Chapter 3 – Vows, Villains, and Very Bad PR, Part 3: Goblin Truths & A Queen's Relief

Part 3: Goblin Truths & A Queen's Relief

The path to the goblin halls was a descent into a different kind of civilization entirely. If the orc wing was a silent, basalt cathedral of thought, this was a sprawling, subterranean marketplace of pure, unadulterated life. The air, thick and humid, smelled of woodsmoke, hot iron, damp moss, and a hundred different kinds of questionable but sizzling street food.

Unlike the solemn, vaulted ceilings above, these tunnels were low and chaotic, reinforced with scrap metal and petrified roots. Every cavern had been turned into a bustling hub of commerce. Forges, much smaller and cruder than the orcs', clanged with a frantic, percussive rhythm. Merchants hawked their wares from stalls built precariously into the tunnel walls, selling everything from salvaged Alliance gear to strange, glowing fungi. Strings of bone charms clattered like frantic applause as goblins argued, bartered, and threatened one another with what seemed to be equal, gleeful energy. It wasn't a military camp; it was a living, breathing city that thrived on the sheer, stubborn hustle of survival.

Renji, escorted by two goblin outriders who moved with a wiry, confident swagger, was an object of intense curiosity. Pointed ears and wide, intelligent yellow eyes tracked him from every shadow. They whispered and pointed, not with fear, but with the keen interest of investors spotting a new, unpredictable stock on the market.

He was led to the Matriarch’s Den, a low-ceilinged chamber where the joyous chaos of the tunnels gave way to a heavy, incense-laden quiet. Thick, monstrous hides draped the walls, their faded fur absorbing both sound and light. At the chamber's center, hunched on a throne crudely welded together from scrap metal, discarded armor plates, and at least one impressively large skull, sat a small figure.

Griksha, the Matriarch. Her hood was drawn low, casting her face in deep shadow, but her eyes glittered from within like embers in a cracked hearth. A grin stretched across her unseen face, revealing teeth that were too sharp and far too numerous for a mouth that small. Her voice, when she spoke, rasped like gravel being dragged over stone.

“So. A human in cursed steel thinks he can walk into my den without paying an entrance fee.”

Renji swallowed, the thick, smoky air catching in his throat. “I’ve walked into worse situations, ones who didn't smell, this, exotic.” he said, correcting himself as he noticed a few of the guards glaring at him.

“Ha!” The laugh was a dry, rattling thing, devoid of humor. “You’re smaller than the ones I killed before. Maybe you’ll squeak when I crush you. It would be a new sound.”

“She is stalling. Posturing”, Nith's voice hummed in his head, a low thrum of ancient boredom. “She tests for weakness, human. Show none.”

Renji focused, pushing past the intimidation tactics. He studied her, trying to get a clear look, but her form was blurry, as if covered by a mist of sorts. Shifting at the edges, as if his eyes couldn't decide whether she was a goblin or something else entirely, something half-seen through a heat haze.

“Pardon my words, your goblin highness? But are you using an illusion spell of sorts? Cause i cant tell if i am seeing a goblin, or something that looks like a half elf?” Renji murmured while wiping his eyes several times as it was straining on his eyes.

The grin of the matriarch faltered, for a single, crucial heartbeat, the ember-like eyes flickered with something other than malice. It was surprising, raw and unguarded.

Nith’s voice was a whisper of ancient, forgotten lore in his mind. “Because you can see beyond now, human. Your soul is tied to mine, and it grants you sight beyond mortal limits. And because I am old enough to remember the truth. The word ‘goblin’ in the Old Elvish tongue is ‘gobhelin’—it means ‘ugly elf.’”

Renji blinked. The pieces of a lore felt like a puzzle he never knew existed clicked into place with dizzying speed. He straightened his posture, the armor shifting with him, a quiet ripple of living metal that made the goblin guards tense.

“Tell me, Matriarch,” he said, his voice ringing with a newfound confidence that felt both foreign and exhilarating. “Are you an ugly elf or a cursed one?”

The chamber plunged into a dead, shocked silence. The goblin guards hissed, their playful menace hardening into real, palpable threat. One of them dropped a spear, and the clatter on the stone floor echoed like a gunshot. Griksha’s voice dropped, becoming a low, dangerous whisper that promised violence. “Choose your next words carefully, human. They will be your last.”

Renji raised a gauntleted hand, his palm open in a gesture of peace that looked anything but peaceful in the intimidating armor. “I dont think i need words, i need something more useful, a spell, Nith?”

Nith’s mental voice was a growl of delighted, chaotic approval. “This is idiotic. I like it. Ready yourself.”

“Always.” thought Renji.

The armor’s external vocoder engaged, Renji's voice blending with Nith's ancient resonance to create a deep, layered chorus that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the listeners. “Witness a rite not spoken since the gods first quarreled over the shape of the mortal soul.”

Together, their voices boomed through the den, shaking dust from the hides on the walls and causing the very flames in the braziers to flicker and dim.

“RITE OF UNWEAVING!”

Mana bled from both of them—a staggering fifty percent of Renji’s mortal reserves and an equal measure from Nith’s ancient, coiled power, a cost that left Renji feeling hollowed out and dizzy. The dormant, moss-filled runes on the floor of the den flared with a violent, violet light. The air tore open with the sharp, clean scent of ozone and something ancient, like the dust from a forgotten, sealed tomb.

Griksha screamed—not in pain, but in a raw, soul-shaking shock as the cursed illusion that had bound her and her people for centuries was violently torn asunder. Her hunched, goblin form split like an eggshell of pure shadow, the darkness falling away from her in dissolving, smoky ribbons.

Light surged from her, a soft, forest-green radiance that was blindingly pure.

Where she knelt now was no goblin. Her limbs had lengthened, her skin smoothing into the dusky, healthy tones of a creature of the woodland. Her hair, once a matted, greasy mess, now cascaded down her back, a wild mane of chestnut threaded with vibrant streaks of green. Her eyes, no longer glowing embers but bright, luminous amber, widened, wet with tears she hadn't possessed the ability to shed for centuries.

The guards gasped, their weapons forgotten. Some dropped to their knees, not in supplication, but in sheer, dumbfounded awe. Griksha, no, Eirwen Ashgrove, touched her own face with trembling, elegant hands, as if seeing her reflection for the first time. “I… I see me,” she whispered, her voice no longer a rasp, but a clear, melodic alto. “By the roots of the world, I see myself again…”

Rina, who had slipped in behind Evelina’s back to watch the spectacle, clapped a hand over her mouth. “Gachi de?! Yabai—she’s gorgeous! That’s a total glow-up!” she said being unable to believe that this entire time, someone whom she considered a green frog, was a gorgeous elf lady.

Eirwen’s voice shook, thick with the weight of generations of untold suffering. “Our people… we were woodland elves. Nomads. We were farmers, hunters, and crafters. We worshipped Anwyn-of-the-Ways, the goddess of trade and the quiet gathering of things. We refused to kneel to Lux Sancta and her pantheon of light. So the light elves, they bargained with their goddess. They twisted our forms, turned us into these creatures, these goblins. They cursed our women so that few would be born, and made our men feral and aggressive. They broke our bodies and then wrote the histories that called us monsters for it.”

Her gaze, fierce and pleading, locked onto Renji. Tears, the first true tears her people had shed in an age, streaked through the ash and dirt on her cheeks. “We have lived as monsters for so long that we almost forgot we were anything else. But now… now the curse breaks.”

A fire lit in Renji’s chest, a fierce, protective inferno. “Then let’s break it for all of you.” Nith purred, a sound of deep, malevolent satisfaction. “Ambitious idiot. I approve.”

Evelina’s brows drew together, her expression a mask of intense calculation, though Renji could see a flicker of something softer, empathy, in her eyes. “A curse of this magnitude, spread across thousands of souls for centuries, cannot be lifted so easily. The mana cost would be catastrophic, enough to drain a lesser mage to dust.”

Eirwen cut in, her voice ringing with a strength that had been suppressed for too long. “You, my queen, are no lesser mage. The well of your power is deeper than any on this continent. A million points, at least. Enough to flood an army. Enough to shatter chains, if it is channeled through a proper conduit.”

Rina’s grin sharpened, and she jabbed a thumb at Renji. “And guess who just so happens to be a walking, talking mana funnel strapped into a suit of legendary dragonmail.” Renji’s brain, still recovering from the massive mana expenditure, stalled completely. “Wait, me?”

“Yeah, you, baka,” Rina said, walking forward and patting him on the pauldron with a resounding clang. “But there’s a catch. For this to work, you gotta hold hands with the queen. Gachi de, skin-to-skin contact is a must. For the mana to flow properly.” she said snickering knowing full well what she was doing.

Renji’s jaw flapped uselessly. Evelina’s tail twitched, a clear tell of her fluster before she mastered it, her voice becoming iron once more. “If this is what it takes to free a nation of my loyal subjects, then so be it.”

Rina leaned close to her queen, whispering just loud enough for Renji to hear over the ringing in his ears. “Evi, you’re totally blushing. He’s kinda your type, isn’t he? Tall, dark, and full of terrible, world-altering ideas.” she said grinning as she winked to Renji, with that wink also being intercepted by Nith, who found this elf to be amusing.

Evelina didn't even grant her a look. “Rinali, if you do not cease your prattling this instant, I will requisition your entire gossip network as an early-warning system for the war. You will be forced to be officially useful.”

Rina gasped in mock horror. "You wouldn't dare."

The next day, the castle’s vast inner training field was filled to capacity with goblins. Clans from every corner of the kingdom had gathered, their muttering filling the air like the buzzing of a thousand hornets. Their luminous yellow eyes were a sea of wary skepticism and desperate, fragile hope. The orcs, in a show of solidarity, lined the castle walls, their deep, mathematical chanting providing a solemn, rhythmic foundation. The dark elves watched from the shadowy archways like silent, judgmental art critics at an avant-garde opera.

Renji stood opposite Evelina at the heart of a massive, hastily drawn spell circle, its complex runes glowing with a faint, expectant light. His palms were sweating inside his gauntlets. Nith’s voice was a low, steadying hum in his skull. “Steady, idiot. She can smell desperation from a mile away. Try to project an aura of… competent melancholy.”

“I can’t do this,” Renji muttered under his breath, his heart beating fast enough to cause a small earthquake.

“You can. Just remember the rules: when she yells, do not swoon. When she blushes, do not drool. When she accidentally reveals a cute, dorky personality trait, you are forbidden from combusting on the spot.”

“You are absolutely not helping.” groaned Renji as he was feeling his bones turning to pasta.

Rina appeared between them, looking utterly exasperated with their mutual, high-stakes awkwardness. “Okay, you two dorks. Hands. Now. We don't have all day.”

Renji froze. Evelina froze. The air between them crackled with a tension more powerful than any spell. Rina rolled her eyes so hard it was practically a superpower. She grabbed their wrists, one clad in draconic metal, the other slender and regal, and shoved their hands together. “It’s a team-building exercise. Don’t make it weird.”

Their hands touched. Renji felt a jolt, like static electricity had been cross-bred with a lightning strike. Her hand was cool, strong, and sent a shockwave of pure, unadulterated panic straight through his nervous system. He saw Evelina’s pointed ears twitch once, and her tail curled into a tight, perfect spiral.

“Begin,” she commanded, her voice a fortress of composure, though Renji could feel a slight tremor in her fingers.

Mana surged. It was not a flow; it was a deluge. Evelina poured her ocean of power through him. It was a torrent, a tidal wave of pure energy that flooded his body, was refined and focused by Nith, and erupted into the spell circle. Renji felt like a simple electrical conduit that had been struck by lightning wrapped in silk. The air tore, filling with a silent storm of violet fire that washed over the assembled clans.

One by one, the goblins screamed, not in agony, but in a cathartic, soul-deep release. Their twisted, hunched forms cracked, split, and shed their shadowy curse like a snake shedding a skin of pure despair. The grotesque blurs peeled away to reveal the truth beneath: woodland elves, men and women with luminous amber eyes and green-threaded hair, their bodies trembling as they saw themselves, truly saw themselves and each other, for the first time in centuries.

The crowd roared, a wave of sound that shook the very stones of the castle. They cried, they clutched one another, and children laughed in voices that were suddenly clear and unbroken.

Renji staggered, smoke curling from the vents of his helm, his body trembling from the sheer force of the energy he had channeled. Evelina’s grip didn’t loosen. Her tail thrashed once in a spasm of pure, uncontained joy, and, completely without meaning to, she let out a delighted, cow-like “Moooo!”

The entire yard froze. The cheering stopped. The crying stopped. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Rina slapped both hands to her face and howled with a shriek of pure, unrestrained laughter. “Majide! I got it on crystal! Queen Moo strikes again!” Renji melted on the spot. All thoughts, all strategies, all anxieties vanished, replaced by a single, shining truth. “She mooed. She’s perfect.”

Nith groaned, a sound of profound, weary, and deeply secondhand suffering in Renji’s mind. “I cannot believe I am bound by honor and magic to this level of unmitigated thirst.”

Eirwen Ashgrove, the restored matriarch of a restored people, bowed low, her tears shining like jewels in the afternoon sun. “For the first time in centuries… we are whole. The Woodland Elves pledge their lives, their skills, and their fortunes to you, Queen Evelina.”

The yard thundered with cheers, louder this time. The orcs began pounding out complex equations on the stone walls in a triumphant rhythm, the dark elves clapped their bones like drums, and the woodland elves began to sing old harvest songs, their voices weaving a tapestry of gratitude and rebirth.

Evelina released Renji’s hand abruptly, her ears a delicate, charming shade of pink. “The next labor,” she announced to the sky, “begins tomorrow.”

Rina whispered behind her hand as she passed, a grin splitting her face. “You wagged your tail, too.”

“Rinali.”

“Okay, okay. But he’s sooooo into you. It’s actually kind of adorable.”

Evelina didn’t answer. Her silence was the kind that made walls blush.

Chapter 3, Part 4: Of Muscles, Mind-Dives, and a Meltdown

The dark-elf wing of the fortress was precisely what every middle-school goth dreamed their bedroom would look like, scaled up to architectural proportions. Vaulted halls of polished black obsidian were draped with elegant banners depicting tastefully arranged skulls. Braziers burned with a cool, purple fire that cast dramatic, flattering shadows, and intricately carved bones dangled from the ceilings like macabre chandeliers. The air smelled faintly of exotic incense, old parchment, and… creatine.

“I feel like I just walked into a Hot Topic that’s also a high-end gym,” Renji whispered to Nith inside his helm.

“Accurate,” Nith replied, his mental voice dry as dust. “Also, do not laugh at the skull chandeliers. They appear to be watching us. And judging our muscle definition? That's new.”

At the far end of the main chamber, seated on a throne made of fused, obsidian-lacquered femurs, Caelum Umbrael waited. He rose as they approached, his dark robes trailing behind him like smoke, his silver-white hair a stark contrast to his midnight skin. The rings set with tiny teeth clinked softly as he gestured with a flourish.

“Welcome… mortals… to the sanctum of despair,” Caelum intoned, his voice as smooth and deep as wet velvet. “I am Caelum Umbrael, Supreme Mortificer, High Scion of the Shadowed Realm of Nexorius, Weaver of the Last Veil, and… Bench Presser of 300 Kilograms.”

Renji blinked. “Wait—what was that last one?”

Caelum cleared his throat, his grand, gloomy persona cracking for a split second. “…That last title is, as yet, unofficial. But the records are clear.”

From the shadows lining the hall, other dark elves emerged. They were all tall, pale-haired, and cloaked in flowing black fabrics, and each was absurdly, titanically jacked. Veins popped under their dusky skin, their robes straining at the seams over barrel chests and colossal biceps. One was in a corner, solemnly doing push-ups with a surprisingly ornate coffin balanced on his back. Another was using two skulls as if they were kettlebells, his face a mask of tragic effort.

Rina gasped, clutching her recording crystal as if it were a holy relic. “Majide! They’re emo himbos! I’ve found my people!”

Evelina’s eye twitched violently. “Rinali. Restrain yourself!”

Caelum swept an arm wide, his robes flaring with practiced drama. “We are the forsaken children of Nexorius, god of despair and noble endings. Once, we were as radiant as our kin, the so-called ‘light’ elves. But Lux Sancta, the jealous sister of our lord, cursed us for our loyalty. We are doomed to speak only in the grandiloquent tongues of gloom, to burn like paper beneath the cruel gaze of the sun, and to forever wear this mantle of exquisite, fashionable edge.”

Renji tilted his head. “…So, you’re cursed gym goths?”

Every dark elf in the room gasped in synchronized, horrified offense.

One, who had been sorrowfully flexing in front of a dark mirror, slammed his fist into his palm. “This mortal dares mock the sacred language of pain! I am Xaltherion Duskbane, and my sorrow is as vast as my—”

Renji cut him off by pointing a gauntlet at his arm. “Bro. You’ve got veins on your veins.”

Xaltherion faltered, a faint, dusky blush rising on his cheeks. He then immediately flexed harder. “…Yes. For sorrow.”

Rina actually collapsed against Evelina’s shoulder, wheezing with laughter. “For sorrow! Gachi de, I’m dead! This is the best day of my life!”

Caelum coughed, regaining his regal composure. “Our curse is twofold: the sun, in its tyranny, scorches our very flesh, and our voices are forever bound to this cadence of… chuuni syndrome. Yet despair is not our master—it is the fuel for our gains.”

Behind him, two dark elves who had been spotting each other on a bench made of tombstones clapped hands and shouted in unison, “NO PAIN, NO DESPAIR!”

Renji muttered, “I’ve seen less intense CrossFit classes.”

“They worship despair, yet they train like aspiring gods,” Nith hummed thoughtfully. “The curse may have bent their words and their skin, but it clearly did not touch their commitment to physical excellence. Curious.”

A lightbulb went off in Renji’s head, the concept of a lightbulb was immediately taken in by Nith for future studies. He rubbed his chin, the metal of the gauntlet scraping softly. “Wait. The curse… it burns you with direct sunlight? Right? What if we block?”

The entire room of muscular goths blinked at him.

“…Block?” Caelum repeated slowly, as if the word were a foreign concept he was tasting for the first time.

“Yeah. Sunscreen, a lotion for your bodies that prevents direct contact with sunlight.”

Rina slapped her thigh, her laughter echoing through the hall. “Majide! Is there such a potion? Is it made from milk by any chance?” she asked as she teasingly looked at Evelina.

Evelina, looking profoundly weary, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Explain.”

Renji grinned. “Back in my world, we made lotions that block harmful sun rays. If the curse is triggered by direct contact with sunlight, then a protective physical layer should negate the effect. We can mix some of that dark-mana fungus oil you guys use for the purple lights with orc-forged heat-resistant resin and some soothing woodland-elf herbs… and boom, our very own and patented sunscreen lotion!”

Caelum froze. His jaw, a thing of sharp, heroic angles, trembled. “You mean… we could… touch the day? We could lift… outside?” The dark elves erupted, their collective gasp of hope shaking the skull chandeliers. Fists pumped the air. “Daylight deadlifts!” one shouted. “Outdoor training grounds for the glory of Nexorius!” another roared.

One of them, in a fit of pure ecstasy, ripped his robe clean off, revealing a torso that looked like it had been carved from marble by a god who was really into muscle anatomy. “THE SUN… WILL FUEL THE PUMP!”

Rina was openly recording the whole scene with her crystal. “I’m selling these vids to a niche market. We’re going to be rich.”

By nightfall, the first batch of a shimmering, black lotion was brewed, a collaborative effort between the three races. They called it ‘Umbrael Balm,’ because as Caelum insisted, branding was essential to a respectable aesthetic of sorrow.

The next morning, in the castle courtyard, the test began.

Caelum himself stepped into the center of the yard, shirtless, his ceremonial robes cast aside. His muscles glistened in the morning light, veins a roadmap of power across his arms and chest. With all the solemnity of a funeral march, he smeared the dark, shimmering balm across his skin.

The entire castle held its breath. Orcs leaned over the parapets. Woodland elves watched with wide, hopeful eyes. Rina muttered, “This is better than pay-per-view.”

Caelum took a single, dramatic step into a direct beam of sunlight.

One second. Two. Three.

No burning. No smoke. Just, golden rays painting his dark skin, making him look even more absurdly, tragically heroic.

Caelum lifted his face to the sky, a single, perfect tear tracing a path down his cheek. “At last… I can feel the warmth of the cursed orb of joy without my flesh turning to weeping ash!”

The dark elves roared in triumph, a wave of black robes hitting the floor as they ripped them off in a synchronized flex. Muscles gleamed like wet obsidian. Someone immediately set up a barbell. Someone else produced a bucket of chalk. Within minutes, the courtyard had been transformed into the world’s first, and most gothic, outdoor gym.

Renji laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. “You guys aren’t cursed. You’re just…”

“BLESSED WITH BULK!” a dozen dark elves bellowed in perfect, thunderous unison, which was far better for what Renji had in his mind.

Rina had fallen on her butt and was shrieking with helpless laughter. Evelina’s hand covered her mouth, but Renji could see the corners of her eyes crinkling with a tiny, suppressed smile.

“Congratulations,” Nith snickered in Renji’s skull. “You have successfully turned an ancient order of necromancers into gym bros, such a peculiar word, the vocabulary of your world is a treasure on its own.”

Renji shrugged. “Honestly? Worth it”.

But he didn’t stop there. With the help of Gorund’s engineers and Eirwen’s crafters, he pitched another idea: Noctilux Lamps, mana-crystals tuned with orcish resonance tech to emit full-spectrum, sun-like rays, safely underground. Within days, the dark elves had their first indoor greenhouse. Crops sprouted in the warmth of the artificial day, safe from the war and the famine as well as any curses cast by the mages of the alliance.

Caelum, inspecting a glowing row of what looked suspiciously like kale, wiped a single, stoic tear from his eye. “Nexorius weeps… not in sorrow, but in anticipation of a protein-rich harvest.”

Rina cackled. “Maji, these goths just invented fitness and homegrown salads.”

Evelina, finally breaking her regal composure, pressed her forehead to her palm, though a genuine smile tugged at her lips. “My army… is made of engineers, master traders, and… competitive bodybuilders.”

Renji leaned toward Nith, whispering in the privacy of his own mind. “So basically, I just unlocked the world’s first Evil Gym Membership.”

Nith purred. “And you, human, are the personal trainer of destiny.”

With the three main trials complete, only one judgment remained. Rina, in her self-appointed role as final arbiter of vibes, cornered Renji.

“Okay, Renji-kun,” she purred, pulling him into a side chamber draped with pulsing clairvoyance crystals. “One more little test. A quick mind-dive. Gotta see if your thoughts are, like, totally sus or not.” she spoke with a smirk of a fox and yet curiosity of a cat.

Renji tensed. “Wait, like psychic reading? Is that safe?”

“Yabai, exactly! It’s totally safe! Probably!” She pressed her hands to his temples before he could protest further. “Clairvoyant gyaru mode: ON!”

The crystals in the room flared with a blinding white light. Rina gasped. A split second later, her nose exploded in a geyser of blood. She was physically launched backward, slamming into the opposite wall and leaving a comical, Rina-shaped dent.

“WHAT DID YOU SEE?!” Renji cried, rushing to her side.

Rina staggered to her feet, plugging her nose with a decorative leaf from a nearby plant. “Majide… too much… It’s a mess there! Future, past, the original game’s ending, all jumbled up with… with so many waifu posters…” She wobbled, gave him a bloody thumbs-up, her eyes wide and unfocused. “Just… name your first daughter after her mother. She’ll really, really love that.”

Then she collapsed sideways in a dead faint of satisfaction.

Nith chuckled. “I like that elf. She bleeds with conviction.”

The feast that followed was less a formal banquet and more a glorious, chaotic siege with cutlery.

The orcs hauled in whole boars, roasted on spits forged that afternoon. The woodland elves brewed vats of herbal mead and passed pitchers around like peace treaties. The dark elves arrived shirtless, still glistening from their revolutionary outdoor workout, and proceeded to shout “PROTEIN FOR NEXORIUS!” before chugging entire kegs of ale.

Renji sat at the high table, feeling dazed, exhausted, and happier than he’d been in his entire life. Evelina sat beside him, regal and composed as always, though her tail coiled a little tighter around the leg of her throne with every enthusiastic refill of her goblet.

But before the drinking had truly begun, there had been the knighting. The great hall fell silent as Evelina rose, a long, elegant blade of dark steel in her hand.

“Renji Volkov,” she declared, her voice carrying, clear and strong, through the vaulted chamber. “You have faced trials of mind, of curse, and of shadow. You have earned the voice of the orcs, the trust of the woodland elves, and the strength of our dark elves. For this, for your wisdom and your unorthodox courage, I name you my general and a knight of my court.”

The sword touched his right pauldron with a soft clink. Then the left. Renji’s heart felt like it was going to beat its way right out of his chest plate.

“Rise, Sir Renji,” Evelina commanded.

He did. His grin stretched so wide it threatened to crack his helm.

“Try not to wag your metaphorical tail,” Nith muttered in his skull.

“I just got knighted by my one true waifu,” Renji thought back, giddy with triumph. “I will wag whatever the hell I want.”

The party raged. Gorund recited complex physics equations like they were epic poetry. Dark elves arm-wrestled orcs, chanting “REP! REP! REP!” Renji laughed more than he had in years. For the first time, he felt like he belonged. Until Rina, revived by a splash of dwarven ale and more mischievous than ever, pointed her mug at Evelina. “Oi, queenie! Your new knight-kun looks lonely. Go dance with him!”

The entire hall roared its approval.

Evelina’s ears twitched. “A queen does not”

“Maji, she totally does,” Rina cut in, grinning. “Unless… you’re scared?”

Evelina’s tail lashed once, a sharp whip-crack of indignation. She stood, every inch the regal, unassailable monarch. “Fine. One dance.” Renji nearly fainted for the second time that day. “She’s gonna dance with me?!”

The musicians struck up something halfway between a courtly waltz and a rowdy tavern jig. Evelina approached, placing one cool, firm hand on his shoulder pauldron, and her other in his gauntlet. Her grip was commanding, sending another jolt through his system.

“Follow my lead,” she ordered.

He did. He stumbled at first, the armor clumsy and awkward, but then he found the rhythm, guided by her unwavering lead. She moved with a spellcaster’s precision, every step measured, every turn flawless. He grinned like an absolute, star-struck idiot.

“You stare,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

“You’re… you’re incredible,” Renji blurted out, all attempts at suave conversation failing him.

He saw a faint pink color rise in her cheeks. Her tail, that treacherous traitor, betrayed her with a soft, pleased twitch.

The hall whooped. Rina catcalled. The dark elves started flexing in time with the beat.

For a single, perfect heartbeat, Renji forgot everything—the armor, the trials, the impending war. There was just her, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath, see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes.

She blinked, and he saw the same realization dawn on her face. The regal mask slipped. For the first time since he’d arrived, Evelina looked uncertain. Vulnerable.

Then she panicked.

Her free hand snapped up, runes flaring around her fingertips with a startling, icy blue light.

“GLACIALIS MAXIMA!”

Renji didn’t even have time to finish his “Wait—” before a wave of absolute-zero magic engulfed him. He froze instantly, mid-step, a perfect, grinning ice statue in the middle of the dance floor.

The hall fell silent for a second, then erupted in a volcanic roar of laughter. The orcs were pounding the tables, the woodland elves were wiping away tears of mirth, and the dark elves were shouting “ICE PR! ICE PR!” Rina had simply rolled onto the floor, her shrieks of laughter echoing to the rafters.

Evelina’s face was crimson. She sat back on her throne, chin held high, her voice miraculously steady. “He… he got overheated. The armor is not well ventilated.”

Nith’s voice echoed, flat and deadpan, inside the frozen confines of the helm. “I am going to file a formal complaint with whatever passes for Human Resources in this kingdom.” said the dragon slowly realizing how much of his new lingo was coming from his new host.

Meanwhile,

Far away, in the cold, sterile marble halls of the Cathedral of Centralia, the Elven Queen shivered, though there was no draft. Her connection to her goddess, Lux Sancta, felt… thin. Flickering. “The curses… they unravel,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on her holy sigil. “Her light wanes as their old gods stir.”

Reports were piled on the table before her: woodland elves restored and trading, orcs constructing strange new devices, dark elves growing their own crops under an artificial sun. Trade routes were shifting, loyalty was wavering, all turning toward Evelina’s burgeoning kingdom.

At the edge of her candlelight, the Hero knelt, his holy sword resting against his shoulder, its light a calm, patient promise of violence.

“Say the word,” he said, his voice quiet and utterly devoid of the charm he showed the public.

The Queen smiled, a sharp, cruel expression, like a shard of broken glass. “Soon. We will remind them what true light is. We will burn their heresies from the world.” Her eyes gleamed with a fanatic’s fire. “Even if it means burning our own cities to ash to get to them.”

End of Chapter 3.