Chapter 50: Elfie and her sister
In the meantime, in the outside world, high above the bustling streets of Tokkarion, in a room on the highest floor of the Adventurer’s Guild—a room that belonged to Elfie—the night was quiet.
The room was modest at best. A simple wooden bed in one corner, draped with a faded quilt. A desk cluttered with papers, inkwells, and a half-empty cup of cold tea. A few bookshelves lined the walls, their contents a mix of adventure logs, romance novels, and ancient texts. The only notable feature was a large silver mirror standing in the corner—its frame ornately carved with intertwined vines and blossoms, its surface dark and still as a frozen lake.
Elfie sat at her desk, quill in hand, reviewing the day’s reports.
Suddenly, the silver mirror rippled.
It began as a small disturbance—a shiver in the center of the glass, like a stone dropped into still water. The ripples spread outward, growing faster, more insistent. A soft hum filled the room, vibrating through the floorboards.
Elfie set down her quill. Her shoulders sagged slightly. She heaved a sigh—a long, weary exhale that spoke of familiarity and resignation.
Not again, she thought. Not in the middle of the night.
But she rose from her chair and approached the mirror. Her bare feet padded softly across the wooden floor. She raised her hand, palm flat, and pressed it against the rippling surface. A faint glow emanated from her fingertips as she poured a trickle of her mana into the glass.
The silver mirror responded.
The ripples smoothed out, spreading evenly across the entire surface until the mirror became a window—clear, luminous, revealing another place entirely.
From the other side, a woman looked back.
She was older than Elfie—or rather, she appeared more mature. Her features were sharper, her cheekbones higher, her eyes deeper set. Her hair was the color of autumn leaves, cascading past her shoulders in soft waves. Upon her head sat a golden tiara, delicate and elegant, studded with tiny emeralds that caught the light. She sat on a modest throne made of living flowers—woven branches, blooming roses, trailing ivy—a seat that seemed more a part of the forest than a piece of furniture.
This was the leader of the elves. The empress. Elfie’s older sister.
Elfie opened her mouth. "Your—"
The woman cut her off before Elfie could finish, raising a slender hand with a gentle smile.
"No need for formality when we are alone," she said, her voice warm but carrying an undercurrent of command. "Call me big sister."
Elfie sighed again—a shorter sigh this time, tinged with exasperation. She rubbed her temple with two fingers, a habit she could not shake.
"So, big sister," Elfie said, drawing out the title with a hint of reluctance, "why did you call me so suddenly in the middle of the night?"
The empress’s smile widened. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and something else—excitement, perhaps.
"Fufufu!" she chuckled, a soft, melodic sound.
"I heard some interesting news. Two unusual people have appeared. A demon together with an angel. They are now black-rank adventurers—"
"Stop."
Elfie’s voice was sharp, cutting through her sister’s words like a blade. The empress blinked, her smile faltering.
Elfie stepped closer to the mirror, her green eyes intense, her expression deadly serious.
"Better not entertain any thoughts," Elfie said, her voice low and firm. "Even you cannot face them. I couldn’t see through them. I couldn’t see through them." She repeated the words for emphasis, letting them hang in the air.
"Their power is beyond anything I have encountered. Their intentions are unknown. Better stay far away from those two. And believe me when I say so—I smell endless trouble. Calamity, even. They are not simple at all."
The empress listened in silence. Her smile faded completely, replaced by a thoughtful frown. She leaned back on her flower throne, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.
"I see," she murmured. "You rarely speak with such certainty, little sister."
"Because I rarely encounter such certainty," Elfie replied. "Trust me on this. Please."
The empress nodded slowly. Then, despite the gravity of the conversation, a small pout formed on her lips—a surprisingly childish expression for someone of her station. She looked almost petulant, like a child denied a new toy.
"You’re no fun," she muttered.
Elfie crossed her arms. "I’m not your entertainer, though."
The two sisters held each other’s gaze for a moment. Then the empress’s pout softened into a genuine, affectionate smile.
"Very well," she said. "I will heed your warning. But you know how the world works. The most powerful factions have already heard about the couple. Each one is already scheming. The humans, the dwarves, the church, those fanatics—they will not be so easily dissuaded."
Elfie sighed for a third time. "I know. And that’s what worries me."
They chatted casually after that—about family, about the weather in the elven forests, about a new tea that the empress had discovered. Small things. Safe things. The kind of conversation that sisters share across any distance.
Finally, the empress glanced at something off-screen—an attendant, perhaps, or a clock—and nodded.
"I must go," she said. "Council meeting at dawn. The elders will want to discuss this... situation."
"Good luck," Elfie said.
"Stay safe, little sister. And watch those two closely."
"Well, I’ll try my best, honestly speaking I don’t want to interact too much with them."
The empress chuckled, her little sister was always like this, complaining all time but always focus on important things, she reached out from her side of the mirror, pressing her palm against the glass. Elfie did the same. For a heartbeat, their hands aligned, separated only by the shimmering surface.
Then the image faded. The mirror returned to its dark, still state—just a silver reflection of a modest room and a tired elven woman.
Elfie stood there for a long moment, her hand still pressed to the glass.
Calamity, she thought. I said calamity. But I fear it may be something far worse.
She withdrew her hand and lay down on her bed.
Sleep did not come easily.
