[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: China Country]

Most of the porcelain people had gathered now, drawn in by rumor faster than reason. They formed a loose ring around Grimm and Puck—some standing too close, others lingering just far enough away to feel safe—every one of them talking at once in brittle voices that clicked softly when they moved their heads.

"I heard the guards say he took care of all the Deseruit Beasts?" one whispered, leaning toward another.

"Yeah," came the hushed reply, eyes fixed on Grimm's armored silhouette. "I heard that too. All of them. In seconds."

"Was he responsible for that bright light over the walls?" another asked, craning their porcelain neck upward, as if the light might still be there, waiting to be explained.

"I didn't see it," someone else admitted, almost defensively. "But I felt it. Like heat."

A different voice, far less reverent, chimed in from the side. "He should comb his hair more. It's wild."

That earned a sharp clack as a nearby guard snapped their head around. "Hey—give some room to our savior!" the guard barked, stepping forward and spreading their arms wide as if to physically push the crowd back.

"That's right, back away," another guard declared, echoing the command with authority.

"But we wanna meet our savior!" one of the porcelain people protested, half-laughing and half-pleading.

"Yeah!" another voice joined, louder now, emboldened by numbers.

Puck hovered a little closer to Grimm's side as she glanced at the crowd and then up at him. "Whoa," she murmured under her breath, a mix of amusement and disbelief in her tone. "They started being fans pretty quickly, hm?"

"Hm," Grimm replied, the sound flat and unreadable.

Admiration was not unfamiliar to him. As a general who had carved his name across battlefields and nations alike, he had seen it before—heard it in chants, in forced cheers, in voices trembling on the edge between loyalty and terror. But admiration, in his experience, was almost always braided tightly with fear.

Here, there was none.

These porcelain people did not flinch from his towering presence, nor did they shrink from the ominous sight of his armor or the obscured threat of the helmet that hid his face entirely. They did not recoil from the heavy gauntlets at his sides or the sabatons pressing carefully into the fragile street beneath them. Instead, they leaned in, curious, eager and almost bright with it.

They hadn't even seen what he'd done. They'd only heard that he had saved them—and that alone seemed to be enough.

Eventually, the guards' raised voices cut through the overlapping chatter. The crowd, reluctantly and with frequent backward glances, began to disperse. One by one, the porcelain people drifted away, still whispering, still staring, some craning their necks to catch a last look at Grimm's back as they went.

"You all report to the princess," one of the porcelain guards ordered, straightening their posture. "Let her know of our victory—and our savior."

The other guards nodded sharply. Before turning, they gave Grimm a small, stiff bow, then marched off toward a porcelain castle visible in the distance, its pale towers raising high.

The remaining guard lingered, then turned fully toward Grimm.

"Might I know our savior's name?" the guard asked, voice steady but clearly stiff.

"Grimm," he answered.

"And I'm Puck," the fairy added quickly, flashing a friendly smile as she dipped slightly in the air. "Nice to meet you."

"Grimm?" The porcelain guard tilted their head, painted features fixed in a thoughtful expression. "That name…" They paused, fingers lifting to their chin as if the thought needed anchoring. Their face seemed almost to shift. "It sounds… familiar."

Puck blinked, surprise flickering across her expression. "Have you heard of him before somehow?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. She knew how unlikely that was—no, how impossible it should be.

The guard waved the notion away with a small, dismissive gesture. "Ah, pay me no mind. It is likely nothing more than coincidence." They turned slightly and gestured down the path ahead. "Still, we would like to host you. Provide accommodations, if you would allow it."

Puck glanced sideways at Grimm, then back at the city around them, her smile turning sheepish. "No offense," she said carefully, "but this place seems a bit too delicate for someone as large as Grimm."

She wasn't wrong. Even now, Grimm had been adjusting his weight with every step, distributing it just enough to avoid spiderwebbing cracks through the porcelain street beneath his feet.

"No worry," the guard replied calmly. "In the past, we have had large visitors such as yourself." They gestured ahead again, a little more confidently now. "So in the event that more came, our princess had construct lodgings made specifically for big people."

Puck's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Oh? That's… actually really thoughtful."

The guard inclined their head and motioned for them to follow.

And so they moved at a measured pace through the porcelain city. Grimm followed without comment, his presence forcing a widening of the path wherever they went. Puck floated alongside him, a half-step behind, eyes constantly darting, curiosity tugging her attention in a dozen directions at once.

The city opened gradually, buildings rose from the ground, they seemed more like molded sculptures rather than constructed homes—rounded edges, smooth surfaces, roofs colored in blues and whites. Some structures bore painted floral patterns, others geometric patterns.

"This here," the guards started, gesturing with their spear toward a wide open square, "is where the markets usually are. We trade repairs, glazes, paints—things to keep ourselves from cracking, you see."

Puck leaned forward midair. "You… repair yourselves?" she asked gently, her tone careful not to sound alarmed.

The guard nodded. "Of course. Breaks happen. Chips too. We mend what we can." Their voice softened slightly. "Those who cannot be mended are remembered."

Puck's flying slowed. "Oh," she murmured. "That's… actually really sad."

Grimm said nothing. His gaze slid over the square without lingering, already cataloging it as functional and nothing more. He had seen cities built on the most absurd things. Porcelain did not impress him.

They continued.

A narrow street opened into a district of taller buildings, their walls reinforced with visible seams of darker glaze, as if past damage had been preserved.

"These are the older homes," the guard explained. "They've been through storms before we learned how fragile we truly were."

Puck tilted her head. "Storms?"

"Yes," the guard replied. "Wind once shattered an entire street. Rain weakened our roofs. Hail…" They paused, then shook their head. "We learned quickly."

Grimm's steps slowed by a fraction.

As they passed, porcelain people moved about their lives. Some swept up shards into careful piles, hands moving quickly. Others carried baskets filled with limbs, heads, or torsos, each piece wrapped in cloth, murmuring softly as though offering reassurance to what they carried. A pair of children ran past, one with a visible crack down their arm, laughing regardless.

Some stared.

Many stared.

Whispers followed in Grimm's wake, bouncing from wall to wall.

"That's him."

"The savior."

"Look how tall he is."

"Is that armor part of him?"

"And the fairy—did you see the fairy?"

Puck waved awkwardly at a few of them, smiling despite the weight in her chest. Grimm did not acknowledge them at all, his attention fixed forward.

They crossed a small bridge—porcelain arches reinforced with metal ribs beneath—and emerged into what seemed to be the city's central stretch. A wide boulevard led straight toward the castle they had seen earlier, its porcelain towers rising like stacked cups.

"This road leads to the princess's hall," the guard said. "You'll likely be summoned later."

"Likely?" Puck echoed.

The guard gave a polite nod. "She will want to see the one who saved us. She always does."

Puck glanced up at Grimm. "Hear that? Royal audience. You're really making a name for yourself today."

Grimm's answer was delayed.

"There are no clouds," he said suddenly.

The guard blinked. "Pardon?"

Grimm stopped walking. Puck drifted to a halt beside him, startled. He tilted his head upward, helmet angled toward the sky above the city. It was an uninterrupted gray, stretching endlessly, unmarred by even a wisp of white.

"No cloud cover," Grimm continued. "Not a single condensation formation. Yet the surrounding region had cloud density." He lowered his gaze to the guard. "Why?"

Puck's brows lifted. "Oh. Huh." She followed his gaze upward. "I forgot about that."

The guard straightened, something like pride entering their voice. "That would be thanks to Glinda the Good Witch."

Grimm's attention sharpened.

"She cast a spell over our city long ago," the guard explained. "Weather no longer assaults us here. No rain, no hail, no wind strong enough to topple our homes. The sky remains clear so long as her enchantment holds."

"A localized atmospheric stabilization," Grimm murmured, more to himself than to them.

Puck blinked. "Uh… what?"

"An external force maintaining environmental equilibrium," Grimm clarified calmly. "Interesting."

That single word—interesting—carried more weight than anything he had said since arriving.

The guard nodded, pleased. "It has saved us many times. Without it, our city would not exist."

Grimm resumed walking. Puck hovered closer now, studying him from the side.

"You actually care about that," she said quietly.

"It is a large-scale application with long-term sustainability," Grimm replied. "Such spells usually degrade."

"And this one didn't?"

"No." He paused. "That implies either constant reinforcement or an unusually stable construction."

Puck smiled faintly. "So that's what gets your attention."

They moved on, the castle slipping out of view as the guard led them down a branching path away from the city's heart. The buildings grew sparser, the streets wider. Then, abruptly, the porcelain gave way to something entirely different.

A wooden hut stood ahead.

It was solid, rectangular and plainly built—but obviously wood. Dark beams, reinforced joints, a stone foundation sunk deep into the porcelain ground beneath it. It looked like it had been lifted from another world and dropped here by mistake.

Puck stopped short. "Whoa."

Grimm regarded it in silence.

"Yes," the guard said, a hint of humor creeping into their voice. "It does stand out."

"You're telling me," Puck said.

The guard let out a small laugh, the sound hollow but genuine. "Many broke just to build it."

Puck winced. "Oh no."

"Do not worry," the guard added quickly. "It was volunteered enthusiasm."

Grimm approached the hut, placing one sabaton carefully on the stone foundation. The structure did not crack. He tested his weight fully. Still nothing.

"Functional," he observed.

"We hoped so," the guard replied. "It is meant for visitors such as yourself. Durable and forgiving."

Puck drifted around the hut, peering at the door, the roof, the reinforced beams. "Honestly? It's kind of cozy. In a 'won't shatter if you sneeze' way."

The guard turned back toward them. "You should rest. Both of you. We will return shortly with food."

Puck's flying slowed again. "Food? For him too?"

The guard nodded. "We will make arrangements."

Grimm said nothing, but he stepped fully inside the hut, testing the floor with a careful shift of weight.

"Well thanks" Puck said softly to the guard.

The guard bowed slightly. "We will not be long."

As they left, the porcelain footsteps faded, leaving Grimm and Puck alone.

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