[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: China Country]

Grimm moved lightly through the porcelain streets, each step placed with care. But even so, the ground beneath his sabatons gave a small, brittle creak. The porcelain street protesting armor that had no business treading upon it. It was difficult enough to walk here without shattering something, more so when one was clad in armor.

And as he walked he did not acknowledge the hushed whispers that followed him, but they were impossible to miss. Porcelain folk leaned from doorways and stalls, their glossy faces hard to miss as fingers pointed and murmurs spread. Children—small, doll-like figures with seams visible at their joints—stared openly, eyes wide with astonishment. One pointed so sharply her arm wobbled at the elbow. Menders paused mid-task behind their stalls, one frozen in the act of reattaching an arm to another porcelain man, adhesive still dripping.

More and more heads turned. More eyes lingered.

"Whoa, he's huge!" a child shouted, voice ringing too loudly in the delicate street.

"Why can't we see his face?" a porcelain woman asked, craning her neck as if height alone might solve the mystery. "I really want to see it."

"That's the savior?" another murmured, tone conflicted. "He looks… bad, though."

Puck drifted along at Grimm's side, her small form hovering slowly above the fragile street. "I suppose your deeds spread faster than you expected," she mused aloud as she took in the crowd's reaction.

Grimm responded with a low sound that might have been a grunt or it might have been nothing at all. He did not slow, nor did he acknowledge the looks of admiration, curiosity, or unease. Gratitude, to him, was a currency that always came with strings. He stopped beside a porcelain building—small and delicately made, though to him it barely reached his waist.

"When gratitude is shown," Grimm said at last, his voice unembellished, "most tend to expect more than was ever given." There was no bitterness in the statement—only his experience.

Puck hummed softly, folding her arms as she floated. "Well," she said, glancing back at the porcelain folk, "they might start asking you to handle more of the Deseruit Beasts if that happens. For them, fighting anything like that is suicide. They're… well." She gestured vaguely at the porcelain bodies around them. "Too fragile."

She didn't say the rest aloud, but the thought lingered anyway: ("I doubt he'll stay to help.")

She had only known Grimm for a single day, yet his disposition was already clear to her. He was difficult to anchor. The idea of him simply leaving these people behind while threats still loomed unsettled her more than she liked to admit.

"Hm," Grimm said, almost thoughtfully. "It may prove an opportunity to further study the Deseruit Beasts." He paused, as if considering the thought properly. "Each specimen differs anatomically. Observing a few more in controlled engagements could be informative."

Puck blinked. ("Well that was easier than I expected,") she thought, surprised. ("Guess he didn't have time to really examine the ones outside the walls.") Aloud, she said, "And you'd be helping them too, then. That's… good. That would be good."

"Perhaps," Grimm replied. "Though I hold no interest in the city itself." He looked ahead, not at the people but at what lay beyond them. "Still, if opposition presents itself, I can eliminate it."

The way he said it made clear that such an act would not be born of kindness. It would be curiosity or convenience. Nothing more.

Puck sighed quietly. ("He could stand to show that he cares,") she thought, though even she wasn't sure what "care" would look like on someone like Grimm. Was he truly devoid of passion—or was it simply buried too deeply to surface easily?

Her gaze drifted to him again, lingering longer this time. ("Why is he like this?") she wondered. ("And…") Her thoughts stalled as something clicked belatedly into place.

She blinked.

("Wait. He's been wearing that helmet this entire time… hasn't he?") Her brows furrowed, confusion prickling at the back of her mind. The realization felt oddly delayed, as though something had been nudging her awareness away from the thought until now. She opened her mouth to say something, but something snapped her attention elsewhere, cutting the thought short before it could fully form.

"Make way for the princess!"

The shout rang out sharp and commanding, cutting cleanly through the murmurs. It belonged to one of the guards—his voice filled with authority—as he marched forward. At his side moved another guard, and then another, until a dozen porcelain sentinels formed a loose procession, their movements synchronized and protective.

The porcelain people responded immediately. They parted with careful steps, bodies turning, heads lowering, creating a clear corridor through the street as though the ground demanded space for who approached.

Puck hovered slightly higher, her gaze following the formation, while Grimm stood unmoving beside her. Through the opening in the crowd, the guards split apart, and someone stepped forward.

She carried herself with dignity.

The porcelain girl was taller than most of her people—by a head at least—and that alone set her apart. Her sculpted blonde hair was pristine, each strand made with elegance. Painted blue eyes reflected the light and her porcelain dress—bright orange and carefully layered was adorned with heels and a neatly carried broth—spoke clearly of status.

She was beautiful in an almost unreal way.

And fragile.

"Goodness," she said gently, her voice light as it reached Grimm, "I must admit… you are far more imposing in person than my guards managed to convey. They spoke at length, but words seem inadequate." She mused, staring up at him.

Grimm regarded her in silence for a moment, then spoke evenly. "You are the princess, I assume."

She smiled, a small and composed one, as though she had expected nothing less. "Yes. Princess Anastacia. This city, such as it is, falls under my care." She inclined her head more. "And I imagine you already know who you are to us."

Grimm did not respond.

Puck, sensing the silence stretch a bit too long, drifted forward with an easy smile. "Hi—sorry—um. I'm Puck. Fairy from the Great Forest. And this is Grimm." She gestured toward him. "The one your guards won't stop talking about."

Anastacia's gaze shifted to Puck, surprise appearing briefly before smoothing into intrigue. "A fairy," she murmured. "I confess, when my guards told me, I assumed panic had finally driven them to exaggeration." Her lips curved up. "It seems I owe them an apology." She smiled again, then raised her hand. "Please—give us some privacy."

The guards obeyed without hesitation, spreading outward and gently ushering lingering porcelain folk away. The street cleared until only the four of them remained.

"Please," she said, glancing back, "walk with me. Standing still makes this sort of conversation heavier than it needs to be."

Grimm and Puck followed.

Puck leaned slightly toward Grimm as they moved. "She's kind of… stunning, right?"

"Beauty," Grimm replied, "rarely correlates with value."

Puck shot him an utterly unimpressed stare. "You could stand to appreciate some things, you know?"

"I only appreciate that which interests me," Grimm stated.

"Somehow I knew you were going to say something like that," Puck sighed lightly. Grimm was predictable, but not in a good way.

Anastacia let out a quiet breath. "I suppose I should begin properly." She folded her hands as she walked. "Thank you. For yesterday. For intervening when you had no obligation to do so." She hesitated. "You likely noticed… we are not warriors."

"Charging into battle despite that," Grimm said flatly, "is not bravery. It is the meaningless disposal of life."

"Grimm," Puck hissed, "that's—"

"No," Anastacia said gently, raising a hand. "He is not wrong." Her gaze lowered. "We are delicate. We always have been. And when one is fragile long enough, survival becomes… reckless." She slowed her pace. "We cannot endure storms. We cannot flee predators. And when enemies come—real ones—we break." Her voice softened. "That knowledge weighs on every decision we make."

Puck frowned thoughtfully. "But the Deseruit Beasts usually don't act like that," she said. "The more feral ones only go after things with mana—and your people barely have any to speak of."

Anastacia's smile faded. "That…" she hesitated. "We believe we were betrayed. By something we once thought an ally. Or at least… something that benefited from our survival." Her voice dipped. "For reasons I do not understand, they turned the Deseruit Beasts toward us. Unprovoked."

"That's awful," Puck murmured.

"Many were lost," Anastacia continued, her voice steady but dimmed. "Families. Craftsmen. Children who had never known fear until the walls began to crack." She paused. "We do not seek dominion. Only the space to exist without being hunted."

Grimm watched her expression shift—sorrow settling over delicate features like a fine crack in her porcelain skin. He felt no empathy stir, but he did recognize resolve when he saw it.

He had seen it many times before. When he conquered, there were always those who would stand in his way, who would fight despite knowing they could not hope to best him. He never understood it. Why did some possess such resolve? For what reason?

Was it merely to protect that which was precious to them? A sense of justice or delusion?

There was hardly ever any logic behind such actions. In life, there were simply walls that could never be overcome. That was a fact of life; the impossible existed for a reason.

The princess reminded him of those people. She was tired but had not yet given up. That, in itself, was odd. Delicate as she was, what could she ever hope to accomplish?

Abruptly, Anastacia stopped and turned fully toward him.

Then she bowed.

Low.

Puck's eyes widened. "H-hey—there's no need for that!"

"I know what I am asking," Anastacia said, her voice firm despite her posture. "I know I am placing the weight of my people upon a stranger who owes us nothing." She swallowed. "But I ask anyway. Please. Help us."

Grimm looked down at her, silent for a moment.

("A monarch who bows,") he thought.

Puck rushed forward. "You don't have to bow—really—you—"

Grimm spoke before she could finish. "Stand."

Anastacia froze, then slowly straightened.

"I will assist," Grimm said evenly. "Not because you pleaded. But because my interest stirs with the Deseruit Beasts." His head tilted slightly. "And that makes it worth my attention."

Her eyes widened. "You will?"

"Yes." His voice was unchanged. "Tell me where the Deseruit Beasts gather in greatest number." A pause. "I will remove them."

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