Franz unrolled a parchment from his leather case. His movements were calm, deliberate—as if he had gone through hundreds of negotiations like this. In truth, this was the first time he had spoken directly to a race that once only existed in legends before I arrived in Tharros Vale.
"On behalf of Count Gerhart," Franz began, his voice steady and clear, "we wish to propose a mutually beneficial trade agreement. Based on our observations, this forest region possesses exceptional potential in terms of natural resources—herbs, lightweight timber, and uniquely fermented botanical products."
The elves remained quiet, but I noticed subtle changes in their expressions—sharp eyes, focused gazes. They were intrigued.
"However," Franz continued, "we have no interest in ownership or exploitation. We understand this forest is more than a home. It is a living part of your soul. That is why our offer is a partnership, not dominion."
Betha tilted her head slightly. "And what form would this partnership take?"
I spoke next, aiming to provide a more social perspective.
"We would like to open a portion of the outer forest as a controlled recreational area for the people of Tharros Vale—picnics, nature education, and retreats. We believe your natural beauty, and the wisdom of your people, could serve as a bridge toward a more harmonious future between our realms."
"Of course," Franz added, "infrastructure, visitor limitations, and sacred area protections will be designed jointly. The Forest Spirits may act as guardians and guides, and your people—should they wish—can serve as stewards and educators."
One of the older-looking elves leaned toward Betha, whispering something low and thoughtful. His words were too soft to hear, but his tone carried a sense of careful consideration.
Betha turned back to us. "You propose to open our lands... to outsiders?"
"Not to all," I clarified. "Only to those who seek to learn—to appreciate nature the way you do. This is not mass tourism. It is collaboration. Education. A bridge."
Betha rose from her seat and stepped toward an open window. The afternoon breeze rustled the leaves outside, a whisper of the living forest.
"Did you know," she began softly, "this land once nearly burned—because of human hunters chasing forest beasts? Since that time, we vowed never to trust men again."
I held my breath.
"But Tharros Vale... is different. You are different. We will consider your offer. Our people will hold a council with the Steward before making a decision."
I bowed deeply. "We are honored."
Betha turned, and for the first time since our arrival, her lips curved into a gentle smile.
"If the council approves," she said, "then you will not only gain a trade partner... You may gain something far rarer."
She paused.
"A kinship."
As night begins to fall, Hywel offers to escort me through the glade. Franz is busy negotiating the finer details of the trade agreement with the elven equivalent of an accountant—who looks eerily serene despite going through ledgers thicker than Franz's ego.
As we walk beneath the arching canopies, something strikes me. I've been here for hours, yet I haven't seen a single elderly elf. Some look more mature than others, sure—but not in the same way humans age. There's no frailty, no bent spines or wrinkled hands.
"I hope this isn't rude or intrusive, Hywel," I say, my inner Tolkien fan rising to the surface. "But... are elves immortal?"
Hywel chuckles, a soft sound like wind brushing through leaves. "Nothing under the sky is immortal, Leonhart. Not even the mighty dragons."
Wait—dragons exist?
"We simply age differently," he continues. "We grow—but we do not grow old. Only wiser."
If I didn't know better, I'd think he was bragging.
"So... you'll look like this until the day you die?"
"More or less," he says with a faint smile. "Aside from the occasional gray hair, our appearance stays quite the same since our adolescence."
Gray hair. The ultimate nemesis of mankind. And apparently, Elvenkind too.
"I honestly thought you and Betha were around the same age," I admit.
That chuckle again. Honestly, how can someone be this attractive just by laughing?
"I was born here in the forest, Leonhart. I'm what you might call a forestborn. Betha, however... she came from the Old Continent."
So the elves are immigrants, too?
"I'm a little over seventy years old. Betha has lived for more than two centuries. She walked with our kin when we were still united as one people."
I need whatever skincare regimen they're on. Immediately.
"We, the Woodkin, have dwelled in this forest for nearly one hundred and seventy years. But before that, we lived as one under the old Elven Kingdom, across the sea."
There's a somberness in his voice now. Not sadness—something older. Deeper. Like he's remembering a song that hasn't been sung in a long time.
"May I ask why you left?" I ask.
He pauses. Then smiles gently.
"That's a story better told by Betha. Come now, friend. The purification ritual awaits—before the feast begins."
Hywel leads me to an open field surrounded by smaller huts. Some are wider than others, but all feel humble, made from earth, root, and spirit. The entire community is gathered. I quickly count—roughly seven hundred of them, give or take.
He gestures toward one of the huts.
"The purification ritual is a tradition before our feasts. Tonight, you'll share this space with another. I'll join a larger chamber with more of our kin," Hywel says.
I step inside, instinctively muttering a polite excuse—old habits die hard. To my surprise, Betha is already there, standing with quiet grace.
"Hello, Leonhart," she says. "As you are about to partake in our feast, let us be purified."
I nod awkwardly.
"We Woodkin value honesty above all," she continues. "We do not lie, nor do we tolerate lies told to us. It's one of the reasons we have kept to ourselves for so long."
A wise move, considering how untrustworthy humans can be most of the time.
"So, please remove your garments for the ritual. Nothing should be hidden."
With that, she begins to unfasten her belt. Oh no. This is not a ritual—this is a test.
She undresses gracefully—suspiciously reminiscent of a high-end burlesque performance I may or may not have seen in the old world. I follow suit, awkwardly peeling off my clothes one layer at a time. She seems entirely unbothered. I, meanwhile, am very much bothered.
Down, boy. Keep it together.
Thankfully—or regretfully—she stops at what must be considered undergarments by elven standards: delicate weaves of tiny leaves and fine, root-like threads that cover just enough. Just.
"We wait now for the spellweavers to complete their chants," she says calmly.
Ethereal singing begins to echo around us, melodic and layered, and then—like a gentle summer storm—rain begins to fall indoors. An invisible dome above releases droplets that fall softly onto our skin. Magical. Literal magic.
Trying to keep my mind away from her... everything, I scramble for a conversation.
"I spoke with Hywel earlier. He mentioned that you might tell me more about the history of the Woodkin?"
Betha looks into my eyes with her hypnotic jade gaze. "Yes. Please, ask what you wish."
"What happened to the Elves? Hywel said your people left the Old Kingdom."
She lowers her gaze slightly, the mood shifting.
"We did," she says softly. "We left behind a kingdom that had forgotten its soul. Our kin grew arrogant, isolated, and obsessed with their own greatness. They divided us—by bloodline, by class, by value. Even fellow elves were deemed unworthy if they did not fit a mold."
"That sounds... familiar," I mutter.
"Some of us fled to the forests. Others to the sea. We who came here are now called Woodkin. Those who went to the waves are called the Darkkin, their skin tanned by sun and salt."
Then she steps closer. Her hand gently brushes my chest.
Uh-oh. This is escalating.
"That is why we live without rulers or crowns," she says, eyes closed. "Here, every heartbeat is equal. Every spirit, free."
I try really hard not to focus on her fingers, which are now gently guiding my hand—placing it over her heart, nestled between...
DOWN, BOY. PLEASE.
Her heartbeat is steady. Calm. Warm.
"And as you feel my heart, Leonhart... I hope you see—we are not so different, you and I."
Then, as if on cue, the rain ceases. The spell is lifted—both literally and metaphorically. She opens her eyes and smiles, calm and kind.
"The purification is complete. Let us feast."
Thank Solarius. Also... thank the dim lighting, for reasons I will not elaborate.
The feast resembled a standing buffet from the old world—a reception of sorts. There were venisons, forest vegetables, fruits, flatbread, and what appeared to be tofu, all cut into bite-sized portions. The elves ate with graceful precision. I noticed they never used their left hand while eating, so I followed suit. They also poured a dark, savory-salty sauce over their meals. It reminded me of soy sauce—one of those fancy kinds you'd find at an upscale sushi omakase.
Then came the drinks. A reddish, wine-like alcohol. Like most booze in this world, it failed to warm me, but the taste was excellent—sweet, aromatic, almost like a dessert wine from back home.
And then, the scent hit me—familiar, warm, and comforting.
Coffee.
I asked for a cup. One sip, and I was transported. Floral notes. Hints of kiwi. A sweet bitterness that lingered like a well-composed jazz tune. This wasn't instant coffee. This was the kind of brew a passionate barista would serve with pride.
Hywel approached while munching on a slice of apple. "I've never seen a non-elf enjoy our bitterbeans quite like you, friend," he said, wide-eyed with amusement. "Some of our kin can't even tolerate the drink."
"Delicious, Hywel," I said, my eyes gleaming. "Simply exquisite."
Ah, sweet caffeine...
I asked for a refill just as Franz entered the banquet hall, accompanied by the elder elven accountant.
Standing tall, he declared, "Representing the County of Tharros Vale, I, Franz, Steward of Count Gerhart, would like to announce the treaty of mutual kinship between the People of Tharros Vale and the Wood Elves."
The hall quieted.
"We accept your gesture of friendship," he continued, "and offer ours in kind. The People of the Forest shall enjoy the same rights, opportunities, and protections as humans and Bovinids under the law of our land. We agree to a fair and open trade accord. The finer details will be discussed at a later date between elven representatives and Count Gerhart in the castle of Tharros Vale. May this pact lead us toward a harmonious, mutually beneficial future. Thank you."
His words were met with warm applause and nods of approval.
I couldn't help but smile. I was glad I brought Franz instead of Karl… or the ever-annoying Bishop Austin.
This mission—this diplomatic venture—was a success.
And me? I finally got what I'd been craving for the longest time.
Coffee.