[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: The Great Forest]

[Elfame]

The fairy "tavern" was, without exaggeration, an oddity.

Even by Grimm's standards—standards shaped by odd and over the top battles, wars, and places built with discomfort before comfort—it was a space that resisted simple categorization. Enormous by fairy measurements. Its walls seemed grown rather than assembled, formed from mixed roots, sleek bands of wood, and wide sheets of translucent, leaf-like growth. The tavern rose upward like a tree, its interior tiered and winding, levels spiraling around a hollow core. Portions of the ceiling opened naturally, allowing drifting motes of light, spores, and winged patrons to pass freely between floors.

"So this is the Thistle & Glow," Puck murmured at Grimm's side, her voice quieter than usual as she took it in. Her eyes tracked movement everywhere at once. "I've… actually never been here before."

("It is a unique space…") Grimm noted internally, his gaze slow as he surveyed the room.

Inside, the tavern was filled with life. Fairies of countless kinds filled the space, others as well, their differences so stark it bordered on overwhelming. Petal-winged sylphs drifted through the air, gossamer wings stretching as they laughed among themselves, leaf-like dresses hugging their small forms. Beetle-armored fairies clicked as they walked and flame-formed fae hovered just above their seats, embers trailing from their hair. Taller forest fairies—broad-shouldered, antlered, their skin marked with bark-like patterns—ducked beneath hanging lantern-vines as they moved.

Some patrons walked. Others floated. A few clung to walls or rafters like insects, perched upside down while conversing as if it were the most natural posture in the world.

The tables themselves were no less varied. Some were broad mushrooms with hardened caps. Others were smooth slabs of stone held aloft by glowing marks. A few were branches that shifted and reshaped to accommodate whoever sat upon them. Seating ranged from root-grown stools and petal cushions to dangling cobweb hammocks and hovering discs of light.

Drinks arrived in vessels just as strange: acorn cups reinforced with resin, hollowed gemstones, spiraled shells, chalices folded from leaves and stitched together with what seemed like silk. Some patrons drank from tiny floating globes that poured themselves when tilted. The liquids within glowed, smoked, fizzed, or chimed as they moved—foreign nectars whose properties Grimm had no interest in testing.

"Stop standing there like a fool."

Cobweb's sharp voice cut through the ambient sound as she glanced back over her shoulder, her single visible eye narrowed in irritation. Grimm shifted and followed as her short form moved deeper into the tavern, Puck drifting after him.

Cobweb dropped herself into a seat near a comparatively tame table—two oak chairs fused directly into the floor beside it. Grimm noted, without comment, the overturned wooden mug nearby and the faintly yellow residue staining the wood. The aftermath of the Brownies' prank.

He took a seat opposite her. Puck descended more casually, her small feet touching down on the tabletop as she settled in, glancing between them.

"Oi! Get me some more ale over here!" Cobweb shouted, then turned back toward Grimm, catching him mid-observation. "It can't be that interesting," she spat.

"Hm." Grimm's voice was contemplative. "I find it interesting how fairies implement a tavern." He gestured subtly toward a nearby cluster of winged figures. "What are those?"

Cobweb blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift in topic.

"Sylphs," Puck answered before she could. "They're not really fairies—more like spirits. But the Queen doesn't discriminate."

Cobweb scoffed, folding her arms. "It's what makes that fool so easily exploited. Welcoming things that aren't even fairies."

Before either could respond, a thick, tendril-like branch extended from the wall beside them. Wrapped around its tip was a heavy wooden mug sloshing with ale. It set the drink down in front of Cobweb with surprising care, then retracted smoothly back into the structure.

Cobweb grabbed the mug and immediately drained it, loud gulps echoing against the wood. The contrast—her small frame and the sheer volume she consumed—was almost comical. She finished in seconds, slammed the mug down, and let out a satisfied sigh.

She felt Grimm's attention on her, even if she couldn't see his eyes beneath the helm.

"What?" she snapped. "You want a drink?"

"I don't drink," Grimm replied simply.

"Must be a boring life," Cobweb muttered. Then she straightened slightly. "So. Let's stop wasting time. You got proof you're related to dragons?"

"There's my Paradigm Rebirth," Grimm answered. "The second stage allows me to transform into the dragon I descend from. I'd need a large space."

Puck leaned forward, curiosity lighting her face. "What dragon?"

"The Elemental Dragon," Grimm said offhandedly. "Not especially strong. I heard it died fairly easily during the Great War."

"Oh." Puck's head drooped just a fraction, disappointment alight across her face.

"Tch. Is that really important?" Cobweb shot her a look. Then her gaze slid back to Puck, sharper now. "I know you. You're the fairy from outside. The Queen brought you here… what, a hundred years ago?"

"The way you say that makes it sound like you don't think much of me," Puck murmured.

"I've got my problems," Cobweb said flatly. "The Queen loved taking in strays like you. She does it all the time. For this realm."

Grimm caught the phrasing immediately.

"I'm not a stray," Puck said, folding her arms, brows drawn tight. "I'm a fairy. Just like you."

"No one's quite like me," Cobweb replied, tone firm rather than boastful. "With the Queen gone and the other attendants missing or dead, I'm one of the few faces keeping Elfame running. Outliers like you make that harder."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Puck asked sharply.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Cobweb said. "I heard your curiosity caused… problems. One of the other attendants. You know."

Puck stiffened. Her gaze dropped. "That—" Her words faltered, lips pressing thin.

"What is that?" Grimm cut in suddenly, gesturing toward a distant group of androgynous figures—antlered, pale-skinned and bark tracing their forms.

Cobweb stared at him like he'd just asked something incredibly stupid.

"Are you seriously going to ask what everything is the entire time?" Cobweb asked, irritation sharpening her tone as she leaned back, arms folding tight against her small frame. Her single eye narrowed. "Because if that's the plan, I might start charging you for explanations."

"Hm." Grimm's response was almost absent-minded. "Until I lose interest." He paused, then shifted without warning, as though the previous thread no longer mattered to him at all. "There's an easier way to confirm what I am. But first—" His head tilted slightly. "I keep hearing the names Albion and Ddraig. Dragons, obviously. But not spoken of the same way. Did they function differently? More specifically—were they immune to conventional magic?"

Cobweb blinked, the annoyance easing into reluctant thought. "Ddraig, I can't say," she admitted. "Records about him are difficult to decipher. But Albion… he changed. The longer he stayed here, the more resistant he became. As if the realm was shaping him. Adapting him into something closer to the dragons of the Nine Realms."

"I see. Adaptation through prolonged exposure. Familiar." Grimm's voice remained thoughtful as he shifted his attention back to her. "Then the jinxes fairies use—those would be conventional magic?"

"Basic, yeah," Cobweb replied. "Lex Caelorum. Scripta tier. Doesn't stem from any of the seven branches or their sub-branches, though. Different framework entirely."

"That should suffice," Grimm said simply. "Go on. Jinx me."

Puck's form stilled, interest flickering openly now. "You're just… offering?"

Cobweb meanwhile arched a brow, a dangerous smile creeping across her face. "Not worried I'll turn you into a slug for that mouth of yours?"

"You're welcome to try."

For a brief moment, Cobweb studied him before extending a small, pale hand. A sharp bolt of violet energy snapped forth, striking Grimm square in the chest. Then another. Then several more.

Nothing happened.

Cobweb stared. "…Huh."

Puck leaned closer, eyes wide. "You didn't even flinch. Are you actually immune to magic?"

"To a degree," Grimm replied. "Not absolute. But close enough."

Cobweb leaned back, clicking her tongue. "So you're not bluffing. Still… dragons are extinct."

"They are," Grimm agreed. "Those like me are called Descendants. Before the dragons fell, they passed on fragments of themselves—bloodlines, instincts and legacies. Sometimes entire families formed." A pause. "My case wasn't so orderly."

Cobweb exhaled through her nose. "Great. As if I needed another complication." She folded her arms. "I don't like the idea of showing hospitality just because you're kin to Albion."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Grimm replied evenly.

"But," she continued, eye narrowing thoughtfully, "that doesn't mean you're useless."

"Hm." Grimm straightened slightly. "Then let's speak plainly. Commander to commander."

Cobweb scoffed. "So the armor's not just for show." She leaned forward. "Fine. Plain talk."

"My situation is odd," Grimm said. "Before I decide my course, I need answers. Do the names Galadriel, Vel'ryr, or Verdantis mean anything to you?"

Cobweb answered instantly. "No."

Grimm nodded once. "Then this isn't my realm."

Puck's breath caught. "You're from another realm? Like the Queen?"

"Seems so," Grimm said. "Those names are foundational where I'm from. Even the obscure would recognize them."

Cobweb regarded him in silence for a long moment. "Then you need guidance," she said at last. "And you're willing to give something in return."

"Yes," Grimm replied without hesitation. "Though if you expect diplomacy or courtly finesse, you'll be disappointed. Battle and strategy are all I offer."

Cobweb's lips curved into a small smirk. "That," she said, "is more than enough."

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