[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: The Great Forest]

Grimm moved in silence.

The forest around him, however, did not share that silence.

The fairy guards remained visibly alert, their formation tight around him. The lead guard kept several paces ahead, spear angled just enough to be threatening without being outright about it, while others flanked Grimm on either side. A few followed behind, their steps steady, shields held ready. No one spoke or relaxed.

Grimm noticed all of it.

What surprised him was not the vigilance, but the restraint.

He had expected hostility. Suspicion, at the very least. Yet the moment Al'tari had spoken of dragons, something in their demeanor had shifted. There was still no warmth or trust. But there was caution and even a bit of reverence.

("All because they think I'm related to dragons,") he thought.

He did not yet know what dragons truly meant to these fairies—what weight the word carried in their history or belief—but as they moved deeper into their domain, he found himself more invested in the answer than he expected.

Al'tari and Puck hovered nearby, close enough that he could sense their presence even without looking.

"This is shaping up to be too much," Al'tari sighed quietly.

There was fatigue in her voice. When she had first confronted Grimm in the forest, she had expected violence, perhaps intimidation. She had not expected this kind of escalation.

Her gaze drifted to Grimm's silent form as he walked ahead, his attention seemingly forward and nowhere else.

("What is he thinking?") she wondered.

Grimm, meanwhile, was thinking about something entirely different.

("These guards…") his eyes turned briefly toward the flanking figures. ("They resemble elves more than fairies.") The thought lingered. ("Are elves derived from fairies? Or the other way around?")

Anatomy and racial origins had never been his strong suit. He had studied warfare, chemistry, magic theory and history—things with immediate application. But this? This was unfamiliar.

Even so, unfamiliarity kept his interest alive.

Still, his mind refused to stay there.

Inevitably, it drifted back.

("That cat…") The memory of the grin rose unbidden. ("It felt familiar.") Not the comforting kind of familiarity. ("'Interesting iteration,' it called me.") Grimm hummed slightly beneath his helmet. ("That phrasing was too vague... but at the same time specific.")

There had been no mockery in its voice. No clear deception either.

Just its own sense of absolute certainty.

As they continued onward, the terrain began to change. The path sloped upward, winding toward a massive oak tree that dominated the space ahead. It was colossal—far larger than it had any right to be—its trunk thick enough to swallow buildings whole. Though it did not rival the central tree in sheer scale, it came disturbingly close.

The path curved around its base and began to ascend.

Platforms had been built into its sides, layered vertically, some carved directly into the bark, others suspended by thick vines or reinforced bridges. Structures clung to the tree, their design organic.

("Impressive…") Grimm noted. But his thoughts refused to settle on that alone. ("You're being watched.") The cat's message echoed again. ("The Keepers of Order… and that Alice kid. I don't even know who the former are.") He internally thought. ("And it implied there are others.")

He did not like that.

Not quite fear, more so annoyance.

("Do these people really have nothing better to do than monitor me?")

Behind him, Puck drifted closer to Al'tari, lowering her voice.

"Say…" she began hesitantly, "…what do you think will happen if what he said is true? About being a descendant of a dragon?"

Al'tari did not answer immediately.

"We would be obligated to show him proper hospitality," she murmured at last. "If he is truly kin to Albion, then he is not a mere outsider."

Her gaze lingered on Grimm again.

"…However," she continued more quietly, "we have only seen a glimpse of what he is. And I wonder—" her wings fluttered, betraying her hesitation, "—whether he could help."

"With the Queen?" Puck asked softly.

Al'tari nodded.

"She has been gone for far too long." Her voice softened slightly. "The more feral Deseruit Beasts grow bolder by the day. And those black-clad soldiers continue to probe the forest's edges." Her lips pressed into a thin line. "If it becomes known that our Queen is absent," she continued, "our troubles will multiply. The boundary alone has already begun to fail."

Puck glanced ahead.

"That would explain how he entered in the first place," she murmured.

Al'tari sighed, the sound faint but heavy.

"Yes… though I would rather not place hope in an unknown." She paused. "Still… I should check on Ma'krai. He is likely still sobbing."

She turned slightly to Puck.

"Can you handle explanations?"

Puck smiled, a small but confident grin. "Leave it to me."

Al'tari returned the smile briefly before breaking away, changing course and vanishing into the distance.

Puck drifted closer to Grimm.

"Hm," Grimm said without looking at her, "does your friend have business to attend to?"

"She's checking on Ma'krai," Puck replied. "You know. The fairy you threatened to eat not long ago."

There was a pause.

"…Ah," Grimm said at last. "Right."

As if it had slipped his mind entirely.

Puck stared at him for a moment, then sighed quietly, unsure whether that was more unsettling than if he had remembered.

"Right," Grimm said at last, breaking the long stretch of silence. "I probably should have asked earlier." He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge Puck without fully facing her. "But what is our course?"

Puck blinked, then exhaled quietly, as though relieved to finally be asked something mundane.

"Where the commander of the Custodes Firmi usually frequents," she answered. "It's… a communal hub, I suppose. What humans would call a tavern." She hesitated, then added with a small, almost embarrassed smile, "We may have stolen the idea."

Grimm huffed softly. Not quite a sound of interest—but close.

"That is… interesting," he said. The notion that fairies borrowed human customs was not what held his attention, however. His mind caught on a different word entirely. "Custodes Firmi?"

"Our elite guard," Puck explained, gesturing lightly toward the armored fairies surrounding him. "They are disciplined and strong. Our primary defense against outside threats. Usually, they handle intruders and feral or antagonistic Deseruit Beasts."

Deseruit Beasts still interested him; they seemed different from Astrothians. They were not beasts of mana whose origins derived from the Seven Divine Beasts. But for now, his attention was more focused on the Custodes Firmi.

Grimm's gaze slid across them again.

Disciplined was an understatement for them.

They had not spoken since their formation. No unnecessary movement. No visible tension—just readiness. Even now, walking him through their home, they did not relax. He was also a potential threat, yet he detected not a hint of fear from the soldiers.

He could respect such individuals who would not shy away from an unknown threat.

("Not as disciplined or strong as my soldiers,") Grimm thought. ("But competent.") His attention sharpened. ("They're still on guard. Watching for intent and any action on my part.") He could tell—if he so much as twitched with hostility, they would react instantly. ("Not that it would do them any good.")

His thoughts drifted toward a different assessment.

("The only worthwhile threat here would be—")

His gaze shifted subtly to Puck.

She noticed immediately.

Tilting her head, she slowed her hover just a fraction. "Something wrong?"

"Hm." Grimm studied her openly now. "You seem… oddly peculiar among your brethren."

Puck's brows knit together at once.

"Peculiar?" she repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can't exactly see mana," Grimm replied calmly. "I sense it. Smell it." He paused. "And you have an abundance of it. More than the others. That, combined with my instincts…" He let the sentence trail. "You're clearly not ordinary."

Puck stared at him, unimpressed.

"Have you considered," she said coolly, "not voicing every thought that enters your head? No one enjoys being called 'peculiar.'"

"I'm not insulting you," Grimm replied without missing a beat. "You'd know if I was."

Puck opened her mouth to fire back—

—and then the guards halted.

The formation stopped with almost mechanical movements. Grimm stopped with them, his attention drawn forward.

They had arrived on a broad platform, its surface reinforced with thick bark and clean wood. Ahead stood a sleek, sizable structure that immediately set itself apart from the organic dwellings he had seen earlier.

It resembled a longhouse.

Smooth, dark wood formed its body, reinforced with veins of an unfamiliar green alloy that ran through the walls and roof like added ornamentation rather than simple decoration. A smaller wooden annex clung to one side, and from the platform, vine-bound paths stretched outward, connecting to distant trees where other structures perched.

"So," Grimm began, taking it in, "would this be the—"

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, DAMN BROWNIES!"

The shrill, furious shout tore through the air.

Grimm stopped mid-sentence.

The lead guard pinched the bridge of their nose beneath their helmet.

"…Not again," they muttered.

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