The tent was dim and hushed, lit only by a single crystal lamp whose pale glow struggled against the heavy darkness outside. The canvas walls rustled faintly with the wind, but even that whisper felt muted — as though the forest still mourned.

Luca sat at the edge of his makeshift bed, the communication crystal glowing in his hand. Its pulsing light cast wavering red reflections across his face, sharpening the exhaustion still carved around his eyes.

He took a slow breath, squared his shoulders, and activated the call.

Light surged upward — a swirl of crimson and gold twisting into a holographic form. And then she appeared.

Empress Celestia Dragonair.

Even through a projection, her presence was overwhelming.

She rested on her opulent throne, posture straight yet exuding relaxed command. A silky nightgown the color of moonlit cream wrapped around her form, sleeveless and elegant — but not an inch of vulnerability dared show. Her golden hair was tied into a flawless, high style, emphasizing the commanding line of her neck and the sheer nobility she radiated.

Her crimson eyes lowered from above, locking onto Luca — direct, unwavering.

It felt less like she looked at him and more like she assessed the essence of him.

Luca instantly rose to his feet and bowed deeply, fist over heart.

"Greetings, Your Majesty."

A still, heavy silence lingered instead of a response.

Celestia simply observed him, face calm and unreadable — like a judge contemplating whether the person before her was worth her breath.

Luca straightened slowly, feeling his own heartbeat drum against the inside of his ribs. Her gaze stayed on him. Unbroken. Sharp.

The silence thickened — awkward enough that he felt a bead of sweat slide beneath his collar.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

"Is there… any reason you called me, Your Majesty?"

Celestia tilted her head slightly, a delicate motion that somehow carried intimidation.

"Why? Can't I call you without any reason, Luca Valentine?"

Her voice was silk and steel braided together — smooth, but carrying the weight of empires.

"Heh…"

It left him before his brain caught up.

Her eyebrow lifted — not dramatically, but with precision. The way a swordsman raises a blade before striking.

She continued, leisurely crossing one leg over the other as she rested her cheek against the back of her knuckles:

"Although… I did call you for a reason this time."

Luca felt wronged and couldn't help muttering under his breath:

"See, you can't call me without any reason…"

Her eyes narrowed — a silent "Oh?" echoing through the space.

Realizing he stepped out of line (on purpose), Luca quickly bowed again, raising both hands in apology:

"I'm sorry — that slipped out unintentionally."

Unintentional my foot!

He straightened and gave her a small, shameless smile to soften the jab.

For half a second, the corner of Celestia's lips rose — a crack in her perfected composure.

She shut it down immediately, but Luca saw it.

Her tone then shifted — a graceful dagger:

"Anyway, Luca Valentine visited the Elven Forest, and it ceased to exist."

She smiled.

A beautiful, elegant, fully intentional jab.

Luca's eye twitched.

Yup. That was revenge.

But he didn't take the bait this time. His shoulders straightened, the air around him tightening as seriousness replaced all earlier sarcasm.

His voice dropped, low and grave:

"It was… the Fourth Demon General."

The playful spark in Celestia's eyes died instantly.

Her spine stiffened. Her fingers — previously relaxed — now gripped the throne's armrest. A subtle intake of breath betrayed the sudden tension knotting her chest.

Her gaze sharpened into something colder. Deadlier.

Now she wasn't looking at a mischievous student.

She was looking at a soldier reporting a disaster.

A survivor of something she had dreaded was coming.

The light between them flickered — not because the crystal faltered, but because the atmosphere itself had changed.

Her voice, when she spoke again, carried none of the earlier laziness:

"Explain. Everything. Carefully."

Luca inhaled, grounding himself before speaking. The Empress's gaze stayed locked onto him, steady and focused — every flick of her eyes demanding absolute truth.

He recounted everything.

The divided elves.

The corrupted forest.

The Mother Tree — weakened, fading.

The past he witnessed — the ancient struggle and the desperate sacrifice.

The chaos of battle.

The Fourth Demon General's sudden arrival — the overwhelming power.

And the Elf Queen… giving her life to stop him.

He spoke without dramatization — stripped down to harsh fact. Just enough for the weight to deliver itself.

Celestia listened without interruption. Her posture was perfect, but beneath that poise… something trembled. A tiny shift in her breathing. A flicker in her pupils. A tightening of her fingers around the throne.

Not at the fall of elves.

Not at the death of a queen.

But the moment she realized Luca had stood before a Demon General.

Her lips parted — as if to ask something important — but the question that escaped was entirely different from the one he expected:

"Are you injured?"

Her voice — normally edged with command — softened. Barely, but undeniably.

Luca blinked. "Ah… No. I'm fine, Your Majesty."

Celestia exhaled — a slow, controlled release of tension. If he hadn't been staring so closely, he might have missed it entirely.

As soon as that relief slipped out, she masked it again with imperial composure.

Luca hesitated, then cleared his throat.

"There's something else I need to discuss."

She nodded once, sharp and silent — permission given.

He continued.

"The Elven Forest is gone… completely barren. The corruption has ruined everything. They have nowhere to return to." His expression hardened with resolve. "So…Brother Vincent and I offered them refuge. In Valentine Territory."

He searched her face — unsure how she would respond.

Celestia's brows lowered slightly in thought. The gears of governance turning — weighing politics, military strength, morality.

Then her decision cut through like a blade:

"Very well."

"I agree with your proposal."

Her gaze narrowed, authority intensifying.

"The elves will be valuable allies in the war to come. Allowing them a home within the Empire will strengthen our united front. Ensure that the transition is handled with dignity — they have lost enough."

Luca nodded firmly. "That's what I thought as well."

Silence followed.

Celestia didn't look away.

Her eyes traced him — up, down, again — not scanning for guilt, but for damage. For fractures he might be hiding beneath that calm façade.

As if she didn't believe he could survive something like this completely unscarred.

It made Luca shift uncomfortably.

"…What are you thinking?"

Her crimson eyes sharpened, then softened — like a verdict being rewritten.

"It's nothing," she said too quickly.

She straightened on her throne, shoulders returning to full imperial posture.

"I have matters to attend to. Rest well, Luca Valentine."

Her voice was clipped — unusually rushed — and before he could respond—

The connection cut.

The hologram burst into particles of red and faded.

Luca stared at the empty air in front of him, baffled.

"…What was that?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning.

"She really is unpredictable…"

He let out a tired breath and finally collapsed onto his bed of leaves, arms spread limp beside him.

Even a mighty Empress… could be strange sometimes.

Sleep finally took him.

Darkness swallowed the tent.

But just after a few hours…

When the faint rustling outside turned into hurried commotion, he finally gave up trying. His body ached, his head heavy, and a long yawn stretched from his lips as he pushed out of the tent, rubbing at his tired eyes.

Outside, the forest that had been quiet under the moon was now alive with movement.

Elves and dark elves were everywhere—stepping briskly through the soft grass, shoulders tense but faces determined. Some hauled large wooden crates reinforced with mana-weave vines, others carried rolled-up tents, bundles of preserved herbs, weapons packed into leather cases. A few paused only to help lift another load or adjust someone's slipping pack before rushing ahead again.

Their silver eyes and obsidian skin glinted beneath the strengthening daylight—each of them moving with a sense of purpose.

Luca exhaled slowly. They're really leaving their home behind…

Light footsteps approached him from behind, surprisingly soft despite the chaos around. He turned.

Sylthara.

Her obsidian skin shimmered under the morning sun like polished stone, the faint violet markings on her arms glowing subtly—a hint of her contained emotions. A few strands of her silver hair escaped the braid draping over her shoulder.

She stopped before him, hands clasping and unclasping nervously.

"So, getting ready to depart, huh?" Luca asked, forcing a faint smile through his fatigue.

Sylthara nodded gently. "Yes…"

She looked away for a second, gathering courage.

"Um… can you come with me for some time?"

He didn't think. He didn't need to. He simply nodded.

They walked—past the busy camps, past the fresh warding boundary set by their mages—until the noises faded. The air shifted. It was… quieter here. And colder.

Trees twisted unnaturally, their bark scorched black in places. Corruption seeped through cracked soil like a slow-spreading stain. Luca's steps paused instinctively, but Sylthara continued forward—expression distant, breath unsteady.

He wanted to ask. Wanted to break the silence.

But something in her trembling shoulders told him not to.

Finally, they reached a lone fragment of carved stone—broken, half-sunken into corrupted ground.

Sylthara's knees weakened as she approached. She sank to the ground slowly… reverently. Her hand hovered above the rough stone, trembling before it finally rested atop it.

"Hello… Mother," she whispered.

Luca's eyes widened. His heart clenched as he finally realized what that broken stone is..

A grave marker.

Sylthara's back curved inward as though she were shielding the stone from the world. Her lips trembled, but she forced her voice steady.

"We are finally leaving this forest, Mother…"

Her throat tightened.

"Just like you… I… and all of us wanted. Just… not the way you would have liked."

Her breath hitched, but she stubbornly blinked away the tears gathering in her glowing eyes.

"I'm not going to cry today, Mother. People cry when they say goodbye."

She pressed a hand to her chest.

"But… this is not a goodbye. It's just temporary. I promise I will be back… and restore our land."

Slowly, she turned—seeking him.

A silent question. A vulnerable one.

We will… right?

Luca stepped forward without hesitation. He placed his hands gently on her arms, helping her rise. His voice came out low but firm—full of conviction.

"We definitely will."

Sylthara searched his face—her expression softening, a small but brave smile forming at the edge of her lips. She turned back to the grave, placing one final soft touch on the stone.

"Let's go," she murmured.

"To our new beginning."

And she walked forward—without looking back.

Luca followed beside her, matching her pace.

Behind them… tiny light-orbs—forest spirits—gathered silently, circling the grave like a protective embrace. Their soft glow dimmed as the pair grew farther away…

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.