scented hair. "...I am sacred? Really! You make funny mouth noises, but I understand you now!"

  Several of his companions audibly sucked in air at her casual tone.

  A murmur rippled through their group. Soft, rapid words passed between them, wrapped in breath and earth. Several scanned the field with wide eyes, taking in the impossible evidence of what she had done. One counted the craters under their breath. Another studied the vapor scars where portals had torn through space. A third swallowed hard when they realized the Gigaboa nest was simply gone.

  More than one glanced back at the cavern mouth behind them with fresh uncertainty. Then they looked at Idalia again.

  "She is still watching us," one whispered.

  "Of course she is," another murmured. "How could she not?"

  "She is not attacking."

  "Yet."

  Their gazes drifted nervously to the bladed arc of her tail, to the faint shimmer of spatial mana clinging to the air around her. One shifted his spear, then thought better of it and slowly lowered the weapon.

  Idalia watched them whisper with tilted curiosity.

  "Are you plotting? You are doing the plotting shoulders," she observed.

  The creatures flinched. They drew closer together, forming a tight half-circle. Their words came quicker now, softly urgent.

  "We cannot risk offending it."

  "It dismantled a nest that has plagued this region for decades."

  "That was not dismantling. That was a ceremonial execution."

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  "We need you, Archmage, to translate properly. Do your job."

  Their eyes slid back to the translator. He was the slender, pointed-eared youth clutching a staff of knotted roots and pale crystal. He was shaking, not violently, but enough that the crystal chimed faintly with each tremor.

  "You want me to continue?" he whispered. "I am still an apprentice."

  "Do not argue, Lief," one of the others snapped. Her voice was sharp and controlled. "You are the only elf here who can cast it cleanly."

  "Elemae, she might eat me mid-incantation…!"

  Ele-mae. Idalia stored the sound away like a pebble. Probably his pack leader. Or his loudest noise-maker.

  "She has not yet." The taller elf's expression hardened. "You did not seem so concerned when you were boasting about elven mastery and how no beast alive could threaten us. That pride marched us straight into her hunting ground." She gestured at the scorched clearing with a stiff hand. "Now use it."

  The elf called Lief swallowed. Between him and the woman, the two were the only creatures in the group who had a green-orange aura.

  Elf. Idalia's ears twitched. Names. Important sounds.

  [Knowledge Core [D] = 65% → 66%]

  Idalia had heard that word before, used by Quantumoon and Alpha Pawail. These creatures were said to be sacred and beneficial to the environment, not to be confused with apes or Wanderans. It was said that elves tasted more like magical plants than actual prey. Idalia crinkled her nose in disgust. She had never liked plant-flavored food.

  She watched as they nudged the shaking one forward, gently but firmly. The group made a little space around him, the way prey did when offering up one of their own. The nervous elf stumbled several steps into the open ground. He stopped well outside Idalia's striking range and raised his empty hands again. He bowed so deeply his hair brushed the dirt.

  Idalia leaned forward slightly. "So," she rumbled thoughtfully, tasting the sounds. "You are Lief. They say your name the most. That means you are important."

  The elf froze for a blink. He bowed even lower.

  "Greetings again, great Liorex," he said quickly. "I am indeed Lief! An Archmage! But to us, you are a living legend. A devourer of apex horrors. A breaker of titans. A calamity blessed with hunger and portal. We did not come to claim your quarry, nor did we intend to challenge your dominion. We came only for venom."

  Idalia tilted her head. "Venom? That's bad for your belly!"

  "Yes," he said. "Gigaboa venom. It is required for antidotes, ritual medicines, and binding drafts used to preserve several border sanctums. We were tasked to extract it without killing the beasts, if possible." His voice faltered as he looked around at the battlefield. "But it appears that is no longer necessary."

  Idalia followed his gaze across the scorched earth, the shattered trunks, the empty space where a nest of colossal monsters had been moments before. She grinned proudly. "I ate some. I threw the rest very far away to eat later."

  The elf nodded weakly, as if this explained everything.

  "We humbly thank you for resolving our task in such a decisive manner," he said. "And we apologize for trespassing upon your hunt without knowing whose territory this was."

  Idalia stepped closer. The elves stiffened as a group. She leaned in and sniffed the translator once, deeply and curiously.

  "You are not Wanderans," she said slowly. "Wanderans are crunchy in a different way."

  A ripple of tension passed through the group. She straightened and pointed at them with one claw.

  "So what are you? Long plant Wanderans?"

  Several elves bristled.

  A tall woman near the front stepped forward before the translator could panic again. Her hair was braided into tight cords down her back. Her armor was grown from hardened bark and crystal-veined stone. Power simmered beneath her skin like restrained magma. Her voice was calm and diplomatic, but razor-thin with offense.

  "We are not Wanderans," she said carefully. "We are Elves of the Verdant Deep. I am Elemae, High Huntress of Verdantine."

  Idalia squinted at the wooden contraption strapped across the woman's back. It curved like a bent branch and was strung tight with fiber, and beside it hung a narrow cylinder packed with feathered sticks that shimmered faintly with contained magic. She had never seen a weapon like it before. "You live in grass, wood, and stone," she said thoughtfully. "That sounds very similar."

  The woman's lips tightened.

  "We are not similar," she replied evenly. "Wanderans break the land. We cultivate it."

  Idalia considered this. Then she clapped her paws on the ground once.

  "Okay! So you are fancy plant Wanderans."

  Several elves stiffened. Others hissed in outrage. Murmurs sparked again, sharper this time.

  "She called us Wanderans again."

  "She truly does not know."

  "That was an insult, even if unintentional."

  The translator winced so hard it looked painful.

  "We beg your mercy," he said quickly. "Spare us. We have no further need to remain."

  Idalia stared at him for a long moment. Her stomach growled softly. She tilted her head, thinking.

  "You wanted the spicy juice that burns," she said.

  The elf blinked. "Yes."

  "And now you do not need it because I stomped all the noodles into the ground."

  "...Yes."

  She flexed her claws thoughtfully. "That means I did your job for you."

  "Yes," he said fervently. "Gloriously. Terrifyingly. Completely."

  Idalia's frills puffed with pride. "You are welcome! I want treats!"

  Stunned silence rippled through the group. Idalia squinted at them again.

  "So. Where are you from exactly? You look like tall Wanderans, so you must have a place to rest."

  She yawned. After her meal and a very long day, all she wanted was a decent place to nap. If the elves were anything like Wanderans, that meant they probably had a nice bedded nest she could claim for herself.

  The tall woman closed her eyes briefly and breathed deeply before speaking. "You are mistaken in your categorization," she said. "But we thank you for sparing us regardless."

  Idalia shrugged, tail swaying lazily.

  "I only eat noodles and enemies. You are neither. Yet." Her eyes gleamed with interest. "So, fancy elves, have you seen a long dragon and a girl with green hair flying around the area?"

  "Green-haired girl!" The elf named Lief laughed smugly, his voice taunting and proud. "Knowing Cheyin, that stuck-up princess probably found herself a new mount after the great Liorex made a well-deserved departure without her!"

  That name. Cheyin. Vestaella had mentioned it before! Idalia leapt forward and slammed into him, knocking the elf flat onto the ground.

  "Cheyin!" she snarled. "That name. I know that name! Where is she? Where has she taken my Papa!"

  The pointed-eared creature stared up at her, wide-eyed and shaking, caught between confusion and terror. "Your… your Pa-Papa?" he stammered. "I have no idea! It's Cheyin's fault, I swear. Please don't eat me!"

  Elemae already had her bow drawn. The wooden arc hummed as her aura flared bright and deadly orange.

  "Get off," she said coldly.