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geekgirles · 4 months ago

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The Doll and the Dragon

Chapter 7: Aftershocks

Word count: 28,111

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Chapter Summary: "A look into the aftermath of the banquet at Bonta and what Amalia's presence in the World of Twelve means for Twelvians and Eliatropes alike."

“This is simply preposterous!”

The shrill cry echoed around the area, drowning out the cacophony of murmurs born from the latest point made. The outraged exclamation bounced against the rocks, letting itself be carried by the wind, alongside the sound of the waves washing over each other in the infinite expanse of the ocean underneath.

Wherever he looked, he could spot worried or confused glances being exchanged. Furrowed brows and pursed lips, eyes narrowed in suspicion. No matter where his eyes landed, all King Oakheart Sheran Sharm could see, even at a distance, was a group of very rattled leaders who, for once in their life, found themselves facing a problem they didn’t quite know how to solve.

He remained stoic and composed, his back straight from where he stood, even in the face of the King of Brakmar’s scandalised cry.

The Brakmarian monarch was a scrawny man in his early thirties who hid his gaunt physique under layers upon layers of expensive fabrics, such as the heavy-looking red and black armine fur coat he was wearing at the moment. Much like his much taller, red-headed general by his side, his long face was covered by white make-up that, rather than give him the refined look he was certainly looking for, made him look quite sickly. If it weren’t because the Sram King wasn’t too far away, one would have got their identities mixed up. Finishing off the gaurish ensemble, a small golden crown rested atop his elaborately coiffed raven locks, while a pair of diamond earrings hung from his ears.

After having known the King of Brakmar since he was barely of age to attend political meetings as his nation’s Crown Prince, the Sadida King had an inkling of the kind of aggravated expression he was probably making at the moment. Even being separated by several feet while standing on completely different platforms didn’t get in the way of noticing the disgruntled look on his face.

The Floating Rocks was the Twelvian rulers’ designated spot for an emergency meeting. Standing far away from any recognised nation and protected by a powerful shield casted by Bonta’s most talented Huppermages, those hovering platforms ensured no ruler would possess greater authority than the rest. Usually, such safety measure wasn’t needed, as a member of the Council of Twelve—composed by the royal families and rulers of the World of Twelve—was bound to request their fellow leaders’ presence within their kingdom to discuss important matters, thus, it’d be inevitable that the host would act as moderator between the attending parties.

That is, unless the matter at hand was so urgent, they simply couldn’t afford to waste time organising a traditional meeting. Hence, the existence of the Floating Rocks. The only real problem was that, as with meetings in most other kingdoms unless you shared a border, it was a near inaccessible location unless you had a Recall Potion with you, and those were very hard to come by as well.

He sighed to himself. Not for the first time, he lamented there weren’t more accessible means to go from one place to another. Realising his mind was beginning to wander after a beat, King Okaheart shook those thoughts away and focused back on the present.

As its name suggested, the Floating Rocks acted as a levitating archipelago, each rocky platform meant to house the representatives of each individual nation. As he looked to his side to send his son a side glance—and subtly placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him in check as he could feel Armand’s patience begin to thin as they kept going in circles in their debates—, King Oakheart let his eyes wander over to his fellows, trying to gauge their reactions.

While his red-headed general remained as stone-faced as ever, the King of Brakmar was irate, as always, and that was without the presence of Queens Astra and Selene from Bonta, who’d sent Master Joris in their stead. Not surprisingly, the Sadida thought, as it would take nothing short of apocalyptic for both rival nations to willingly breathe the same air as their hated foe. In a roundabout way, the fact that Bonta still refused to associate themselves with Brakmar even now meant things still weren’t truly dire.

Only time would tell if that would be subject to change.

For his part, Bonta’s ambassador remained impassive even surrounded by over a dozen frazzled monarchs as their over-inflated sense of self and ego fought for dominance. Not for the first time, King Oakheart found himself admiring the Bontarian envoy’s ability to keep a cool head, although he supposed Master Joris’ level-headedness most likely stemmed from centuries of practice in dealing with royals.

After all, Master Joris didn’t just serve Astra and her father before her; King Oakheart remembered him from meetings from back in his youth where he would shadow his own father in order to gain experience, much like Armand was doing at the moment. And he knew for a fact a long list of rulers preceded him within the ambassador’s long-lived existence.

He briefly shared a nod of acknowledgement with the Matriarch, the Cra’s leader and an old ally to his kingdom, if only because, for some reason, Sadida and Cra had always shared a very symbiotic relationship. His kingdom provided them with high quality wood and even crafted their bows, and in return there were always Cra stationed within their borders in order to help protect them from an attack. As the older Cra remained straight as an arrow and focused like the master archer she was, as always, she was accompanied by her second-in-command.

Years of knowing them had taught him they were clearly surveilling the scene with a critical eye. Even if they remained quiet for most of the meeting, whenever they chose to speak up, their words would be concise, to the point, and irrefutable.

Even now, Oakheart found himself taken aback by the sight of the Ecaflip King. Not to say the feline monarch was a recluse by any means. After all, it was hard not to be sociable when your people’s greatest skill was their luck and everyone’s favourite pastime was gambling, both skills that were hard to put to good use on your own unless you preferred playing solitaire. It was simply that his baggy attire and quiet nature made him even more mysterious than the Xelors, and that was saying something.

Speaking of Xelors, the Xelor King came alone. His entire visage was covered by his hooded tunic while the wrappings his people used to protect themselves from time warps hid away his physique. The only discernible features were the blue glow of his eyes and of the circular glass over his chest, shining from within his garments. And yet, unnerving as his appearance could be, his presence was grounding and constant even as he hovered in mid-air, almost like the flow of time itself.

Standing on the rock next to him was the Eniripsa Queen. With her delicate features, platinum blond hair, and grey, doe-like eyes that she accentuated with her form-hugging white and red dress, with a large mink hood hiding her wings from sight, it was easy to forget she was known as the most skilled medical practitioner in the entirety of the World of Twelve. A mistake she would make sure you paid for dearly as her knowledge on poisons was unmatched.

As his eyes wandered from one monarch to the next, King Oakheart focused back on his own position, more specifically, on his son. Only to then force himself to suppress the urge to exasperatedly shake his head when he noticed where the prince’s own eyes were focused on. Or rather, on whom.

Not for the first time since their current assembly started, Oakheart caught his son’s gaze locked with Aurora’s, the Osamodas princess. That in itself wouldn’t have been too bad, aside from their need to focus on the task at hand, seeing as they had been married for almost a year now. The real problem, however, stemmed from the fact that his daughter-in-law still stood alongside the Osamodas, her birth kingdom, rather than with them, representing the Sadida Kingdom and the territory she was sworn to protect and serve as soon as she married his son with the intent of becoming their next queen.

Not for the first time, King Oakheart wondered what possessed Armand to seek a political alliance through marriage with the Osamodas Kingdom. On the one hand, because it was wholly unnecessary, as they would have obtained almost the same privileges by any other means. And, on the other hand, because, out of all the nations comprising the World of Twelve, the Sadida King has always had the hardest time coming to fully trust the Osamodas.

Perhaps it was his own prejudice and inability to get over his culture shock, but the beast taming race’s approach to everything was drastically different from their own. Despite their dedication to their forests, the Sadida still prioritised maintaining a positive relationship and close alliance with most nations, especially the Cra, Eniripsa, and Bontarians due to their constant interaction. Meanwhile, the Osamodas’ utmost priority would always be their animals. Compared to a beast’s, it was as if human life had no meaning.

Which was, unfortunately, a behaviour he’d seen his daughter-in-law display more than once. King Oakheart had had many talks with Armand where he urged him to talk to his wife about her treatment of her maids. As a queen who didn’t value the people serving her, because it was her duty to serve them in turn, was no queen at all, but a tyrant.

But the differences didn’t just end there.

The Sheran Sharms were raised to be devoted to their people and role as protectors of the forests of the world, therefore, the entire royal family, regardless of their position in the succession line, was trained and expected to be in the front lines when performing their duties, be it leading their armies on the battlefield, or attending diplomatic meetings such as the one they were all currently gathered at at.

That was just not the case with the Osamodas.

In all the years he had been king and interacted with his fellow rulers, the last time Oakheart saw the Osamodas King before their children’s wedding was when both of them were Crown Princes attending said meetings in preparation for their own ascension to power. From that point onwards, his son’s father-in-law had remained in his own kingdom, always sending his envoys and youngest daughters in his stead. Which at the same time was ironic, as the princesses seemed to serve practically no purpose within his court while his sons were never to be seen despite being his successors.

With a heavy heart, Oakheart had to admit that was probably the biggest reason he couldn’t quite find himself approving of Armand’s marriage to Aurora, as she was the complete opposite of his beloved wife. From the moment he met her, his wife had been by his side through thick and thin, proactively doing everything in her power to lead their kingdom and ensure its well-being, even if it meant confronting him about decisions she didn’t agree with. Even when she was deathly ill and on her deathbed, his beloved rose insisted on reviewing reports and signing documents. Her people were always her top priority, and Oakheart had known, from the moment he first laid his eyes on her and she stole his breath away, that if their roles had been reversed, his kingdom would have been in good hands in his absence.

And that was precisely what was missing in Armand and Aurora’s marriage. His daughter-in-law never showed any initiative or desire to serve his people, on the contrary, she quietly remained glued to Armand’s side and basked on the privileges her new position as future queen gave her, yet never offered any ideas of her own or true support. Whereas his late wife did everything in her power to become the queen their people needed, it was clear to see the Osamodas never raised their princess to become queen, but someone else’s queen—Aurora wasn’t Armand’s partner, she was an accessory to his power.

And that was what killed the Sadida ruler inside. Had they had a daughter before his wife’s passing, Oakheart knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his beloved would have never allowed him to arrange a marriage for her—she would greatly disapprove of Armand’s own marriage of convenience, in fact. And yet, here the Osamodas went, instead of daughters and princesses, they raised chess pieces, pawns they could use to gain power over neighbouring kings and kingdoms.

He truly feared what might happen if anything were to happen to Armand and the kingdom fell into the princess’ hands…

He was broken out of his thoughts when the King of Brakmar went on to say, “Even now, I fail to understand what your mistresses were thinking when they decided to invite those menaces to Bonta!”

His rage and disbelief were aimed at Master Joris who, after a brief pause where he let the Brakmarian’s harsh words wash over him in order to do his job, replied, “Your Majesty, inviting King Yugo and his entourage to Bonta was a suggestion made to the Council of Twelve, and it was agreed upon by the overwhelming majority of members.”

His face contorting in rage, the King of Brakmar was about to retort when the Sram King cut him off, “Master Joris speaks the truth. Queens Astra and Selene suggested we held a banquet in order to study our… visitors,” he settled on eventually after a moment of deliberation, worrying his bottom lip as he chose the right words, “and the great majority of us agreed it was the best course of action to take.”

As expected of the leader of the worshippers of the Lord of the Shadows, the Sram King had inherited his patron god’s ghoulish appearance. His face, gaunt and pale, was reminiscent of a skull, contrasting with his long, silky raven locks decorated with bone accessories that matched his long, dark robes. Much like Sram himself, the king was a calm and stoic man, completely unshakable even in the face of imminent danger. Which would be ironic, if one wasn’t familiar with the fact that his people were reputable criminals and assassins, for he was always accompanied to official events by two of his guards, gripping large scythes as they stood watch over their leader. Then again, when you ruled a race notorious for their criminal activities, perhaps guarding yourself wasn’t the most ridiculous idea you could have.

Ignoring King Oakheart’s scrutiny, the leader of the Sram raised a bony hand as he made his point, “Personally, I must admit I found myself intrigued by Master Joris’ discovery and needed to see it with my own two eyes.”

“Likewise, extending a formal invitation to the Eliatropes was probably the best course of action, as it showed we weren’t hostile, which in turn kept them from turning on us.” Chimed in the Feca King, adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose and gripping his staff a little tighter while his advisor took notes on her notebook.

In a way, it was a good thing they’d had no other choice but to meet up at the Floating Rocks, otherwise, the blue-haired king would already be lounging on his seat. It was incredible how a race known for their scientific inclinations and shepherd roots could have such a laid-back leader. Especially when they were also known as formidable protectors thanks to their unparalleled shields.

Unfortunately, his words only served to put the King of Brakmar further on edge.

“What good is it that we show them we’re not hostile when they will certainly not show us the same courtesy?!” He asked rhetorically, right before answering himself. “Or need I remind you of their audacity from a few months back, when they intruded upon one of our Council meetings?”

“It is true that they somehow managed to track us down and present themselves before us back then, with seemingly no leads as to our whereabouts. Who’s to say they’re not listening in on our conversation right now?” Concurred the Sacrier King, crossing his toned, tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even with no pupils to speak of, the way he raised a single eyebrow challengingly was enough to get his point across, eliciting another round of murmurs around the Twelvian rulers.

Master Joris allowed the Council to talk amongst themselves for a few more minutes, for it was important the monarchs got to express their opinion in case any of them said anything that was truly worth pointing out and dissecting. For a while, the Bontarian ambassador simply stood right where he was, with his hands behind his back as he listened intently to the conversations taking place around him. One of the antennae on his hood twitching at the mention of a certain topic, he opened his eyes.

It appeared it was high time he redirected the conversation back to its origins, lest they risked getting sidetracked.

“Esteemed members of the Council of Twelve,” he spoke up, his voice effectively drowning out everyone else in the area and drawing all eyes to him as he played the role of mediator. “While the Queens of Bonta understand your reservations, especially given the events that transpired just a few months ago, we must also keep in mind we did not know what the Eliatropes were capable of back then.” Lowering his head slightly, he continued, his voice much more solemn, “Hence, the breach in our security.”

“Which still doesn’t explain why we would allow them near us now that we know exactly what they’re capable of. Especially their king.” Pointed out the Ecaflip King, his tail twitching back and forth in unease. “How do we know they won’t open a portal and float down here right now?”

Several murmurs of agreement echoed around at the feline ruler’s observations, with some rulers going as far as looking up to the sky fearfully, as if truly expecting the portal-making race to make their entrance any moment now. And yet, Joris remained impassive. He knew this would happen. He knew, regardless of their dignified behaviour during the banquet, that the World of Twelve’s monarchs were still rather frazzled by their new neighbours, and a simple ceremony would not be able to fix that.

“Because, alongside the level of urgency behind this assembly, that is precisely why the Floating Rocks were chosen as our location.” He revealed, his pitch black eyes glinting seriously. “As you know, Bonta asked its greatest Huppermages to create a shield capable of protecting the Council from all harm,” raising his arms as far as his height would allow him to, Joris gestured at the dome surrounding them at the moment, “and that includes eavesdroppers or unexpected guests. Rest assured, oh, great leaders, for we are safe here.”

From where he stood, King Oakheart observed as his fellows exchanged glances. Some, like the Xelor King and the Eniripsa Queen, seemed to still have their doubts, whereas others like the Iop King and Pandawa Queen shared pleased grins, much more at ease. For his and his son’s part, as their eyes met, the Sheran Sharms could feel their own unease mounting. However, unlike their fellow royals, theirs had nothing to do with the possibility of the Eliatropes presenting themselves yet again—although Armand wouldn’t be too keen on them if that were to happen a second time—, but from the dragon in the room they had yet to discuss. The true reason they were all gathered there today and, more importantly, why they ever arranged for the Eliatropes to attend that banquet in the first place.

As if reading their thoughts, Master Joris continued. “Nevertheless, that is not why we are here today, as there are far more urgent matters in need of discussion.”

Eyes narrowed into slits, the King of Brakmar chose that very moment to spitefully comment, “Indeed, like why on the World of Twelve the gods would choose to send a Divine Doll to the invaders threatening our very existence!” He exclaimed, irate to the point of making his crown tremble atop his head. Then, he added, throwing his arms to the side, not unlike a petulant child trying to emphasise his point, “And a completely new one at that!”

“It is true the timing seems a bit…off.” Spoke the Osamodas representative, a lean man with long white hair and a matching beard wearing a long, dark blue robe with peacock feathers. However, he chose to be very careful with his words, as he was still talking about a Sadida demigoddess and his people couldn’t afford losing favour with the Sadidas, regardless of their alliance by marriage. “After all, as we all know, the last time Sadida created a Divine Doll was back in the Primitive Era! Why would he create another one now, and to be sent to the Eliatropes, of all people?” Caught up in his own thoughts, he shook his head ruefully, “If I didn’t know any better, I would say the Leafy God has forsaken his own worshippers.”

“I would be careful with what I say if I were you, Chamberlain Sabot.” Armand chided the Osamodas, who immediately flinched upon realising his slip of the tongue. “After all, it’s not like the Master of Beasts himself has done much for his followers ever since letting his dragons roam the world, millenia ago. Whereas Sadida planted the Tree of Life to allow us to always remain connected to our roots.”

Normally, King Oakheart would have at the very least sent his son a warning look for letting his pride and temper get to the better of him, but seeing how their god and his daughters had just been disrespected like that, he could make an exception. Besides, he could already make out his daughter-in-law’s reproachful look directed at Armand for daring to contradict her nation, completely ignoring the fact that it was her kingdom’s representative who’d disparaged their beliefs first. It was all he could do not to let out a heavy sigh.

If only Armand had found love with a Sadida, or even a Cra or an Eniripsa! It was always all about choosing one side or the other when it came to those two, and it was exhausting.

Thankfully for all parties involved, Master Joris cleared his throat in an attempt to dissolve the mounting tension. “While it is undeniable Lady Amalia’s presence is a blessing to us all, it is also true it has shaken the very foundations of our civilisation, especially after so many centuries since any Divine Doll ventured into our world. And that is what we came here to discuss today: how her presence will affect our nations.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be good news, though?” The Iop King questioned, confused, shifting his weight onto one leg while he flicked his pelt over his shoulder. The action caused the Osamodas to glare at him in revulsion, but he just sent the demon-looking people a cheeky grin and a wink. “I mean, last time Sadida sent his dolls we got the Dofus out of it. And isn’t that the reason our world is the way it is, harmonious, orderly, and whatnot?” He shrugged, not too concerned, “I don’t see how having another doll could ever be a problem.”

“Because, as far as we know, this time the doll in question isn’t here to produce Dofus, but to serve as that forsaken Yugo’s bride!” The Brakmarian monarch snapped, never one to put up with an Iop’s idiocy and shortsightedness.

“Uh, actually, he spent a good chunk of the evening explaining to everyone willing to give him the time of day that he and Lady Amalia aren’t together like that.” The Sacrier King corrected matter-of-factly, to which the Iop King perked up.

“That’s what you get for refusing to come to a party, you miss out on all the gossip.” The dark-haired Iop teased, chuckling mischievously alongside the Sacrier, especially when their teasing caused the King of Brakmar’s eye to twitch in annoyance.

“Why, you hulking brutes…” He grumbled through gritted teeth, forcing his general to send him a panicked look lest his liege risked angering the other leaders.

Unfortunately for all parties involved, they had heard him loud and clear, prompting the rest of the Council to roll their eyes in exasperation and the ‘hulking brutes’ in question to bristle at the offence, their lips curled in a pair of matching snarls.

“Why don’t you say that to my face, Powdered Face!?” The Iop King challenged, nearing the edge of his own platform and shaking a fist threateningly the King of Brakmar’s way.

“What’s the matter?” The Sacrier King taunted with a sneer, just as displeased by his comment as his fellow monarch. “Too afraid you won’t be able to bribe your way out of this one?”

Before their threats, the sumptuously clad king audibly squeaked in fright, before his own pride got the better of him and he forced himself to present himself as far more nonchalant than he actually felt. Willing the embarrassed flush at his moment of weakness to go away, he cleared his throat behind a fist before shooting the Iop and Sacrier an arrogant glare.

However, before the Brakmarian even had the chance to open his mouth to retort, Master Joris cut in, secretly desperate to nip the conversation in the bud before it escalated into a blown-out diplomatic incident and, what was worse, derailed their conversation further.

“As a matter of fact,” he started out, not-so-subtly, making himself wince at his lack of tact, “Queens Astra and Selene were just as concerned when I first explained Lady Amalia’s circumstances to them. Especially since back then we were still under the impression that she was King Yugo’s bride. That was partly the reason they saw fit to throw a banquet in her honour and invite her alongside the Eliatropes, so we could all investigate the matter further.”

“And all we got from that was…” the Feca King paused, a tinge of irony in his voice. He leaned closer to his secretary to peer at her notes from that day exaggeratedly. “Ah, yes. All we got was the Eliatrope King swearing up and down theirs wasn’t a romantic relationship.”

“Only to then all but turn a dignified banquet into a bar brawl when Count Harebourg started getting handsy with Lady Amalia, and then spend the remainder of the night glued to her side.” Armand reminded everyone, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Despite the Eliatrope King’s words, he couldn’t shake off his suspicions regarding his true intentions from his mind, let alone after witnessing the intimate dance they’d shared.

This time, King Oakheart did send a pointed look his son’s way, silently warning him to weigh his words carefully.

His hood lowering in shame, the Xelor King coughed awkwardly into his hand. “On behalf of my nation, you have my sincerest apologies for my vassal’s actions.” While he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, even from behind his hood it was easy to see his apology was directed at the Sadida duo. “Only the gods know the kind of fate that could have befallen us had Count Harebourg’s treatment of Lady Amalia angered her divine father in any way, shape, or form.”

“Speaking of,” Ventured the Eniripsa Queen, always one to indulge her curiosity. Her question caused the time-controlling ruler to turn towards her, “Have you been able to locate Count Harebourg to get him to answer for his actions yet?”

But the hooded Xelor just shook his head ruefully. “I’m afraid not. You see, given Frigost’s delicate circumstances and the Count’s own condition as a demigod, he can be quite the elusive foe, especially in his domains. We have not been able to locate him ever since he ran away from the banquet.”

“That’s quite troubling…” The Eniripsa mumbled, her blonde eyebrows knitting together in thought.

“Never mind that!” The King of Brakmar interrupted their conversation with an impatient wave of his hand. “What’s important right now is finding a way to counter this attack!”

Joris raised an eyebrow at his outburst, for once struggling to follow the king’s train of thought. “Whatever do you mean, Your Majesty? We have not come into conflict with the Eliatropes since we sent our greatest heroes after King Yugo.”

“That’s what you think.” The Brakmarian countered, narrowing his eyes in distaste. “Their possession of Sadida’s eleventh Divine Doll is an attack in itself!”

“Surely you see that doesn’t make any sense, my dear King.” The Pandawa Queen, Daihitsu, said placatingly from where she stood under her attendant’s parasol. “As Master Joris said, being blessed with a Divine Doll’s presence is a cause of celebration. We should be opening up a barrel of bamboo milk and partaking in the festivities, not wasting our time looking a gifted Dragoturkey in the mouth.”

“Except when it’s our invaders the gods have chosen to bless.” The Ecaflip King chimed in. Even though he didn’t sound anywhere near as hysterical as the King of Brakmar, it was plain to see he, too, had his reservations. “You’ll have to forgive me, my fellow Council members, but the Eliatropes having a Divine Doll by their side sounds like a very risky bet.”

The Iop King smirked, amused, “What’s the matter Meow-Meow? I thought pushing your luck was your people’s specialty?”

The feline’s frown deepened into a scowl. “All the more reason to listen to me when I say something’s a lost bet and not worth the risk.” He sentenced, his voice dangerously low as he glared straight at the raven-haired Iop.

“Yes, exactly!” The King of Brakmar exclaimed, pleased to have someone finally listen to reason, that is to say, to him. “By entrusting the Eliatropes with Lady Amalia, the gods have essentially signed our death sentence! As now they can rely on a Sadida demigoddess and we’ll be left incapable of retaliating out of fear of angering the gods. We’re sitting ducks, people!”

Joris had to resist the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance. Despite his position as Bonta’s ambassador, sometimes it was very difficult to keep his true emotions in check, especially when dealing with overly paranoid dignitaries like the Brakmarian court. Nevertheless, it was his duty to mediate this meeting and ensure no drastic measures would be taken unless it was both deemed as absolutely necessary and approved by the majority of the Council members.

With that in mind, he went on to say, “While we all understand your concerns, Your Majesty, we must keep in mind Lady Amalia’s own role. At the banquet, whenever questioned regarding her position within the Eliatrope court, she would always reply the same thing: she is here as a sign of good will between the gods and the Eliatropes, tasked with the duty of acting as a bridge between our cultures.”

“That is as enlightening as an intern explaining their functions within their job…” The Sram King couldn’t help but comment dryly, an eyebrow arched, unimpressed.

“Isn’t it obvious, however?” The Matriarch spoke up, drawing every eye to herself since it was the first time she said anything since their arrival at the Floating Rocks. Everyone waited with bated breath for her to elaborate further, as they all knew whatever she said next could change the course of their debate.

“Clearly, Lady Amalia was sent to the Eliatropes to dissuade our worries.” She said at last, her voice laced with unwavering conviction. “If Sadida isn’t troubled by parting from his youngest child like that and no other god has made their displeasure known, then that must mean they don’t consider the Eliatropes a threat to our survival, hence why we mustn’t worry about their fostering a Divine Doll.”

“Even if Lady Amalia was sent here as a sign that there is nothing to worry about, that doesn’t change the fact that the Eliatropes could manipulate her into helping them conquer our world.” The Sacrier King pointed out, planting the seed of doubt amongst his fellows once more.

“Do you truly believe the Eliatropes could be so underhanded as to manipulate Lady Amalia into turning against her divine father?” Daihitsu asked fearfully, growing worried for the first time since the meeting started. “Wouldn’t that take a lot of time they could be using to weaken our defences by other means?”

“Perhaps.” The tattooed royal shrugged nonchalantly. It wasn’t enough to dent the steel of his gaze, however. “Nevertheless, a fight isn’t automatically won by those who hit the hardest, but by those who endure the longest.”

A ripple of doubt went down everyone’s spine, causing the rulers gathered to exchange worried glances. If anyone knew anything about winning battles of endurance, that was a Sacrier.

“There I have to agree with you, old friend.” The Iop King nodded sagely. “While we Iops might not have the patience or even the brains for that, sometimes the best way to get what you want is by playing the long game. And the Eliatropes and their dragons can live for hundreds of years—they literally have all the time in the world!”

“And in the meantime they could use that time to get a hold of our resources.” The Enutrof King cautioned, a shiver running down his spine at the mere thought of those outsiders getting anywhere near his people’s goldmines or getting their grubby hands on their kamas.

While there was a semblance of truth in the old king’s words, the rest of the Council couldn’t help but sweatdrop, clearly accustomed to his skewed sense of priorities by now.

“And we mustn’t forget Lady Amalia is indeed quite young, despite her appearance.” The Sram King pointed out, raising one bony finger in the air. He exchanged knowing glances with his guards, wordless understanding going through their eyes. “Her status as a demigoddess does not necessarily protect her from being tricked, as her youth and innocence can be turned against her.”

“What are you suggesting, my King?” The Eniripsa Queen asked, her brow furrowed.

The assassin king merely shrugged. “Simply that she could be manipulated into turning against the gods while thinking she is still fulfilling her duty.” While his expression changed minutely, casually arching an eyebrow as he spoke, his voice gained the same edge as a blade that had slitted many throats with unfailing precision. “Sometimes, the easiest way to accomplish your goal is by having your enemies do your dirty work without realising it…”

“All—the—more—reason—to—get—rid—of—the—Eliatropes!” The King of Brakmar bellowed, completely out of his wits due to frustration, making sure to punctuate each word to get his point across. “Their presence has proved to be nothing but troublesome! And, if you ask me, this whole Sadida Doll situation seems quite sketchy.” He narrowed his eyes at that last part.

“I know I’m going to regret this…” Armand muttered quietly to himself, rolling his eyes in annoyance as the beginnings of a headache started to rear their ugly head. He still managed to remain fairly composed, however. “And why do you say that, Your Majesty?”

Deep down, the Sadida prince found himself agreeing with the Brakmarian. Everything revolving around King Yugo and Lady Amalia was simply too suspicious. After all, why would Sadida choose to create a new Divine Doll now, after all this time? And why entrust her to the Eliatropes when he had countless followers who would be immensely honoured to welcome one of his daughters into their kingdom? Not to mention, the Eliatrope King’s actions were contradictory. One minute he swore the doll wasn’t his bride, but the next he caused a commotion befitting of an overprotective boyfriend throwing a jealous fit after seeing his love in the arms of another man.

Even so, despite his reservations, if that was truly Sadida’s will, then he, as future king and protector of everything the Leafy God held dear, had to respect and carry it out. He tried to ignore the way his father was looking at him from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable, by averting his eyes to the side.

Squinting his eyes disdainfully at the younger Sheran Sharm, the Brakmarian ruler spat, “I simply cannot bring myself to believe Lady Amalia was brought here for the reasons she claims. The gods are hiding something.”

Such a bold, if not outright blasphemous, declaration spurred a collective, scandalised gasp to leave the throats of everyone present. While the Eniripsa Queen clutched at her chest, the Feca King exchanged horrified glances with his secretary, much like the Pandawa Queen was doing with her attendant. The Iop and Sacrier Kings were left speechless, for once, and even the Sram King allowed a shadow of unease to pass over his drawn features.

Armand, for his part, found himself seething. His mouth was curled into a vicious snarl while his fists were clenched so tightly the dark mahogany skin of his knuckles turned as white as birch crust. His frown set into a deep scowl, it took everything in his power not to snap at the other ruler. In fact, he would have most likely lost his composure if it weren’t for his father’s heavy yet grounding hand on his shoulder, wordlessly reminding him to keep his temper in check even as he shook from righteous rage.

“Are you implying the gods have ulterior motives for sending Lady Amalia to us? That Sadida isn’t being truthful?” Even though he worded it as a question, the words that left the prince’s mouth were more like he had issued a challenge. Armand dared the King of Brakmar to insult his people’s patron god in his and his father’s face. More importantly, because this was supposed to be a diplomatic meeting and they couldn’t afford to allow tensions between the kingdoms to arise, Armand was giving him an out—an opportunity to take back his words and focus back on the issue at hand rather than his deluded paranoia.

“I’m not implying anything.” He said, and for a second, Armand let the tension leave his shoulders. “I’m saying the Divine Doll’s soothing words are but a diversion; Sadida created her not to assuage our worries, but to appease the Eliatropes. Don’t you see?” He turned to their fellow rulers, throwing his arms to the side as he addressed them. “Even the gods fear them!”

Another chorus of offended gasps and pointed demands echoed around the space, loud enough they could indeed summon the twelve gods themselves if they weren’t careful. But all Armand could hear was the sound of his blood rushing to his ears, a deep growl emanating from his throat as his body shook with barely restrained fury. Even the feeling of his father tightening his hold on his shoulder did nothing to bring him back to reality.

How dare he? How dare he?! Insulting the great Sadida, the god responsible for making their world brim with nature and life, of providing both his followers and those of his companions’ with a near endless supply of wakfu.

Armand had long learned the other races tended to underestimate his kingdom and their invaluable role within their community, as they often showed complete disregard for the function their forests served. He’d heard enough scornful comments directed at the Tree of Life not to be surprised at how little the other nations cared for the Sadida Kingdom anymore.

The sheer disrespect his people had been on the receiving end of despite playing such a crucial role in preserving the balance of their world was appalling. But it also helped to fuel him and his ambitions for when he ascended to the throne. Unlike his father, who was too quick to trust outsiders and form alliances with them, Armand aimed to be more self-sufficient. Once he became king, all their people would need to prosper would be some key allies from whom they could all mutually benefit, hence, ensuring they came to each other’s aid without question in times of crises. That was the main reason behind his marriage to Aurora—out of all the other races, the Osamodas were sure to be the nation that would best understand the significance their forests held, as they also served as home to many of the animal species they cherished. Beyond that, they only needed to ensure some trade routes with the Pandawa and Amakna, and maybe even the Sufokians, and the Sadida would be able to survive anything on their own.

The prince knew his father didn’t understand, not when he’d found the perfect queen in the woman he had always been in love with, but Armand had long lost all forms of emotional attachment that would get in the way of his better judgement. It had been years since any lingering feelings got in the way of making the right, informed decisions for the sake of his kingdom. In fact, he had actually been putting off choosing a queen long enough, and it was about time he put aside any remaining heartache and put his people first, even if it meant marrying a woman he initially didn’t know, let alone love.

After all, he hadn’t had a reason to try following his parents’ example in a long while. Not since… He shook his head, frustrated with himself. Now wasn’t the time to take a trip down memory lane.

Meanwhile, as the prince got lost in his thoughts even as his father tried to get him to focus back to the present, the King of Brakmar went on with his tirade.

“If you ask me, the Eliatropes have long overstayed their welcome!” He roared, hoping to rally his fellows into following his lead and hopefully decree their unwanted visitors had to go. “If the gods themselves have seen no choice but to distract them with a Divine Doll, who knows what they’re actually capable of?!” He asked no one in particular, raising a clenched fist in the air. “I say we take matters into our own hands to expel them from our world, before they have the chance to turn what should be a blessing into a curse! Who’s with me?!”

His words, once again, elicited a cacophony of murmurs and mutterings among the royals. Each of them turning to the fellows they had nearer to seek their opinion. Before long, yet another animated debate was spurred.

It was the Iop King’s voice that first raised above everyone else’s. His usually battle-hungry expression settled into one of boredom, his muscular arms folded over his broad chest. Had he been sitting down, he would have reclined back in his chair as if he were talking about the weather instead of discussing crucial political affairs.

“As much as we Iops love a good fight, we’re not gonna fight King Yugo and his people on this one. If there’s one thing my people and I respect, that’s a good warrior, and despite his scrawny physique, the kid packs a good punch.” He smirked, the excitement all Iops felt before a good battle returning to his pupiless eyes. “Things’ll be much more interesting with him and his folks around.”

“You do realise he and his siblings are demigods, right?” The Sacrier King pointed out with a raised eyebrow, to which the Iop King just shrugged, indifferently. “The ‘kid’ is probably older than all of us combined.”

“I stand by what I said.” The raven-haired Iop stuck up his nose in mock defiance.

“While I see where you’re coming from,” The Sram King conceded, if only to be polite and to move the conversation along, “we must be smart about this. If we let the Eliatropes unchecked, that could easily turn against us. However, if we strike first, then there’s less chances of them being able to recover on time.” He gestured at his two guards, whose gripping of their scythes behind him and over their leader’s head brought to mind the image of an angel of death. “Take it from a Sram, better safe than sorry.”

“Precisely, my dear friend.” The Enutrof King concurred, stroking his beard with one hand while he played with his pet with the other. His small, beady eyes flicked from one Council member to the next. “Kamas don’t grow on trees, we cannot afford to let those Eliatropes mooch off our resources.” Then, after a beat, he added, a devilish smirk plastering itself over his features, “Although, if they were to share their resources with us, who would we be to refuse?”

“But we could learn so much from them!” The Eniripsa Queen argued, swooning as she thought back to her brief examination of the Eliatrope King and that pink-clad, flirtatious sister of his. “Think about all the centuries’ worth of knowledge we could gain from them! For all we know, they could hold the secret to curing ailments that have haunted our world for centuries!”

The other monarchs shared knowing glances, some of them even going as far as to roll their eyes at the healer. Any minute now her true intentions would shine…

“You just want another chance to talk to them and get some of their precious vocabulary.” The Ecaflip King accused matter-of-factly. Though, judging from the indignant pout on the Eniripsa’s face, he wasn’t entirely off the mark.

All around them, their fellow rulers nodded their heads in agreement. Eniripsas were renowned for their unfailingly kind nature and unparalleled talent as healers, but they tended to overlook certain key aspects in favour of their ‘word hunting’. Of course, their queen was no exception.

“I simply believe we could take this opportunity to promote a mutually beneficial cultural exchange. I am being truthful when I say we could learn a lot from them.” The fairy looked away with a small, indignant huff, even though she didn’t deny it.

“It is true their technology seems to far surpass our own…” The Feca King mused, earning himself a nod from his secretary, her long, blue braid bobbing up and down. “Quite frankly, it would be foolish to pass up on the perfect opportunity to advance our research and improve our living conditions by exchanging scientific research with the Eliatropes.”

“So you’re okay with letting the Eliatropes stay just because you can exchange notes, is that it?” The Sacrier King questioned, his eyes unblinking from disbelief. “For all we know they could use that time, or better yet, that knowledge to wipe us all out!”

“Perhaps.” The blue-haired leader conceded, not too concerned. “But above all, we Fecas are protectors. Our goddess would never give her blessing to anyone she suspected of being an actual threat to her worshippers’ survival.”

With a scoff, the tattooed king turned his body away from the so-called protector, unable to believe his ears. Dear Sacrier above, were they all truly and utterly insane? He had no doubt in his mind the Scarlet Damsel would look out for her people, for she hated nothing more than seeing humanity in agony, but his goddess’ virtue in no way guaranteed their new ‘neighbours’ wouldn’t have hidden intentions for making the World of Twelve their new home.

Sacriers may relish a good fight, as they could always count on their Iron Maiden to come out unscathed and stronger than ever, but only a fool would ignore when too much blood would be drawn from a mistake.

“I’m afraid I must side with the King of Brakmar on this one.” He finally spoke, his tone solemn, causing the Iop King’s eyes to bulge in surprise at his old friend’s admission. For his part, the King of Brakmar just sneered at the resentment in his voice when he uttered his name, as if agreeing with him was an unforgivable sin in itself. “Some battles just can’t be won, no matter how much blood you draw or how many times you get back up.”

“You already know my answer. Lady Amalia’s presence is cause for celebration, more so if it’s meant to represent the gods approving of the Eliatropes.” Daihitsu smiled, the action reflecting her boundless generosity and kindness. “So let’s wrap this meeting up, crack open some barrels of bamboo milk, and celebrate!”

But the Ecaflip King just shook his head ruefully, the constant flicking of his tail betraying his frazzled nerves. “There’s nothing worse than getting ahead of yourself.” He lamented, covering the upper half of his face with his hat. Even though it was meant to be a private comment, the way in which the Pandawas squinted their eyes at him showed they’d heard him loud and clear. Upon noticing this, he rushed to clear his throat awkwardly, averting his eyes.

“Are you implying I’m getting ahead of myself, my King?” The panda queen demanded.

The brown-coloured feline shook his head, adjusting the brim of his hat. “All I’m saying is it might be too soon to celebrate just yet.”

“Of course, we all know what you think of the Eliatropes.” The Iop King remarked sarcastically. Quite a feat indeed, as his race wasn’t known for their ability to pick up on sarcasm.

But the Ecaflip remained unperturbed. “All I’m saying is it would be foolish to bet it all on one Dragoturkey when there’s no telling who’s going to win the race.”

“Speaking of winning or losing,” the Enutrof King interjected, stroking his pet with a disinterested air. “You already know what I think about those Eliatropes—if we can get something valuable out of them, they’re welcomed to stay, but the moment I so much as have an inkling they’re after my—I mean, our— kamas,” he rushed out to correct himself, grinning sheepishly at this fellows’ unamused glares, “I’ll kick them out myself, do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Your Majesty.” The Xelor King let out a long-suffering sigh at the greedy man’s empty threats. Shaking his head, the action causing his cloak to flail around, but never enough to reveal his face, he turned to address the Council himself. “As for myself, while I must admit I, too, have my reservations regarding King Yugo and his people, I’m afraid Count Harebourg’s actions and the terrible consequences they could have had prevent me from really opposing them. You see, they could rightly accuse me and my people of failing to restrain one of my vassals, which in turn could have greatly endangered Lady Amalia.”

As he spoke, he kept lowering his head in shame, the ornate fabric over his body coming to hide even more of him from view. But then, he raised his head back up, the blue eyes of his mask shining brightly even when shrouded in darkness. “If I were to oppose the Eliatropes, I would not be just defying King Yugo, but the gods themselves as well, and that is a risk I am simply not willing to take.”

“We understand you find yourself under extenuating circumstances, old friend. You are simply looking out for your people’s best interests.” The Matriarch told him. Despite the stone-cold look never leaving her face, her voice was warm and reassuring. After all, as leaders they all understood what it was like to have to face a difficult conundrum that required you to set your personal feelings aside for the sake of your people.

After sharing a brief nod with the time-controlling ruler, the elven warrior set her piercing green eyes on the King of Brakmar, her voice unwavering. “While it would be unwise to trust the Eliatropes fully when they have yet to prove they truly mean no harm, it would be even more damning to act without having all the facts.” She declared.

Then, before anyone could react, she drew her bow and swiftly shot an arrow skywards, causing the Council to look up in astonishment, waiting with bated breath to see what happened next. Immediately after, under the rulers’ wide eyes, a bird fell out of the sky and landed squarely on the Matriarch’s outstretched hand. The action caused the Osamodas to recoil in horror, but the elden Cra simply raised an eyebrow in their direction, unimpressed with their skittishness.

It was then she continued, “Cra knows a good hunter waits for the perfect moment to pounce, after studying their prey with a critical eye. Hence, it would only work against us to attack or welcome the Eliatropes without a proper, thorough, prior investigation.”

“W-we… We concur…” Chamberlain Sabot muttered after swallowing thickly, his eyes still strained on the poor, helpless bird laying motionless in the Cra’s hand. Clearing his throat, he made sure to stand a little bit taller. “M-more importantly, Lady Amalia is with them, and she appears to be fond of them. It would be equally unwise to displease a Divine Doll. And, moreover, dragons appear to be as important to their culture as they are to ours. We, as Osamodas, cannot in good conscience turn against a race that shares some of our most sacred values.”

If Sabot was being honest with himself, he knew for a fact their nation would much rather get rid of the Eliatropes than welcome them with open arms. No in small part because of the sheer audacity of their existence and relationship to their own dragons. The Osamodas worshipped the Celestial Tamer himself, the Master of Beasts! He who brought life to the World of Twelve by letting his dragons roam free! And yet, their people had never even been granted the honour of guarding a single Primordial Dofus, but those heathens got to share such a deep bond with their own dragons?

He still distinctly remembered the way his king’s skin bristled when he heard the news, even Princess Aurora was so enraged by the fact she couldn’t help but sprout her wings and grow her talons, ready to put those unworthy fools in their place. Her father had to snap her out of her fit and remind her she was to remain by her husband’s side for the time being. They would get the chance to retaliate once she was Queen of the Sadidas and her sway over their politics was stronger.

And that was the only reason Sabot now agreed to letting the Eliatropes stay for the time being. That doll living with them was important to the Sheran Sharms and their kingdom, and they couldn’t afford to lose their favour now.

As the Osamodas representative mused quietly to himself, reflecting on the state of his own court, he missed the suspicious glare King Sheran Sharm sent his way, or the intrigued eyebrow Prince Armand had raised. Despite what he might have thought, their true intentions weren’t as well-hidden as they believed, especially after they had just insulted their patron god despite their alliance.

Master Joris, however, did notice, but chose not to comment. Despite the close relationship between the Sadida Kingdom and Bonta, they had no right to interfere in each other’s politics. The most Master Joris could do was advise them in the name of the Bontarian Queens.

Just like it was his duty to express his queens’ desires whenever they weren’t available—or refused to breathe the same air as the Brakmarian court.

“And Queen Astra and Selene are of the same mind as you, esteemed members of the Council of Twelve.” Joris finally spoke, making his mistresses’ true feelings known. While he’d feared things would get out of hand more than once during this entire exchange, things had fortunately ended up following the course the Bontarian rulers were counting on. As their envoy, it was time he showed their hand. “While having the Eliatropes around might not be such a bad thing in the end, it is still far too soon to be able to tell for certain. Therefore, they believe the wisest course of action would be to remain neutral towards them. For now, let us keep an eye on them until we can really discern their intentions towards our world and Lady Amalia, which, at the same time, means we must keep interacting with them without raising suspicions as to our true intentions. At least until we have a clearer picture of what to expect from them.”

The low, yet powerful chuckle that reverberated around the space caused the entirety of the Council of Twelve to perk up in surprise. All pairs of eyes were immediately drawn to the origin of the sound, taken aback, for it was the first time its owner said a word since the assembly began.

There, standing proud and tall beside his son, his hands on his back and a lazy grin on his lips that concealed his wise and strategic mind, was King Oakheart Sheran Sharm. By his side, Armand’s posture mimicked his father’s, but his expression was much more serious and stoic, his lips pursed in a thin line.

“Master Joris, please, do be so kind as to let Their Majesties know everything is under control. I’ll personally see to that.” He stated confidently.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself, King Sheran Sharm. Is there anything you’re not telling us?” The King of Brakmar accused, frowning deeply.

King Oakheart shook his head. “Nothing like that. It is just that this is the perfect opportunity for us.”

“‘Perfect opportunity’?” The Enutrof King echoed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Just that my people have been awfully curious about Lady Amalia ever since we found out about her existence. After all, her birth is a momentous occasion for our kingdom. Yet another testament of Sadida watching over his humble worshippers. Needless to say, she is a source of great pride for us.”

As his fellow Council members shared murmurs of agreement, he went on, “Therefore, given my people’s interest in formally meeting our god’s youngest child, I believe I have the perfect solution to kill two tofus with one stone.” As he said that, he had to suppress the smirk from forming on his lips at the Osamodas’ scowl at that simile.

“Indeed. What my father has in mind should allow us to keep a close eye on Yugo and the rest of the Eliatrope Council and find out more about their true intentions.” Armand added. Deep down, he had his doubts regarding his father’s plan. However, they had to appear as a united front in front of the other rulers, so it was his duty to stow away his reservations for later and support his father in public.

Master Joris, who already had an inkling as to what the Sheran Sharms could be up to, nodded in response. “Very well, Your Majesty. On behalf of Bonta, please, do not hesitate to ask if you need any help with your endeavours.”

The Sadida King’s grin widened.

“Rest assured, Master Joris. Leave it all to us…”

....................................................................................................................

“Yugo! Where are you taking me?” Her delighted giggles echoed around the halls as she let herself be dragged to parts unknown.

If it had been anybody else, Amalia would have been on edge, but the feeling of Yugo’s hand gently yet firmly clasping hers as he guided her along the palace made warmth spread all over her chest and a sweet smile to grace her features. It was at moments like that that the Divine Doll knew she was safe as long as the Eliatrope King was around.

Her amused grin only widened when he turned around just enough to send her a toothy, boyish smile that made her heart flutter, bringing a finger to his lips as he did so. “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

With his back turned to her once more, Amalia rolled her eyes good-naturedly, putting on a show of being annoyed that Yugo wouldn’t have bought even if he had been looking her way. And who could blame her? It was hard to be mad when your friend, always so sweet, promised to have a nice surprise for you.

Although the smile didn’t leave her face, the doll frowned slightly, wondering where in the World of Twelve he could be taking her. Right after their daily training routine—or, more accurately, Yugo’s training routine that Amalia eagerly ate up from her balcony—and breakfast, the king had surprised the Sadida Doll by telling her there was something he wanted her to see. While Amalia had squealed excitedly and immediately demanded he tell her what it was—only to sulk childishly but not-any-less cutely when he told her she would have to wait until they arrived—, she would be lying if she said she hadn’t already been surprised by his proposition.

Even though the two of them had been spending a lot more time together since their visit to Bonta, moreso after returning from the Eliatrope village, it wasn’t every day Yugo would dedicate his whole day to her. Normally, they’d spend the first few hours of the morning together and then each of them would be left to their own devices—Yugo would tend to his kingly responsibilities while Amalia went to class or mingled with the palace staff, maybe even talk with whatever members of the Eliatrope Council she met along the way.

Some conversations were more stilted than others, though not due to a lack of trying on her part—it wasn’t her fault the friendliest thing that would leave Efrim’s snout was a warning growl!

So she’d been (pleasantly) taken aback when right after having breakfast Yugo wanted to stretch their time together for a little while longer.

But that had been almost a half hour ago and the Eliatrope was still leading her to parts unknown, and Amalia had lost count of how many corridors they walked through and how many doors they'd passed. The more they advanced, the less servants and guards there were around, causing Amalia’s curiosity to grow exponentially.

She was about to call out to Yugo to seriously ask him where they were going, when he perked up at the sight before him and tugged at her wrist to hurry up. The doll couldn’t help but let out a yelp when her friend accidentally pulled too hard and all but dragged her with him.

And, just as suddenly, he skidded to a halt right in front of a double door, causing Amalia to bump into him as she hadn’t been expecting him to stop.

“A little warning would have been nice.” She groused as she rubbed her wrist, which was a little sore from Yugo pulling her with him.

She looked up in surprise when two partially gloved hands came to gently caress her wrist in a soothing motion, finding Yugo staring back at her with an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I supposed I got carried away, huh?”

Shaking her head to will her blush away, the doll returned his smile with a smirk of her own, adjusting her wristbands in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “You could say that. Now, are you finally going to tell me what you got so carried away in the first place?”

Yugo snorted, the motion making the ears of his hood shake slightly. “As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”

“So, what is it?”

Instead of answering, Yugo just took a step back and motioned to the door, the playful smile never leaving his face. Arching an eyebrow in confusion, Amalia ultimately just shrugged, deciding to play along. She passed him by and stood in front of the gates. Taking hold of the handles, she turned them and opened the doors, her eyes widening at what she saw on the other side.

What awaited her inside was a vast expanse of space, a large, circular room with a composition not unlike the throne room, except it had far more natural light than the turquoise hue that bathed the latter. Not in small part due to the natural sunlight filtering through the open-window walls surrounding the room, each of them separated by a round pillar supporting the ceiling above their heads.

Another major difference between this room and the throne room was the fact that it was completely bare. It held absolutely nothing inside. At least, not anything Amalia had taken notice of.

Still slack-jawed in awe, the doll took a step inside, only for her eyes to widen for a completely different reason, gasping in surprise as she glanced down in amazement. Curling her toes experimentally she realised that, yes, instead of the stone-cold or even wooden floors she had been expecting, she was actually standing on solid soil, dirt getting between her toes.

Unable to form a single sentence, she whipped her head back towards Yugo, a question in her eyes.

He shrugged like he hadn’t just done something incredible, like this wasn’t a big deal. “I asked Chibi and Grougal for a favour.”

That small piece of information explained so much, and yet, so little. Turning her head to stare at the space before her once more, and feeling Yugo coming to stand by her side thanks to the sound of the dirt rustling under his feet, Amalia eventually found the strength to ask, “Yugo, what is this place?”

“This,” he took a step forward before turning around to face the doll, spreading his arms wide to gesture around him, “is your garden.”

She blinked. “My… garden?”

“That’s right.”

“But… But there are no plants!” She exclaimed, stepping deeper into the area and looking around, her brow furrowed.

“Well, we figured we should leave the actual gardening up to you. After all, you are the expert here, Miss Sadida Demigoddess.” Yugo explained matter-of-factly, never losing his smile.

Still trying to process the information, Amalia looked down before her body followed suit, crouching down on the floor. She examined the ground with her hands, rubbing the dirt between her fingers as she studied it and its properties. She was pleasantly surprised to find out it was fertile soil, perfect for growing all sorts of plants, especially with Oma’s volcanic ground.

While she did that, Yugo bent down as well, an arm resting on his bent knee. “Of course, using this space as a garden is just the most obvious idea. You can do whatever you want with it. This room is yours, after all.”

His voice was laced with an emotion Amalia couldn’t quite read, but she didn’t have the time to try and decipher what it meant. Looking back and forth between the dirt in her fingertips and back at Yugo, the doll’s green eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What’s all this?”

“I told you, it’s your garden.”

“Yeah, but I mean, why are you giving me a garden?” She insisted, rising from the ground and looking down at him from above. Fearing she might sound ungrateful for the clear thoughtfulness she was being treated with, she rushed out to add, “Don’t get me wrong, I love it! It’s just… that is… well… I, um… why?”

“Because this is where you live, and I want you to feel at home here.” Yugo told her without missing a beat, standing up as well to look her in the eye. He leaned closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, his tone reassuring. “You’re already doing so much to acclimate yourself to our culture and our customs, our visit to the village was proof enough of that, so I want to make you feel comfortable by making Oma Island a little more like your home.”

“My home…?” Amalia echoed, confused. What was he talking about? Oma Island was her home. Not only because it was where she lived, but because it wasn’t like she had settled down in many other places before. She really didn’t have anything to compare it to.

“Inglorium.” He replied simply. “Remember? You’ve told me before how Sadida’s dimension is this lush, natural paradise, where vegetation reaches as far as meets the eye.”

Oh, that was true.

At the reminder, the Divine Doll had to admit she could’ve have done much worse, as Oma Island was almost downright paradise on its own—she still shuddered at the memory of Kerubim and Atcham’s retellings of Brakmar, a nation filled with nothing but fire and brimstone. However, it was true its location meant there wasn’t a wide variety of plants, mostly palm trees and tropical rainforests, whereas her father’s domain housed all sorts of vegetation regardless of their natural habitat.

Still, she couldn’t quite understand the point behind all this.

“But Yugo, I love Oma Island as it is!” She countered, her tone patient despite her bewilderment. “Sure, it would be nice to see white dryads around, but it’s not like the island is completely barren, either.”

“Well, now you can grow as many white dryads as you want. And roses, and daisies, and peonies, and… I don’t know any more plant names…” He admitted sheepishly after a beat, rubbing the back of his head and causing a still disgruntled Amalia to snort despite herself. He soon perked up again, though. “But, hey! I bet you could also grow some trees or use your vines to great extent. Maybe you could even start an orchard and grow your own fruit and vegetables.”

He sounded so genuine, so excited for her. The child-like glint in his eyes as he listed off the many possibilities of what she could do with the room tugged at her heartstrings and caused a small smile to stretch over her face. After a second, though, her expression dimmed slightly, her brow furrowing the more she thought about it.

Amalia still wasn’t so sure. It was true the sole idea of getting to let her powers loose and let nature take over the room like the indomitable force it was sounded amazing. She’d be lying if she said she’d had many chances of cutting loose for real and making use of her magic ever since she arrived in the mortal realm. The last time she did anything similar was back when she first told Yugo, Chibi, and Grougaloragran she didn’t feel all that comfortable in her chambers and transformed the space. Beyond that, the most she got to do was summon a few vines to grab something she needed or break someone’s fall, like what happened with Lori during her first day of class.

And to be honest, she missed it. Maybe she didn’t get to practise much with her powers when she was still in Inglorium, but her father and sisters assured her that, as a Divine Doll, daughter of Sadida, the Father of the Tree People, she was one with nature; having plants do her bidding would be as easy as breathing even without much training. But it still felt so good to test the limits of what she could do… Whenever she closed her eyes and allowed herself to listen—to really listen—to the world around her, whispers of plants from far and wide would echo in her ears, entrusting her with their innermost secrets. And each time she couldn’t help but feel like it was about time she answered their call…

But she held back. She had to prioritise carrying out the gods’ will, and they never said anything about her needing to summon vines as tall and sturdy as buildings to accomplish her goal. A part of her still wondered if things would have gone differently with Count Harebourg if she had been quicker to react and maybe pummelled him to the ground with her magic…

Naturally, a part of her was thrilled at the prospect of moving past those reservations, of showing the World of Twelve once and for all what a Divine Doll was truly capable of. And for Yugo, of all people, to grant her that opportunity… Her heart almost thudded in her chest, touched beyond words by how good a friend he was. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to fully embrace that wonderful feeling.

Something was off.

For his part, Yugo had been inspecting Amalia’s face intently since she opened the gates leading to the room, looking for any sign that she was pleased with the surprise. Her initial amazement and astonishment were to be expected, and he could feel himself swell with pride when she realised she was standing on actual, workable soil. But then, an unsettling feeling grew in his gut when she didn’t ultimately break off into the dazzling smile he had been waiting for. The kind of smile that made Chibi and Grougal’s teasing over their relationship and whining over having to remodel a perfectly good room—even when Yugo knew for a fact they were always eager for an architectural challenge—bearable and worth it.

The more time passed, the more the absence of that smile made something in the Eliatrope ache in longing, his heart thudding painfully and melancholically in his chest. Almost like a grim reminder that it was there and missing some stimuli. Although, perhaps it wasn’t only longing that he felt—.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” He asked, worriedly, trying to silence the voices gnawing at him. “Because, I told you, you can do whatever you want here. You can even set up a lab to work on lethal poisons and whatnot. Nora would probably approve.” He joked, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s not that…” Amalia said through a mirthless chuckle, already picturing Nora’s approving smirk and thumbs-up, though she wasn’t looking at him. “I just…” She trailed off, only to close her mouth shut shortly after. The Sadida Doll remained silent for a few minutes, her gaze fixated on the floor as she seemingly pondered something, a million thoughts going behind her chocolate eyes.

Eventually, her brow knitting in concentration, she exhaled softly but with purpose, right before looking back at the king. “I’m just not sure if I should accept it. If it’s right of me to be occupying so much of your space.” She looked around, throwing her arms to the sides to gesture around her. “What if something happens and you need the extra room? This place would be much more useful if it was repurposed into a storage room or a place to house your subjects!”

“Or it would have remained closed and gathering dust like it’s been doing until now.” Yugo countered, raising an eyebrow pointedly, uncomprehending. “And what do you mean ‘occupying so much space’? Amalia, you only really have your room, which, again, wasn’t being used by anyone until you arrived.”

“Yeah, but I’m always roaming around the palace, or attending Glip and Baltazar’s lessons with the Eliatrope children, and just the other day we went to town and to Qilby and Shinonomé’s clinic! Won’t your people get mad for seeing me everywhere, even where I don’t belong?”

“Mad?” Yugo repeated, incredulous. He couldn’t help it and let out an almost manic laugh at her question… and almost immediately felt like an idiot when he took notice of the downcast expression the doll made at his reaction, looking very much like a kicked puppy.

Realising his mistake, he quickly raised his hands in front of his body as he tried to explain himself. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh!” He sputtered, embarrassed. “It’s just that…” He trailed off, words failing him. He brought his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, frustrated with himself, only to let out a heavy sigh at the sad glimmer in the girl’s eyes.

Taking one deep breath, he tried again, imbuing his voice with as much warmth and comfort as he could muster. “Amalia, you have nothing to worry about. My people aren’t mad because they’re ‘seeing you everywhere’.” he air-quoted with only a touch of irony, “If anything, I’d say they’re quite pleased by that.”

Amalia still wasn’t convinced, though.

“But I’m an outsider! I know nothing about the Eliatrope way of life, and yet I’m always around. Who says I’m not intruding or abusing your hospitality?”

“I do.” He told her, without a hint of doubt in his voice. “Don’t you see? You’re not intruding or abusing our hospitality, and we’re certainly not mad at you for it. And, let’s face it, you’re not the only ‘outsider’ around here.”

As he spoke, he took her by the wrist and gently led her to stand in front of one of the large window panes on the other side of the room. Now that she was actually standing right in front of it, the doll’s eyes widened when she realised she could actually see the village from where she stood, unlike the view she got from her balcony. She was so entranced by the sight, her head snapped up slightly in surprise when the Eliatrope King spoke up again as he, too, beheld the scenery before him, his eyes shining with a profound pride for his people.

“Look at them, Amalia. They’re working so hard just to be able to call this place their home; no matter what challenges might lay ahead, they’re all ready to face them head-on.” He turned back to face her, her cheeks growing hot due to the eye contact. She tore her gaze away from him. “And so are you. In fact, I’d say you’re working harder than anyone to be welcomed here, both by us and the Twelvians. And we all know that.

“Can’t you see? If you were an actual intruder, taking advantage of our generosity, you wouldn’t even show the slightest care about us and our culture. You’d simply let yourself be pampered without offering anything in return. And that’s the opposite of what you actually do. From the moment you arrived, you made it pretty clear you’re meant to bridge the gap between us and the Twelvians, and that you’re eager to do whatever it takes to help us achieve that goal, including learning more about us. And that…” He trailed off, his voice growing thick with emotion, feeling bashful all of a sudden before saying softly, “You have no idea how much that means to us, Amalia.

“So this,” he once again opened his arms wide, gesturing at the space around him before letting himself fall into one of his portals under the doll’s surprised gaze and emerging in a different corner of the room like nothing happened. He repeated the process over and over as he talked, almost like he was giving her a tour. “This is my attempt at making you feel more at home. You’re a Divine Doll, Amalia, a Sadida. You should feel in sync with nature at all times, and if that means giving you an entire room for you to grow whatever you like, then so be it.”

Eyes glimmering from unshed, happy tears at his words, the wild beauty didn’t know how to respond. How was it possible that this man always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better? How could he always be so alert of everything going on with her, even when he had the burden of ruling a kingdom over his shoulders? And to think he’d dedicated who knew how long to prepare a room just so she wouldn’t feel all that disconnected from her roots…

Could he get any more wonderful?

Her hands over her heart and a watery smile on her lips, she mutely closed the distance between them and came to stand right in front of Yugo, in the very centre of the room. Seeing as she had yet to say a word, the king was about to ask her what was wrong when she startled him. Wordlessly, she moved her hands around, a bright, green orb of light materialising between her palms. After a few seconds where she seemed to play with the orb, she gave a powerful clap, causing it to disappear, though not before a green energy wavelength emanated from the ground in response to the action. In a matter of seconds, several vines sprouted from the ground and twirled themselves around the pillars surrounding the room, hugging them tight.

He blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly. It already looked much better than just a moment before.

Amalia made a show of dusting her hands off before placing them on her hips and turning around to admire her handiwork, a proud smirk on her face. “Well, it’s a start.”

....................................................................................................................

Yugo watched with a smirk as Amalia kept fluttering around, moving from place to place with a wide, toothy grin on her face that revealed the adorably sharp canines she so rarely showed. They were so cute, especially when the doll got this twinkle in her eye, the same kind of glimmer a little kid would get upon the promise of a reward if they behaved.

The very same glimmer she had now as she went from one corner of the room to the next, crouching down and standing back up again as the lay-out of how she wanted her personal garden to be materialised in her mind. She took everything in with a critical eye, using her hands to frame how she wanted her imaginary plants to go and if it’d look good with what she had to work with.

The Eliatrope couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself as he remembered a scene from just a short few minutes ago.

While he recovered from her little trick from earlier, Amalia walked with purpose into the room, her hands still on her hips as she looked around with appraising brown eyes. When she reached a spot to her right, standing between the very centre of the room and the windows leading to the upside world, what she did next left Yugo slightly bewildered, even after having just witnessed metres-high vines shoot to the ceiling in a matter of seconds.

With her back to the king’s astonished gaze, the doll began to twist her wrists around almost rhythmically, until something fell out of her wristbands and into her palm. But before Yugo so much as had a chance to curiously peer down at it, Amalia reacted quickly and buried whatever it was in the ground—which was nothing to scoff at, as Yugo had shortened the distance between them by teleporting himself to her side in just a few short seconds.

Blinking slowly, it took the Eliatrope a little more than he liked to admit to realise what the Divine Doll was up to.

“Are you… Are you planting seeds?” He asked, incredulous.

Amalia shrugged from her crouched down position, unbothered, before rising to her feet and dusting her hands off. “What can I say? That is how you start a garden, by planting seeds.”

“Well, yeah… But…” He trailed off.

Intrigued, Amalia stepped closer to him, an eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Sorry, it's just, it took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Took you by surprise? Yugo, you do know how to plant something, right?”

“Of course I do.” He scoffed, a little annoyed she would even think that. “I might not be a Sadida, but I’m still no Iop either.”

To be fair, the only reason he knew Iops were known for not being the smartest tool in the shack was everyone’s reactions to them in Bonta… And from interacting with the Iop King and his entourage and being forced to keep them from trying to take his siblings head-on in a fight.

At his response, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Then what is it?”

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting to see you do it the usual way.” He admitted, glancing over and towards the vines that were enveloping the pillars surrounding the room in a tight hug meaningfully, an action mimicked by Amalia. “You could say I thought you’d go wild with your powers and have this whole thing turned into your very own indoor forest in a matter of seconds.”

Oh, so that was what he meant. Amalia’s smile became more understanding, even if it never lost its impish quality. She made a show of shrugging casually once more. Too casually.

“That’s true. If I wanted, I could have the whole place done with a snap of my fingers.” She snapped her fingers to demonstrate, although, thankfully, nothing happened. “But that just takes all the fun out of gardening.”

“Oh, it does, doesn’t it?” Yugo smirked down at her, amused.

“Indeed.” She nodded. Turning her back to him, she extended an arm to her side, a new vine circling around it before vanishing into thin air, like it had never been there to begin with. “You see, Yugo, while we Sadidas won’t hesitate to call on the surrounding vegetation to help us when we’re in a pinch, we actually prefer to let nature run its course, and that includes not rushing anything unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“So that means you guys don’t grow plants out of nowhere unless you absolutely must?” The king guessed playfully, as he stepped closer to the doll once more. He almost didn’t register when his body acted on its own accord and held Amalia’s arm, the one that had previously been enveloped by the vine, and began to absentmindedly rub gentle circles on her skin with his thumb.

Something fluttered within him when the doll shivered at his touch.

“P-pretty much, yeah…” Amalia breathed out, doing her best to ignore the whirlwind of emotions that had ignited at the Eliatropes’ distracted caresses. Just, what the Heck was that?!

While she was the opposite of calm and composed on the inside, on the outside she did her best not to let it show. With a voice imbued with much more poise than she felt at the moment, she added, “S-so, for the most part, I’m going to be tending to my garden the old-fashioned way.”

Okay, so she stammered a little. She was still going to count that as a win.

Yugo chuckled. “For the most part?”

She nodded, his position behind her letting him see her forest-green ponytail as it bounced up and down with the movement. His heart stopped when some strands brushed his nose, the powerful aroma of freshly cut flowers and sunlight overwhelming his senses. “Yeah, I already have an idea or two in mind…”

And with that mysterious statement, she finally broke free of his hold—revisiting that moment later, Yugo would be mortified to remember the way his body moved after hers at the action, seeking her closeness and startled by its abrupt end—and continued with the Herculean task of planting more seeds for plants the Eliatrope had to admit he could never remember the names of.

However, after a while of just staring at the Divine Doll in awe, wondering about the kind of natural paradise she would end up marvelling them with, the Eliatrope King’s expression dimmed, his lips coming to rest in a thin, emotionless line as his eyes lost the fond glimmer they’d gained from admiring Amalia, a sense of regret making them seem opaque instead.

As Amalia remained blissfully unaware, Yugo couldn’t help but revisit the same memories from the other day that had been haunting him for days now. The weight they carried gnawing at him as guilt gripped his heart and refused to let go, while his sense of responsibility and loyalty to his people held him fast, anchoring to the present and reminding him why he did all this in the first place. Who suggested he gift Amalia with her own garden.

Qilby.

Their conversation from when he followed him deep into his and Shinonomé’s clinic weighed heavily on his mind, eliciting the mixed feelings surging within him to battle each other for dominance in a futile attempt to allow him to think more clearly governed by one single emotion.

So far, guilt and regret won by a long shot.

....................................................................................................................

That day, while Shinonomé offered to keep Amalia company and entertain her so she wouldn’t be too bored, answering whatever questions the doll might have about them and their role in their community, Qilby took Yugo aside and into a separate room.

This didn’t surprise the king, after all, the main reason they even went to the village was so the eldest twins could share their latest discoveries with their king. As Amalia wasn’t aware of their role among their people, let alone the things in specific Qilby and Shinonomé had been up to recently, then it was only to be expected that his siblings would want to talk to him alone.

The room Qilby led his king to wasn’t much, just a modest office with walls covered by shelves stacked with clinical books that reached to the ceiling. A simple yet sturdy wooden desk littered with papers, ingredients, and test tubes, and an armchair in front of it were located in the far corner of the room. On the opposite corner was a filing cabinet, no doubt where they kept their patients’ medical history—not like they needed it, given their memory… The late afternoon sun peeking from between the blinds created an almost cosy atmosphere under its dim light that beckoned anyone inside to make themselves at home.

Still, Yugo kept his guard up. He loved Qilby, and he trusted him implicitly, for they were brothers and had been there for each other since the very beginning of their civilisation, even if only the bespectacled Eliatrope and his dragon sister remembered those times.

But precisely because they were brothers and they had spent centuries together, Yugo knew better than to let his guard down around the eldest Eliatrope. While Qilby never faltered in his role as medical assistant, chronicler, and researcher, his divine gift meant he always played with an ace or two up his sleeve. Little cheats no one else at the table would be able to see coming as they had all long forgotten about them in the first place.

One such trick was the wistful, nostalgic quality Qilby’s voice would gain whenever he spoke of the lifetimes preceding Chibi’s abdicating the throne and handing it to their adventuring brother. From his retellings and the yearning that not even his glasses and all-knowing condescension could hide from view, Yugo didn’t need to have a prodigious memory to realise they had been closer then, before Chibi chose him over his eldest brother to rule their people.

From then on, judging from their somewhat aloof interactions, the young king could only guess things had soured between them after that, his own distance from his brother a direct result of Qilby’s indifference towards him growing up. Chibi’s choice was a wound that had trouble healing, especially when not only could Qilby never forget it had been inflicted in the first place, but he was tasked with reliving that memory for the sake of his siblings and people over and over again until the end of time.

Even if they lived through a million lives, Yugo doubted he would ever get to fully understand his eldest brother.

“So, how’s your denial going for you, Yugo?”

Most of the time, though, the reason why the king was always tense around Qilby was his incessant teasing at his expense.

Qilby’s unnecessarily loud voice had cut through Yugo’s thoughts like a knife, the implications behind it eliciting a furious blush to spread all over his face. The little smirk he wore only served to aggravate his embarrassed brother further.

Unable to contain his irritation, Yugo immediately shot back, “For the last time, Qilby! I—am—not—in—denial!”

It wouldn’t be until Amalia asked him on the way out what he was in denial about that he realised how loudly he said that. And promptly blushed scarlet once more as he scrambled to dodge the question.

The smirk never leaving his long face, Qilby simply tutted, a finger on his chin. “If you say so, Little Brother.” He turned around and began to make his way over to his desk to gather up his papers. “I’m just saying you’ve been spending a lot of time with our dear Amalia lately.”

The king frowned, unamused, as his brother made his way to where his desk stood and picked up a stack of documents.

“I’m the person she’s closest to and the gods entrusted her to me specifically.” Yugo was quick to remind him, as if he could ever actually forget and wasn’t just playing games with him for his own amusement. “It’s only natural that I spend time with her.”

Pretending to leaf through the papers in his hands to see if everything was in order, Qilby flashed him a sidelong glance. “I seem to recall the gods sent her here as your bride.” He said pointedly, his lips curling upwards in pleasure at the sight of his squirming brother.

“Amalia knows we won’t actually get married. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be good friends.” The king insisted, his fists clenching at his sides, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Qilby.

“Is that why you’re always going on dates now, just the two of you?” His smirk turned mocking. “Or what, is Adamaï too busy to chaperone?”

“Just tell me what you and Shinonomé have found recently, Qilby.” Yugo all but spat, a warning in his brown eyes that cautioned his brother not to test him further.

The eldest brother almost winced with a roll of his eyes. Yikes! Somebody was a little touchy lately, huh?

“You’re so uptight, Yugo. Can’t two brothers just tease each other a little nowadays?”

“Your findings, Qilby.” The king ground out, his voice dangerously low and authoritative while the ears on his hood flattened against his head, a clear sign of his irritation.

His body now facing Yugo even as he remained bent over his desk, he raised an intrigued eyebrow, his eyes fixated on his king’s whitening knuckles. With a noncommittal hum and a shrug, he straightened his posture, stack of papers in hand, and closed the distance between him and his king, handing over the documents to him.

As Yugo skimmed over its contents, no doubt without understanding half of the things scribbled there, Qilby spoke again, this time much more seriously. “As we suspected, Oma Island is a rich and plentiful land. Its warm temperatures allow for vegetation to grow and keep most diseases at bay. However, it does have its limitations.”

Yugo looked up from the reports in his hands, “You said there is simply no space for large-scale production, right?”

Qilby nodded. “Since this is an island instead of solid land, we can’t exactly expand our crops, which at the same time can be quite limited in their variety and that includes the medical herbs Shinonomé and I use to treat our patients. If we do not replenish our supplies soon, we will run out of the stock we salvaged from our homeworld and the other realms we visited.

“Unfortunately, I have no idea if this world even has those same plants or not.” He admitted, adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. “On top of that, we would require a lot of outside help to replenish said resources, help we obviously cannot get from our dear neighbours…”

Yugo frowned at Qilby’s words, knowing he was right. Even though the final objective was to reach a peaceful coexistence with the Twelvians and they seemed to be making progress in that regard, they obviously still had a long way to go before they could form strong alliances with the other kingdoms and safely rely on them for help. As they were right now, mostly confined to Oma Island until the Twelvians learned to accept them, the Eliatropes were forced to be self-reliant and self-sufficient.

That in itself wasn’t anything new, as they had always been on their own back in their homeworld, at least, until the Mechasms arrived. But things weren’t so simple anymore. The World of Twelve wasn’t theirs, and by settling in it, they had all but agreed to share it with its natives and play by their rules. Where they once only needed to be mindful not to abuse nature and its generosity and only take what they needed to survive, now they had no choice but to partake in the elaborate web of alliances and agreements that came with different nations and cultures sharing the same living space.

And given their reputation amongst the Twelvians, any course of action they took without their approval could be seen as a provocation. As a sign of their blatant disregard for their customs and boundaries. They found themselves caught between a rock and a hard place.

In other words, they were screwed.

The full extent of the ramifications of their new living arrangement weighing down on him, Yugo let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face tiredly. “Normally, getting supplies shouldn’t be a problem for us but—.”

“But the Twelvians are most likely to get a conniption if they catch sight of one of our portals, yes.” Qilby finished for him, his stoic tone befitting of the gravity of their situation. His expression hardened. “As much as I enjoy seeing something new for once, Yugo, you have to admit our people cannot thrive under such oppressive and stifling circumstances. We’d do much better to just leave this world behind and look for another one, one where we won’t have to deal with such shortsightedness and prejudice against our kind.”

“You know we can’t do that, Qilby. It already took us long enough until we found the World of Twelve, and even if we were to find another suitable planet for us to live, there is no guarantee things would actually be better there.” Yugo reminded him pointedly, shutting his brother up with a glare. “Just like we can’t just assume every single Twelvian is out to get us.”

The accusatory tone of his voice made it clear he saw through his brother’s ill-concealed opinion of the natives of this world, an attitude they couldn’t afford to have if they wanted to live in peace with them.

The bespectacled Eliatrope closed his arms over his white tunic with an ironic huff. “Forgive me for getting that impression from the many warriors they sent after you to kick us out…”

“Not everyone wants us gone, Qilby.” Yugo insisted, his tone severe. Unbidden, his mind immediately wandered to thoughts of chocolate eyes, emerald hair and bell-like laughter.

Scoffing at the dopey smile suddenly plastered on his younger brother’s face, and with a good idea as to what—or rather who—, had caused it, Qilby coughed loudly into his hand to get his king’s attention. If it weren’t because he was clearly distracted, his rapid blinking and shaking of his head would have been amusing. As it was, however, it was plain annoying.

“If you’re done thinking about mahogany curves,” he allowed a small, satisfied smirk to grace his features at Yugo’s furiously flushed face, “we were kind of in the middle of discussing our people’s future.”

Willing the heat to leave his cheeks, Yugo took a deep breath, the dream-like fog in his mind clearing away and allowing him to focus back on the task at hand with renewed sharpness. He read over the documents in his hands again, not liking the information detailed on them one bit.

Eyes still fixated on the words in front of him, he took a seat next to Qilby’s desk, reclining against the armchair’s back. He massaged his temples as he tried to come up with a solution. “Naturally, the best course of action would be to ask the other nations for help, but diplomatic relations between our peoples are still far too tentative to risk showing vulnerability.”

“Obviously.” Qilby concurred, matter-of-factly.

Paying him no mind, Yugo continued. “I’m sure if we asked Chibi and Grougal, it would only be a matter of time before they came up with the perfect solution. Unfortunately, time is of the essence and we can’t afford to lose any…”

“As I said, Oma’s warm climate keeps at bay the brunt of diseases and ailments, but that doesn’t change the fact that we could still need the medicine for other purposes, such as treating wounds.” Qilby pointed out, his hands to his back, his expression unreadable. “That, and the main reason why there are cold and flu outbreaks every year despite being the most common type of viruses is precisely because they’re constantly changing and adapting, meaning we are not immune to contracting them.”

“I suppose we could always organise teams of scavengers to go to the mainland and get the supplies we need, but we still risk vendors refusing to sell their produce to us on the basis that we’re Eliatropes and they still don’t trust us…” Yugo continued, immersed in his own thoughts. He only vaguely registered Qilby’s point about mutating viruses, not like his brother cared, far too used to his king’s single-mindedness when it came to his people facing a problem.

“True. We might not be as conspicuous as male Srams or Sadidas, but we don’t exactly pass off as regular humans either…” Qilby agreed, using a hand to point at his own hat for emphasis. Then, stroking his beard in thought, he added, “Not to mention, we still don’t have access to their form of currency, so we wouldn’t be able to pay for it either way.”

“Yeah, I hardly doubt us stealing, even if it is for our survival, would really help endear ourselves to them.” Yugo admitted with a sigh, passing a hand through his dirty blond locks even from underneath his hood.

Watching the action curiously, Qilby couldn’t help but ask, “Have you shown her what’s beneath your cloak?”

“Huh? To whom?”

“Amalia, of course.”

Yugo’s eyes widened in shock, heat crawling up his cheeks with the intensity of the burning sun. Did he really just suggest—? He couldn’t help but scoff. Of course he did. This was Qilby, and there was nothing he liked more than making his younger brother squirm.

“Of course not!” He all but screeched, startling his brother, who jolted in his place at his outraged reaction, putting a hand over his heart. Not wanting to be heard from the other room, he lowered his voice, though it retained its edge “How many times do I have to tell you, Qilby?! Amalia and I are just friends! I’m not going to ‘show her what’s underneath my cloak’ anymore than I’m going to ask her where all her womanly attributes come from!”

For a moment, Qilby just stood there, blinking slowly and thoroughly lost. What in the Great Goddess’ name was Yugo talking about? And what was he so flushed about? True, lowering your hood or taking off your hat was a big sign of trust and intimacy in their culture, but he hadn't known his brother to be that much of a prude to react like this—.

Oh.

For once more exasperated than amused, Qilby brought a palm to his forehead, unable to believe he was about to talk about this with his brother. He never talked about this with anyone. Period. Not even with his dear Shinonomé. The mere thought made him want to jump into a portal and run far, far, far away, his responsibilities as Primordial Eliatrope and member of the Council of Six be damned.

Mustering every last drop of patience and composure he possessed, Qilby said through gritted teeth, “Yugo, I wasn’t talking about that. I can assure you, for all my curiosity and unquenchable thirst for knowledge, that is the one thing that, the least I know about, the better.”

“Oh.” Yugo visibly deflated at that admission, though his cheeks remained bright red, this time out of sheer embarrassment over his mistake. Coughing awkwardly in a futile attempt to clear out the tension, he tried again. “So w-what…” he cleared his throat again. “So, what were you talking about?”

Wordlessly, Qilby pointed back at his own hat, a bored eyebrow raised.

Immediately, Yugo felt like kicking himself. He didn’t fall to the ground from shock and embarrassment out of sheer force of will. “I-I see… So that’s what you meant…”

Qilby hummed in response, praying for their mother to either put an end to this conversation or his existence. Whatever was easier and quicker, really.

Ignoring his brother’s suicidal desires, even though he himself wanted nothing more, Yugo finally admitted, his voice cracking despite himself. “Uh… No. No, no, I… I haven’t taken my hood around her. It’s… It’s too soon.”

In response to his king’s explanation, Qilby’s eyebrows discreetly shot to the ceiling, his interest renewed. For all his bravado and confidence in his abilities, Yugo had always been the most prone out of all their siblings to bouts of severe insecurity, especially when it came to his physical appearance. The dragon blood running through his veins gifted him with unparalleled resilience and great physical fortitude, but at the high price of impeding his growing process.

Despite all the Primordial Eliatropes and their dragon twins sharing prolonged lifespans, Yugo and Adamaï felt it the strongest. While the rest of their siblings grew to look their age and remained young for hundreds of years on end after reaching a certain age, the adventuring twins spent decades of their lifetime stuck in childish bodies.

No doubt that played a huge factor in their king’s hesitation when it came to choosing a queen.

But now, the gods themselves had gifted his brother with the most beautiful flower in Sadida’s garden, and just in time for his physical body not to pose a problem for them. But, as always, Yugo hesitated, too afraid of being rejected to really trust Sadida’s little wonder doll and put himself out on the line.

He couldn’t help the smirk from forming on his lips even if he wanted to. He could use this to his advantage.

“You know,” he started, his voice purposely casual, as if he were just pointing out an unimportant, trivial fact instead of creating expectation by carefully choosing his words. “Now that I think about it, there is something we could do to solve our shortage problem.”

Taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, Yugo threaded with caution, “What?”

Qilby’s smirk widened. “Lady Amalia.”

“What?!” Yugo gasped, incredulous. “Are you crazy? How’s Amalia going to help?”

Qilby’s smirk dropped as he took invisible lint off his clothes. He rolled his eyes, exasperated at his brother’s shortsightedness. In all his years, he’d never been able to understand how Chibi could have ever chosen Yugo over him.

“Think about it, Little Brother.” He began to walk around the room, methodically picking up items and putting them back down. He took a small gardening shovel and began to deliberately run his fingers up and down it, with purposeful strokes. “She is a Divine Doll, a Sadida demigoddess. Who better to solve our agricultural problem?”

“She’s not here for that—” He tried to say, but Qilby cut him off, using a portal to appear right in front of his face, causing Yugo to involuntarily take a step back.

“She’s here to help us.” Qilby reminded him pointedly, his eyes almost manic. Squaring his shoulders, he finally stepped back and gave his younger sibling some breathing room, his expression unreadable as he adjusted his tunic with his free hand.

“Yeah, with the Twelvians!” Yugo pressed on, his posture tensing up. “And she’s already been doing that! Or have you forgotten why we got invited to Bonta in the first place?”

“Unlike you, I could never forget, Yugo.” The eldest sibling snapped, jabbing the shovel in his hand at his king’s chest, his stoic mask cracking for a second. Then, realising his near slip-up, he cleared his throat and widened the distance between the two of them, trying to regain some sense of nonchalance. “All I’m saying is, there are more ways to help us than just accompanying us to the very few instances the other races have allowed us to breathe the same air as them…” He said mockingly, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Choosing to tackle Qilby’s reservations against the Twelvians another day—he already had his hands full dealing with Efrim’s blatant distrust of Amalia—Yugo exhaled loudly. He had the feeling he was going to regret this.

“What did you have in mind?”

The way the eldest Eliatrope’s lips curled into a calculating smile didn’t make him feel much better. If anything, it only aggravated the king’s already frazzled nerves.

“Just that we shouldn’t let our precious guest’s unique abilities go to waste.” He finally said, shovelling the small gardening tool into a pot by his side. “You heard her earlier. Thanks to her very nature, she was able to recognise the humectantis planta despite having never seen it before.”

“You mean the aloe vera?”

“...yeah, that.” He pouted, annoyed.

Bringing his thumb to his chin, the immortal king reflected on his brother’s words, running over every little piece of knowledge about Amalia he possessed. Immediately he was assaulted by images of her remodelling her whole room with all sorts of plants in just a matter of seconds. Or the way she commanded those palm trees to snare Adamaï and teach him a lesson when they all went to the beach. Or how she had been quick on her feet to summon a vine to save a plummeting kid on her first day of class…

Indeed, if there was anyone who could help them with their problem, that was Amalia.

And yet…

“How do you propose we do it? Even though she is a Sadida Doll, there’s no guarantee Amalia will be able to help us.”

“On the contrary, Little Brother. If there’s anyone who should be able to help us, it’s her.” Qilby insisted, coming closer to his brother to lean close to him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he whispered in his ear. “That girl’s powers over nature know no bounds.”

But Yugo still wasn't convinced. Eyes narrowed in thought, he questioned, “How can you be so sure about that?”

Qilby almost growled at his question. Well, it appeared he’d have to go for the kill.

The king almost gasped when the bespectacled Eliatrope used his earlier thoughts against him.

“Because it’s true. Or have you forgotten how she managed to grow what was essentially a micro jungle in her room, from stone? Growing the kind of crops and medical herbs we need shouldn’t pose a problem for her, even if she’s never heard of the plants before. As the humetanctis planta already proved—.”

“Aloe vera.”

“Shut up.”

Rolling his eyes at his brother’s childishness, Yugo allowed himself some time to think on his plan. Qilby wasn’t wrong. Amalia’s nature as a Sadida demigoddess already meant she had far greater control over plant-life than any of her mortal counterparts, the likes of which seemed to be amongst the most welcoming of their people, if only because they had their god’s daughter with them. And even if they decided to rely on the Sadidas for help, that, too, would be a direct result of Amalia’s influence.

So, technically speaking, relying on the doll’s powers alone would essentially amount to skipping a bunch of unnecessary steps.

Besides, she was always doing so much to submerge herself in their culture, and the only reason she remodelled her room in the first place was because she missed her roots and had yet to find her place amongst his people. So wouldn’t it be better if she had a way to feel closer to her own culture? If she could cut loose and experiment with her powers?

Yugo knew for a fact he would feel stifled if he couldn’t create his portals or see his siblings, and Amalia had already given up her own family for the sake of the Eliatropes’ alliance with the Twelvians. Surely, she could use something like this.

But at the same time, a part of Yugo kept gnawing at him, pointing out this wasn’t what she’d been sent here for and she could feel offended. She was to be a bridge between both civilisations, not an excuse to prevent the Eliatropes from asking for help and continuing on with their isolation from the outside world. Asking that of her would be like spitting in the gods’ name and will.

But at the same time, what were they to do in the meantime? It was far too soon to ask the other nations for help, and doing so could give them a reason to attack if they believed there was a weakness to exploit. His people could not go through another war, not again.

Never again.

And, this was all Qilby’s idea. Despite their differences and how often he got on his nerves, that was his brother, a member of the Council of Six. Their greatest priority would always be their duty to their people, the Eliatropes’ safety and well-being, and angering a Divine Doll and potentially her divine father and his cohorts could never be in their people’s best interests, could it?

Besides, if he couldn’t trust his own blood, who could he trust?

It was with those thoughts swirling in his mind that he locked eyes with Qilby. It took tremendous effort to speak around the lump in his throat. “What do you suggest I do?”

For some reason, when Qilby smiled, he didn’t feel all that reassured.

“You could always gift her her own garden. You know, give her a chance to test the limits to her powers first. And then you can start suggesting what she could grow, observing her progress and how it could benefit us… Before we know it, our shortage problem will be solved.” He said with a snap of his fingers.

Yugo was only half-listening, consumed by doubts about what he was about to do and if it’d truly be for the best. He could always ask Chibi and Grougal for help to build the garden and ask their opinion on Qilby’s plan. He would definitely have to talk about it with Adamaï, his twin brother had the uncanny ability to always say what he needed to hear most, be it good or bad.

While he pondered on what to do, he missed the way Qilby’s otherwise placid expression hardened momentarily, a scowl coming to rest on his features. Just as soon as it appeared, however, it vanished, being replaced by a comforting smile.

Yugo was startled out of his thoughts when Qilby placed a hand on his back and began to guide him outside the room. “Now, let’s go back with the girls. I’m sure your little flower must be waiting for you…”

................................................................................................................

There was no doubt in her mind the first thing she should do with her new garden was to grow some grass. Luckily for her, when she gauged the ground’s state with her palms to try and figure out how much work it would take her, she was pleased to find out she wouldn’t have to wait long, after all. She had to hand it to Chibi and Grougal, once again, their work didn’t disappoint. And their choice of using Oma’s volcanic soil was spot-on.

Amalia would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to getting to work. As great as it was to feel the soil under her feet, nothing beat the feeling of laying atop a mantle of soft grass on a sunny day. And on starry nights, it was the perfect mattress on top of which stargaze, caressed by the cool, late night breeze. If she played her cards right—and when it came to nature, nobody could beat a Sadida at that game, not even the luckiest Ecaflip—, she would soon be enjoying the fruits of her labour.

Literally, as she fully intended to grow berry bushes and fruit trees. She loved Oma’s selection, but she could do with a little more variety.

Most importantly, though, what she was looking the most forward to was starting a small passion project of hers. She had been so busy assimilating to Eliatrope culture she had all but neglected a key aspect of her own. It was high time she changed that. Besides, if everything went according to plan, then she’d be able to be of greater help to Yugo than by just waiting around until the Twelvians made their next move.

This way, she would be actively accomplishing what her father created her for. It was a win-win, really!

Now that she knew what she’d be needing to get to work on her garden, the Divine Doll stood up, dusting her hands off as she turned to look back at her friend with a pleased smile.

Only to immediately frown in concern.

Yugo had moved from where he was when she started inspecting the room and came to stand beside a window to her right. Normally, that wouldn’t have worried Amalia, but his expression tugged at her heartstrings almost painfully, making her worry just what on the World of Twelve could have made him pull that face.

Even with his hood on, the doll could clearly see how his lips were set in a firm, thin line, the subtle movements of his jaw betraying the way he was gritting his teeth. His cloak concealed his entire body from view, but the green-haired beauty knew him enough by now to be perfectly able to picture him clenching his fists so tight, his knuckles were most likely white already.

He stared, crestfallen, at the confines of his kingdom, a deep frown nestled between his eyebrows as his eyes were imbued with an unnatural light. The deep brown she came to associate with them turned a bright blue from whatever thoughts were swirling around his mind, his gaze fixated in parts unknown. The Divine Doll knew there were only two reasons Yugo’s eyes would ever go from dark brown to neon blue; either something had caused his wakfu to build up to near dangerous levels, or he was using his wakfu vision. Seeing as there was nothing at the moment that could cause his wakfu to act up, that left his wakfu vision as the only reasonable explanation, but why would he need to use it now?

A painful pang resonated from Amalia’s core, the inner turmoil reflected in the king’s eyes causing her to subconsciously bring a hand to her chest in concern. What could have possibly caused him to feel like that? Just a few minutes ago he was even more excited about the garden than her.

Why did he suddenly look in so much pain?

As Yugo zoomed in on the joyful grins plastered across their children’s faces as they played, the placid conversations held between neighbours, and his people going on with their day, blissfully unaware of the conflicted storm brewing within their king, he kept telling himself everything he did was for them. For their sake and their happiness.

If they could enjoy the simple pleasures of a nice day out like they were doing now after their kind had been marked by so much sorrow and heartache, it was because he and the Council had done everything in their power to make it happen. They were the Primordial Eliatropes and Dragons. They were leaders, tasked since birth with the immense honour and even heavier burden of looking after their subjects. Their people’s survival depended entirely on them, on him.

And that responsibility came with the reality of being forced to make difficult decisions from time to time. It was a fact of life he had made peace with countless times over his many reincarnations. Sooner or later, no matter his experiences in each life, Yugo always came to the same conclusion: as long as his people got to thrive and live peacefully, there was nothing that wouldn’t be worth it.

And yet, now he found himself wondering if that included using the most precious flower he had ever laid his eyes on to reach that goal.

Despite himself, he could hear the crackle of wakfu running up and down his body at the thought, his teeth gritting in frustration with himself. He knew that, as King of the Eliatropes, his utmost duty would always be to his people, but a part of himself—the part that kept pulling him towards Amalia, begging every single second to stretch itself thin so he could enjoy the pleasure of her company as much as possible—, couldn’t bring itself to risk hurting her in any way.

Yes, this garden was the perfect chance for her to go back to her roots after months of walking amongst the Eliatropes, but it also served to carry out hidden intentions. He was to subtly steer Amalia towards growing what his people needed so they wouldn’t have to risk further confrontation with the Twelvians, but that wasn’t what he’d told the doll.

This garden was supposed to be her home away from home. Her chance to express herself as the divine force of nature she had been conceived as and be truly free. And yet, she was to be manipulated into what to do with her supposed safe haven from the very beginning.

It just wasn’t right!

Moreover, she was a Divine Doll! Her existence was actually deeply significant to the inhabitants of this world, something that apparently distinguished her from the rest of the gods’ children. Wouldn’t helping his people thrive even without the Twelvians’ help be beneath her? Wouldn’t it go against her father and his cohorts’ wishes? Wasn’t he just using what was supposed to be an esteemed guest for his own benefit?

But at the same time, what else could he do?! This world’s natives had made it perfectly clear they weren’t welcomed, only changing their minds upon learning of Amalia’s existence. Hence, his people had been forced to isolate themselves to avoid further conflicts, but that also meant they lived in a near constant state of siege. Their new home couldn’t provide them with everything they needed, and they couldn’t go look for supplies because their presence would put the Twelvians on edge. If they didn’t find a way to be self-sufficient, their kind was as well as doomed.

And it wasn’t like they had asked for the gods to grant them the answer to their prayers: a demigoddess with unparalleled power over nature who could no doubt help them grow whatever they needed.

Except Amalia’s presence was supposed to be key in the diplomatic aspects of their assimilation to the World of Twelve, not the perfect excuse to keep to themselves. If she learned she was only contributing to keeping Eliatropes and Twelvians apart, she would be heartbroken.

Yugo’s eyes narrowed further, his stomach churning in apprehension as he went down that particular train of thought. Yes, Amalia had been tasked since birth to act as a bridge between different nations; at least, that was what she kept telling them. As much as it pained him to admit it, they still had no way to prove the twelve gods didn’t have any ulterior motives behind sending Amalia to the world of the living.

After all, the relationship between the twelve gods and the Eliatropes was nonexistent, even after arriving at their world. Since the only goddess the portal-making race worshipped was their mother, the twelve gods had no reason to invest themselves in them. They certainly didn’t seem to so much as bat an eyelash when the Mechasms attacked. So why intervene now?

Why entrust them with such a precious gift if not because they had some ulterior motive—?

His mind immediately went blank when a warm, soft hand enveloped his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. In an instant, his connection to the wakfu around him, that which allowed for his senses to sharpen to the point of rendering the most talented Cra jealous, was severed, the neon light of his eyes giving way to warm brown once more. He let out a gasp in surprise, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to adjust to the changing world around him, before he turned to identify the origin of his surprise.

The sight of two beautiful pools, framed by emerald eyebrows knitted in concern, did not help his mind form coherent thoughts any. And Amalia stepping closer into his personal bubble while never letting go of his hand only served for the very few coherent thoughts that he did have to be consumed by the sound of his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

And yet, despite all the signs, he was still taken aback when she opened up her mouth to ask:

“Yugo, are you alright?”

Much to his chagrin, he actually jolted in place at her question. Was he really so obvious whenever something weighed heavily on his mind, or did Amalia just know him well enough by now to read him like an open book?

He honestly didn’t know which was more terrifying.

“Y-yeah..” He cleared his throat a little too loudly. “Yeah, I’m perfectly fine, Amalia. No need to worry.”

She tilted her head to the side, looking unfairly adorable doing so. “Are you sure? No offence, but you don’t look too hot right now…”

“Way to kick a man when he’s down…”

“Uh-huh!” She exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “So you are down!”

Shoot. He was one more slip of the tongue away from giving himself away. He needed to put an end to this conversation, and quickly. He’d have time to unload his thoughts when he was alone with Adamaï. If anyone could help him sort his feelings out, that was his brother.

“I’m fine, Amalia. Really.” He insisted, letting go of her hand to raise his defensively in front of his body, subtly building a wall between the two. He made a point of looking around, his expression lighting up purposely when his eyes settled on something behind the Sadida Doll. “Hey, you seemed very invested in that area earlier.” He pointed at a space located at the far corner of the room where, indeed, the doll had spent a good amount of time deciding what she wanted to go there. “Did you come up with anything cool for that?”

Following the direction his finger was pointing at, to where she had entertained the idea of building a small pond with its own tiny waterfall, Amalia almost fell for his trap. Almost. She had been on the receiving end of his endlessly frustrating yet cordial cold shoulder long enough to pick up on his attempts at being evasive. And his adamant insistence on changing the topic did not sit well with the doll.

She gritted her teeth in frustration, the beginnings of a snarl curling at her lips. No matter what he did, she was not going back to how things had been before going to Bonta. Whether he liked it or not, she was going to get to the bottom of this and find out what was wrong with him now.

“Yugo, don’t try to change the subject.”

The King of the Eliatropes, who had summoned a portal beneath his feet to move around Amalia and step closer to where he was trying to redirect their attention to, froze at the stone-laced tone of her voice. Unsure, he turned around to face her, only to wince at the sight of Amalia with her arms crossed over her chest and an eyebrow raised expectantly, almost losing itself in the leafiness of her forest-green mane.

Still, he tried, “I’m not changing the subject.”

“Yes, you are!” She scoffed, incredulous at the sheer gall he had for even trying to deny the obvious. She took one step after the other as she spoke, slowly but surely closing the distance between them. “You’re clearly not fine, yet the moment I ask what’s going on, you act like everything’s peachy and suddenly an empty patch of dirt is the most interesting thing in the world!”

“It’s not like that.” He said, and for a moment, she was inclined to believe him, her scowl softening into a patient look. “I’m not interested in the patch of dirt, I’m interested in what you intend to do with it.” He corrected her matter-of-factly, causing her jaw to drop in sheer disbelief.

Her face going red from outrage, her whole body shaking with ill-contained emotion, she all but screeched, “Yugo!”

The king at least had the decency to wince at her reaction, slightly ashamed. Okay, that definitely hadn’t been his finest moment, but he was running out of ideas!

Then, worry overtook his senses when he took notice of Amalia’s shoulders shaking; of her fists, clenched tightly at her sides; of the way her head was tilted low enough for her bangs to hide her face from view. Gulping audibly, Yugo had a very strong inkling the Divine Doll was about to lose it and tear him a new one, complaining about how difficult he was being at the moment. Honestly, for a doll, Amalia had one Shukrute of a temper, and being on the receiving end of it was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

What she actually did instead made him wish she’d screamed at him.

Right as he was about to place his hands on her shoulders to get her to look at him, Amalia beat him to the punch, what he saw feeling like an actual sucker punch to the stomach. The Divine Doll’s eyes were big and watery, her lip trembling pitifully as she begged, “Please, Yugo. Don’t shut me out again…”

That broke his resolve.

It was like he’d been doused in ice-cold water, the realisation causing the thorny vines of guilt to take hold of his heart and squeeze it so tight it bled. What was he doing? Hadn’t he learned his lesson after what happened at the banquet? Then why was he about to repeat the same mistakes all over again?

Regardless of whether she agreed to help or not upon finding out the truth, what they intended to do still involved Amalia. It depended almost entirely on her, as a matter of fact. They couldn’t just do whatever they pleased without even letting her know. Weren’t they supposed to be friends? Wasn’t honesty key in all friendships? How could he try and take that away from her?

Amalia deserved to know. Even if she was disgusted with them and their blatant disrespect of her role and position amongst the Twelvians and refused to help them after all.

She deserved to know.

And so, with a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, Yugo said, “This isn’t for you.”

“What?” Amalia asked, blinking slowly as her brain scrambled to make sense of everything. “What isn’t for me? Are you saying you’re not mad at me or something?”

“No!” Yugo rushed out to say, before noticing her confused expression and trying to clarify. “I mean, no, of course I’m not mad at you. It’s just…” Another sigh punctuated the pause he made. He gestured to the space around them. “This isn’t for you, not exactly. Sure, you’re the only one who can actually use this place to its full potential, but that’s not exactly why we want you to have your own garden.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, Amalia looked around the room, almost as if hoping it would present her with all the answers for her questions if she focused hard enough. When that proved to be pointless, she focused back on Yugo. “Then… Who is this for?”

“Us.” He told her simply.

“You?”

“Yes, us.” He nodded. “The Eliatropes.”

“But why would you need me to grow a garden for you?” She pressed on, trying to make sense of everything. “I saw your crops when we looked out the window. They’re in perfect health! And-and… the tree! It told me you guys are actually very good at taking care of plants. I… I just… I don’t understand.”

Truth be told, Yugo was just as lost when she mentioned the tree, before remembering Sadidas spoke their language, so it shouldn’t be too surprising. Though a new, primal fear regarding what she might tell the trees about him was beginning to materialise in the back of his mind. He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for that.

Now was the time for being honest.

“Our crops are doing fine.” He started. “But Oma’s climate and size come with limitations as to what we can grow and not, and right now we can’t risk getting what we need from outside sources.”

“Because your position amongst the other nations is still precarious…” Amalia gasped, a new wave of understanding flashing through her eyes.

The king nodded. “Right. We can’t afford to ask the other nations for help when we’re still not even fully fledged allies. So you were our last hope, Amalia.”

“Wait, me?” The doll repeated, incredulous, pointing at herself with one finger.

“Who better than a Divine Doll to grow some plants?” Yugo allowed a small, tentative smile to grace his features. It didn’t take long for it to drop, though. “Given your powers, we were expecting you could help us grow the crops and medical herbs we needed without having to ask the other races for help… But now I realise how selfish of me that was, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? For what?” Okay, now Amalia was officially lost. While she had to admit she didn’t appreciate Yugo not being honest from the start, she didn’t understand what he had to be sorry for. It wasn’t like his people were using their portals to raid Twelvian markets and supplies and had turned her into their unsuspecting accomplice. Quite the contrary, really! They were going out of their way precisely to avoid any further conflict with the Twelvians.

He was just trying to look out for his people. Why did he feel the need to punish himself so much for it?

Ignoring her train of thought, the Eliatrope went on to explain. “Because that’s not what you’re here for. You were sent here precisely to help us achieve a peaceful coexistence with the inhabitants of this world, not to give us a free pass from ever interacting with them by giving us the perfect excuse not to ask for help—”

His ramblings were immediately stopped when Amalia stepped a little closer to him and placed both hands on his chest, her smile soft and understanding.

“Yugo,” she began, her velvety voice sending a shiver down his spine, “I’m here to help. Yes, my presence is supposed to put the Twelvians at ease by showing the gods bear you and your race no ill will, but that’s not all I’m reduced to.”

“I know you’re not.” He tried to protest. Absent-mindedly, he took one of her hands in his and began to rub gentle circles on the back of her palm with his thumb, his finger caressing the white fabric of her wristbands. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” She cut him off once more, though not maliciously. She just wanted him to stop overthinking everything before he provoked his own mental breakdown. Her cheeks warming, she tried to ignore the fluttering of her heart at the feeling of his thumb running over her skin. “All I’m saying is there are many more ways I can fulfil my duty beyond presenting myself to the World of Twelve.”

“But helping my people has nothing to do with it.” Yugo pointed out.

“On the contrary, it has everything to do with it.” She took a step back, taking her hand off her chest to gesture at the space around them. “Don’t you see, Yugo? I was sent here with you for a reason, and that was to help you make yourselves at home in any way I could, and if you need me to do some gardening for you… Well,” she shrugged nonchalantly, “I can honestly think of about a million other things that would be much worse.”

“So you really don’t mind?” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it sounded like a desperate cry to his ears. But the Eliatrope couldn't help it. He needed to make sure Amalia felt comfortable doing this. If she didn’t, then he would shut the whole project down and gather the Council to come up with some other solution to their problem.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she admitted, “Yugo, this is my home, now. What kind of person would I be if I weren’t willing to lend a hand to my own home?”

At her words, Yugo broke into a grin so wide, so blinding, that for a moment Amalia felt like she was looking directly at her father’s face, without his mask. And as the grateful Eliatrope enveloped her in a tight hug, their laughter mingling together in the air as he joyfully spun her around, Amalia thought quietly to herself that she had sort of lied earlier, when she said she would do anything to help her new home.

In truth, there was nothing she wasn’t willing to do to help him.

......................................................................................................................

The wind picked up slightly in the vast confines of the desert, under the pale moonlight, grains of sand danced in the air, rocked by the breeze. A Boowolf’s howls echoed in the distance, highlighting the bleak fate that awaited whoever was foolish enough to stay around for too long. A fair warning to stay away from trouble one would be foolish to ignore.

Although, much like your screams when no one was around, considering how desolate the area was, could it really be said anything was heard at all?

In the middle of the vast expanse of nothingness, stood a series of ruins, dilapidated buildings that now were nothing more than a shadow of their former glory. Xelor’s clock had not been kind to them. Where once stood imposing fortresses and majestic palaces, home to unparalleled knowledge and thriving civilisations now long lost, all that was left were limbless statues and a bunch of bricks carelessly piled up and gathering dust.

Much like with your screams, could it be said the Kingdom of the Winds ever existed when all that was left were its ruins?

However, in the middle of this forsaken place forgotten by gods and worshippers alike, the ground opened in two, revealing a long staircase that seemed to lead deep underground, almost as if it were connected to the very centre of the planet. A figure trudged down its stairs, a gloved hand tracing the wall next to them for support as he descended. His steps were slow and deliberate, as though he was trying to delay the inevitable and taking his sweet time reaching ground level was the only way he could achieve that.

He let out a low, humourless chuckle when, at long last, his feet landed on solid, sandy ground. He, of all people, should know things always came sooner or later; a clock’s hands never stopped ticking, never stopped stealing away precious moments. And yet, Xelor had the strange compulsion to stretch every single second of a person’s suffering into a merciless eternity while splitting one’s joy into milliseconds. Fleeting moments meant to leave a lasting impact on whoever lived them.

Gods, he scoffed disdainfully, his eyes narrowing in disgust even behind his mask. Could their disconnection and indifference towards the people they claim to protect be any more obvious?

The more time passed and the more those same gods who were supposed to always be looking after them let slide, not caring for the consequences those disasters had on the World of Twelve, the plainer it was to see they didn’t really see Twelvians as their loyal followers, but as flesh puppets they could toy with for their own amusement.

Not even their own children were safe from their divine parents’ self-centredness and egotistical nature. Their very existence should be a sign of greatness, however, most of them remained forgotten, unheard of. An undisclosed piece of information never to be shared around polite company, like a shameful secret. And yet, everyone knew of their existence, like a shouted whisper.

Even from their position behind his back, his fists tightened significantly as his mind was flooded with images of forest-green and pear-like curves, tainted by the memory of a rustling cloak and neon-blue eyes.

He snarled.

It was obvious even the most sacred of their children were nothing more than pawns under the gods’ thumb.

“Hmm, back so soon?” a mocking voice he knew far too well purred, the playful sound doing nothing to hide the sick satisfaction its owner felt by ribbing him. “I thought you were ever so busy taking care of your precious Frigost?”

“I come bearing important news from the political circles of the World of Twelve, Ush.” Count Harebourg explained, without deigning to turn around as he talked to the black-furred Ecaflip. “For that purpose, I request an audience with Lady Echo at once.”

Ush hummed, his eyes closed as he dozed over a piece of debris that used to be a statue of the god Iop, his tail flicking back and forth. Stretching as he yawned, he lazily opened one yellow eye to glance down at the overly serious Xelor aristocrat.

“Oh? Is that so?” He said, making himself comfortable in his spot and leaning his head against one of his claws. “And, pray tell, what could possibly be so important as to demand Lady Echo’s immediate attention, hm?”

But Harebourg would not budge. “That is a matter concerning Lady Echo and I, Ush. This is for her ears only.”

The Ecaflip rolled his eyes, bored, before yawning once more. “What’s the fun in a two-player game? Aren’t we supposed to be all on the same team? What’s with keeping things secret between the coach and you, my good Count?”

By that point, the Count had finally turned to face his fellow demigod, the scowl deepening behind his mask at his insolence. How someone so flippant could have been selected to be entrusted with the task of looking after their world was beyond him. The only other person he believed to be worse than Ush would be Toxine, and that was only because the deranged Sram’s very nature made it impossible for her to look after anything without breaking it at some point.

Before the Xelor demigod could so much as utter another word, however, a third voice joined their little, reluctant conversation.

“Ush is right, Harebourg. The Brotherhood is supposed to work as one—if you have something to share with Lady Echo, we should all be informed as well.”

“Kali.” The Count acknowledged the Sacrier’s presence curtly, but refused to say anything else.

A burst of irritation flashed through Kali’s bi-coloured visage, her lips pursed in a disapproving line, but she pushed the feeling back down as she came to stand before the aristocrat. Her pupiless eyes remained impassive even as she said, “So, what is it that you wish to tell us?”

“Uh-uh-uh.” In response, he wagged one gloved finger in the air chidingly. Even with the icy mask on, it was impossible not to hear the smirk in the Count’s voice. “Didn’t you just say so yourself, dear Kali? We should all be present before I can share any news. And I believe that three members can hardly count as ‘all’.”

“Well played, Harebourg. Well played…” Ush, who had jumped from where he had been resting to the floor, coming to stand to his full height between his two cohorts, admitted reluctantly. At the same time, a sneer curled at the corner of the Sacrier’s inky lips.

“You know as well as we do most of us are away on missions.” Kali was quick to remind him, seeing right through his tricks.

The Xelor actually had the audacity to shrug in mock innocence. “Then I suppose I won’t be sharing my news with the Brotherhood. Although I must insist Lady Echo at least, as our esteemed leader, should be in the know so she can plan accordingly.”

The Sacrier demigoddess was struggling to hold herself back from lunging at him and ensnaring her fellow demigod with her blood until he suffocated when something from behind him caught her eye. At the sight of it, it didn’t take long for the scowl on her face to be replaced by a smug smirk as she straightened up. By her side, observing her sudden change in demeanour, Ush pouted and his ears drooped in disappointment at the apparent lack of incoming bloodshed.

“Looks like you might still have to fess up after all.”

When all the Count could do was let out a confused grunt, Kali limited herself to pointing at some place behind him, standing confidently with her hand on her hip. This time, both Count Harebourg and Ush followed her extended finger. But while Ush perked up at what he saw, his tail swaying mischievously in anticipation, the Count had to bite down a curse.

How he hated having to report to the rest of the Brotherhood. One thing was fulfilling his end of the bargain to Lady Echo, as she was the one who recruited him in the first place with the promise of making the gods and guardians pay for their abandonment of his realm, but another very different thing was having to answer to people he barely interacted with nor cared about most of the time.

It was true they would have to be in perfect sync when the time came to carry out their plan and take their respective places in the Krosmic order, but he would like to be able to enjoy his last few moments of freedom before that happened. He’d never understand how the entirety of the current pantheon hadn’t gone insane from dealing with one another for millenia. It was impossible that they could all stand each other.

That had to be the only time the Xelor would ever find himself sympathising with his divine father. The mere thought of having anything in common with that deadbeat left a bad taste in his mouth.

Although it was nothing compared to the bitterness he felt when he spotted about half of their order gathering at their hide-out when they were supposed to be away carrying out their respective missions. At least Toxine and Black Bump were nowhere to be seen. He really didn’t have the energy to put up with a psychopath and a pervert, respectively.

The first to arrive was Coqueline, giggling without a care as she rode on her loyal Gobgob familiar Cancane, who literally came bouncing down the stairs, its body morphed into a ball with a spear-headed tail. More than once, Harebourg found himself wondering why, as an Osamodas, she didn’t just grow a pair of wings to fly from one place to another.

Even though the petite Osamodas was one of the oldest members around, her child-like physique and personality didn’t seem to have caught up with her chronological age, for even now she still threw herself at Kali’s arms like a small child would do with her older sister. As always, the girl’s infectious enthusiasm was one of the few things that could get Kali—and most other members of their alliance, as a matter of fact—to calm down and genuinely smile.

The only other surefire way to brighten the Sacrier’s mood came in the form of a large, portly Pandawa demigod with a reversed colour palette going by the name of Poo. Unlike his divine mother and mortal counterparts, whose fur was primarily white with black accents, Poo stood out because his shaggy fur was mostly black with white accents.

Really, he looked more like a stray Bow Wow than a Pandawa demigod on a good day.

And yet, his jovial and home-oriented personality—with his love for cooking, interior design, and housekeeping—, as well as his girth, hid a formidable and extremely agile and swift fighter. His prowess in hand-to-hand combat was such, he could disarm pretty much any opponent in the blink of an eye. And his alcohol resistance was so high he could outdrink an entire tavern’s worth of customers single-handedly and still act somewhat lucidly.

And Kali loved Poo for everything that made him Poo.

Even Harebourg had to admit the two of them shared something incredibly special. Something mortals would only experience once in their lives, while demigods were lucky if they got to witness anything similar once every lifetime. He had been by Lady Echo’s side since those two were children fresh out of the orphanage, and the many years they spent together only served to bring them closer.

They were truly fortunate, to be able to build their lives alongside someone who would actually get to live just as long as them… Most demigods didn’t have that privilege—either they fell in love with a mortal and spent the rest of their unending days missing that love, or they simply resigned themselves to the kind of loneliness that came with eventually outliving everyone you care about and didn’t even try to find true love.

Indeed, Kali and Poor were extremely lucky to have found each other.

The Count’s fists clenched at his sides at the painful reminder of what he had just lost. And all because of that forsaken Elia—.

“Is it true, Harebourg?” Coqueline asked out of the blue from Kali’s arms. Poo had come to stand beside his beloved and the two had just pulled away after greeting each other with a kiss.

“Huh?” The Xelor blinked behind his mask, taken by surprise for once. “What is true?”

The pink-haired Osamodas just rolled her eyes dramatically, sharing a knowing glance with her Gobgob familiar, as though accustomed to her fellow demigod not paying attention to his surroundings. “What I heard you say earlier about having important news to tell us, of course.”

Immediately, he built his icy walls back up. “That is correct, Coqueline. However, as I’m sure you know already,” he said pointedly, making sure the beast-taming child understood he did not appreciate her eavesdropping, “I’d much rather inform Lady Echo. And only Lady Echo.”

“Oh, you’re no fun…” She pouted cutely, letting herself fall from Kali’s grasp and crossing her arms over her torso as she sulked the moment her feet made contact with the ground, picking up a small cloud of dust in her wake.

“Speaking of Lady Echo, where is she?” Poo chimed in, his large hand over his love’s much smaller shoulder as he looked around in search of their leader.

It was a voice, coming from far away, that answered, “The Mistress has been trying to locate a child of Iop that is worthy of joining our cause. But alas, no such luck as of yet.”

Then, emerging from the shadows, a large, imposing beast leapt down on the ground alongside the gods’ children, a tremor reverberating inside the ruins at his landing. Soon enough, the pale moonlight revealed the imposing form of a greyish Boo Wolf towering over them, his sharp canines glinting as he spoke.

Nobody flinched, being well acquainted with the creature.

“Sipho! How nice of you to join us.” Ush commented sarcastically, an intrigued eyebrow raised. “Normally, wherever your mistress goes, you’re close behind her.”

“I was tasked with a different mission.” He explained simply, ignoring the Ecaflip’s ill-concealed barb against him. Then, his body began to morph, losing height until he was barely taller than Coqueline. Where once were the canine features of a wolf; ear, claws, and fangs gave way to the hairless, lanky body of an amphibian. However, the whitish fur coat over the dragon-born’s upper body remained, as did his large, pupiless, black eyes.

Kali, ever the focused one, pressed on, concerned, “Still no luck in finding an Iop, Sipho?”

The dragon shook his head. “No. For some reason, Iop hasn’t been siring as many offspring as he used to. And the ones available just won’t cut it.”

“I’ve always liked that Goultard guy.” Coqueline added her two kamas. Her small outburst against Harebourg forgotten, she scurried over to the corner of the room and began to crawl up a statue, perching herself over a headless Sacrier’s wing and swinging herself back and forth.

“He does have the experience, immortality, and power we’re looking for.” Ush agreed, holding his chin pensively with his sleeveless arm. “Not to mention, he is actually smart for an Iop. That in itself is rarer than finding a Primordial Dofus in the middle of the road.”

“That’s true, however,” it was Poo’s turn to be the voice of dissent, “he is also fairly unpredictable. The last thing we need is to unleash upon the world an even bigger warmongering meathead than his predecessor.”

As the conversation went on around him, Harebourg’s irritation grew. He did not have time for this, he had a realm to look after and he was already wasting enough time as it was coming here to inform Lady Echo of his findings. The next Iop to become a part of the Brotherhood of the Forgotten could be Khan Karkass’ reanimated corpse, for all he cared!

And to think this could all have been a conversation through magic crystal…

“If Lady Echo won’t be joining us tonight,” he snapped, his voice carrying over the room and silencing everyone present even though his tone remained as stoic as ever, “I shall be taking my leave. I will relay my findings at a later date.”

Kali tried to protest, reaching out to stop him. “Hey, wait a minute—!”

Just as the Xelor demigod had turned around and begun his march up the stairs leading outside, a soft giggle echoed around the halls, causing everyone gathered to halt what they were doing and look around in anticipation.

“My dear Count, always fighting against the clock. As always, you prove you will make a fine time god.”

The flapping of wings was heard, the sound bouncing off against the walls, followed shortly after by a soft thud! as the owner of the voice landed on the sandy floor. A pair of majestic, feathery wings—one white as snow, the other the colour of wine—reflected the pale moonlight. A rustling sound preceded the moment her legs, a pair of powerful, dark talons, gave way to a silky curtain of black fabric that went down her feet, now the same pale green colour as the rest of her skin, going from her fingertips to the tips of her elongated ears and elegant face.

Lady Echo’s observant, yellow eyes zeroed in on the retreating figure of the Count, a placid smile on her face that hid the unbending steel the Eniripsa demigoddess reserved for her enemies—and for her most unruly followers.

In an instant, the Count had one knee on the ground while the other remained bent in sign of respect towards his leader, his head hung as he used one fist to anchor himself.

“Well, here I am, Count Harebourg.” Lady Echo said, extending her arms to the side as she tucked her uneven wings back in, the extra limbs disappearing without a trace into the tattoos on her back. “I must admit, I find myself feeling quite intrigued by the gravity which you treat your findings with. It must be quite important for it to rattle you this much.”

The winged woman gave her Xelor chosen a few more minutes to gather his thoughts and explain himself, but when that didn’t happen, she sent him a pointed look, urging him to speak up. Instead, raising his head momentarily, the Count made the smallest gesture with his head towards his fellow demigods, fully conveying his refusal to reveal anything in front of them. His stubbornness caused the markings on Echo’s face to contract minutely, vexation making its presence known before her features softened again in an attempt to remain patient.

Even though the Eniripsa already knew what the problem seemed to be, Kali still stepped in, “Harebourg refuses to share his findings with us, my Lady.” She glared at him, her own exasperation tingeing her voice. “He’s been adamant on speaking with you in private ever since he arrived.”

“I simply believe this is a matter that concerns you first and foremost, Lady Echo.” The aristocrat defended himself.

In response, Lady Echo just hummed in acknowledgement and took slow, deliberate steps towards some debris laying around. Then, she sat down daintily on top of the rubble, her legs crossed and one dangling over the other. Leaning forward, she rested her chin on her knuckles, her horns making her look imposing even with her relaxed posture.

“Now, now, Harebourg. You know the rules.” She chided him, almost as if she were talking to a small, misbehaving child. “Our mission is to protect the World of Twelve from anything that might harm it, seeing as the gods cannot be trusted to lift a finger on our behalf.”

“I know.” The Count said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know you know.” She flashed him a proud smile, the dimples on her face deepening. She didn’t lose her jovial voice even as she said, “Then I expect you to know we cannot achieve our goals if we don’t manage to work as one.” It was then that her voice turned more sombre. “If you have important news concerning all of us, it is imperative you share said news with the entirety of the Brotherhood, not just me; for that is the only way we will be able to organise ourselves and act accordingly. Understood?”

Even though it was phrased like a question, her words left no room for rebuttals.

“Yes, my Lady. I understand.”

“Excellent.” The lazy smile was back on her lips. “Now, then. What was it you wanted to tell us?”

When a few minutes passed and Harebourg had yet to say anything, a frown settled on Echo’s brow; she did not appreciate his silence. Then again, Harebourg had always been a bit of a wild card amongst her followers. While he still deferred to her and her authority, and his powers over magic and ice magic were nothing to scoff at, his single-mindedness when it came to ruling over Frigost oftentimes made him near unpredictable and, what’s worse, unreliable.

There was no doubt in the Count’s mind: if it came between his realm and the Brotherhood of the Forgotten, he would choose Frigost in a heartbeat.

Which was the reason why Echo kept a close eye on him. Who knew the consequences they would have to face all because of his skewed sense of priorities? Her patience at his silence thinning, Echo was about to ask again when the Xelor aristocrat finally spoke up, his words causing her to freeze up better than any of his spells ever could.

“The rumours are true. Sadida has created an eleventh Divine Doll, and he’s handed her over to the Eliatropes.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

A loud gasp resounded around the chamber at his revelation and then, everything was silent. The Brotherhood of the Forgotten exchanged worried glances, dreading what such a development would mean for their cause. Eventually, all eyes landed on Lady Echo, trying to gauge their leader’s reaction to such disturbing news.

As for the Eniripsa demigoddess herself, she remained perfectly still, almost unaffected by the shocking revelation. However, if one were to look closely, they would notice the slight tremor in her posture, the tension on her shoulders, and the almost imperceptible way in which one of her hands clutched at the fabric of her dress.

So the rumours were true, there was a new Divine Doll roaming around their world, a new Sadida demigoddess. After all those centuries, that in itself was an extremely astonishing development not even her order, in all their years of existence combined, could have predicted. This could certainly change things.

However, there was something even more disquieting about her presence.

“You said she’s been handed over to the Eliatropes. Explain.”

Her usually warm and affable voice had been replaced by cold steel, befitting of the seriousness of their situation.

With a nod, Count Harebourg went on to elaborate, raising his face to look Lady Echo in the eye. Not even his mask could hide the sheer venom in his voice as he spoke of the foreign race.

“Her name is Amalia, me and the other rulers first heard of her from the lips of Master Joris of Bonta.” He pursed his lips in distaste at the mention of his old foe. “Apparently, there had been sightings of a Sadida woman on Oma Island and he’d been sent to investigate.”

“They feared the Eliatropes had kidnapped her…” Ush deducted, earning himself a stiff nod from the Xelor.

“But she wasn’t a mere Sadida, was she?” Even though Echo voiced it like a question, the answer was a foregone conclusion at this point.

Harebourg obliged her with a nod. “There is nothing mere about her, my Lady.” The earnestness in his voice actually took his comrades aback. In all the years they had known him, the only thing Count Harebourg ever got passionate about were Frigost and carrying out his revenge against the gods and Lady Jiva.

Ignoring their shocked reactions, he went on, “After Joris himself attested to her being a Divine Doll, the world leaders scrambled to organise a banquet in her honour, one that doubled as the perfect opportunity to size the Eliatropes up and their true intentions, more so after learning of the gods’ choice to entrust Amalia to them.”

Echo’s eyes narrowed, intrigued. It was Coqueline, however, who voiced everyone’s thoughts, perking up from her perch on Sacrier’s beheaded neck.

“So they actually bother to lift a finger for the first time in centuries and it’s all to the benefit of a bunch of outsiders that don’t even worship them?” She hissed, standing on all fours with her back arched in displeasure. By her side, Cancane stuck his tongue out in disgust and disapproval, reflecting his mistress’ mood.

Then again, Coqueline thought, why was she even surprised? Osamodas was supposed to be the Celestial Tamer and yet he allowed for the animals in this world to suffer day after day. Not even his followers seemed to care about the creatures they summoned beyond their own pets. If anyone knew about giving preferential treatment to those who didn’t deserve it, it was him.

From his bent down position, the Count tensed up, his own outrage at the situation shining through his stiff shoulders. He had to muster every ounce of self-control he possessed not to let his emotions get the better of him and to remain composed.

It was easier said than done when you watched what should have been yours be handed over to some undeserving fool.

Eventually, he managed to say, “Apparently, Amalia’s presence among the Eliatropes is supposed to be seen as a sign of good will between them and the Twelvians.”

“They’re clearly trying to send a message.” Kali guessed, her pupiless eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Indeed. And the message is that if the gods feel confident enough about their odds to send one of their own to the outsiders, then their worshippers have nothing to fear.” Echo concluded for the Sacrier, her tone distant. She jumped to her feet and began to pace around the ruins pensively, a finger on her chin as her dress rustled against the sand, leaving trails behind. Her lips curled into a cruel smile, her clear resentment for the beings ruling over them apparent. “They’re trying to gaslight us into thinking everything is fine when even they are too afraid to confront the Eliatropes.”

“Typical.” Ush scoffed, a deep growl emanating from his throat as his hackles raised.

But their leader didn’t seem to have heard him, too lost in her own thoughts. Eventually, she let out a mirthless chuckle. “Using your own child to do your dirty work, huh? Why am I not surprised…?” She sneered, muttering darkly to herself.

Kali stepped closer to the Eniripsa as Harebourg raised to his full height, all eyes were on their leader. “What do you want us to do?”

“Should we finally do something about the Eliatropes?” Poo added, coming to stand behind his lover and putting his large hands on her shoulders for support.

But Echo surprised them when, without even turning around to look at them, she simply waved them off. “Leave them be. They are not of our concern.”

“But Lady Echo!” Harebourg was quick to protest. Truth be told, one of the many reasons he wanted to reveal Amalia’s existence to her was because he firmly believed that would have finally motivated her enough to mobilise and put those pesky outsiders in their place.

With Lady Echo’s permission, nothing stopped him from going after that arrogant, undeserving fool that was Yugo.

The Eniripsa sent him a sidelong glance, unbothered. “The people of this world are distrustful and treacherous by nature, Count Harebourg. You of all people should know that. The problem with the Eliatropes will sort itself out in due time.”

”Then what do you suggest we do, Mistress?” Sipho, ever the loyal one, was already by his mistress’ side, looking up to her and her guidance. He practically melted when she patted him on the head.

The smile on her face was dangerous.

“Simple. We prepare to meet our newest recruit.”

At her words, her chosen demigods exchanged surprised glances once more, before a feeling of excitement overtook them, knowing what it all meant. Without needing to be told twice, each of them rushed over to a different corner of their lair or returned home to wait for instructions on what to do next.

As she watched her followers go or talk animatedly amongst themselves, Echo’s mind wandered to the new Divine Doll, Amalia. So she had been created with the sole purpose of entertaining an alien race on behalf of the gods and their followers. Poor thing, groomed to be a sacrificial Gobball. Echo felt bad for her, she really did. Each and every one of the demigods she had taken under her wing (sometimes literally) had been abandoned by the same gods who claimed to always be looking after their followers, forced to roam the ends of the world looking for answers and wondering what they had done to deserve such fate.

Eventually, all of them always came to the same, startling realisation: if the gods could be so callous to their own flesh and blood, who was to say it wasn’t a matter of time before they abandoned their worshippers, too?

Amalia’s predicament was the perfect example. Even before her conception, she had been given up to appease a bunch of outsiders the gods were too afraid to do anything about. If they didn’t do anything about it, before they knew it, the World of Twelve would follow, controlled by the whims of the Eliatropes all because the twelve gods cared more about saving their own skin.

A sad smile curled at Echo’s lips. It was ironic, in a way. Amalia’s tragic fate would end up serving as the gods' undoing, at least once she realised the futility of trying to please a father who never once cared about her and her sisters.

Just as she thought that, Echo turned around slightly, her voice sombre as she spoke into the void. “What do you say, Lacrima? Are you ready to meet your little sister?”

From within the shadows, a figure stood, her fists clenched tightly to her sides as her whole body trembled in outrage. Her face contorted in anger and helplessness, her teeth borne, and a single, stray tear ran down her cheek, unable to contain it anymore after hearing everything.

After all those centuries, she believed she had long run out of tears to shed. But it appeared she was wrong. When it came to Sadida, she was always wrong.

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