The wall of flame that had erupted earlier had prompted a slow and cautious gait in the Paravellan's stride. Which was why it took him much longer than it should have to traverse a ten stride journey. Even after Marschal had crossed the gate threshold, with no sign of scorching flames, he still felt compelled to watch his step into the crowded iron courtyard. It took a while before he felt confident in not being consumed by a wall of searing fire.

But now he found himself swept up in a mass of strangers gathered beneath a metallic, palatial structure. The front of the building consisted of four towering closed gates that spanned the entire length of the Factory wall. He looked further up to see the spires protruding from the roof like a sky scraping crown. Plumes of smoke rose up from the spires and obscured the sky above them.

Marschal then lowered his gaze to the courtyard around him. Blooming from the centre of the crowd was a pair of iron water features that softly trickled against the metal, sounds that competed against the murmuring voices surrounding them.

As he studied the sleek, grey fountains, Marschal's ears pricked up at the wafting sound of melodic vocals. The people around him also noticed the mellifluous song permeating the packed courtyard. Like a leaf being carried away by a river current, the Paravellan followed the moving mass of strangers towards the beautiful singing voice. By the time he recognized one of the fountains as the source of the lullaby, Marschal took it upon himself to manoeuvre his way through the crowd until he eventually reached the epicentre of the melody.

That was when he saw her.

Her elven features were the first thing the Paravellan noticed. Two feathery antennae protruded from her silky raven hair. Marschal mistook them for headwear at first before he witnessed the way they moved on top of her head like living appendages.

The elf's slender form seemed to be melded into the edge of the fountain, as though she were an antique extension of the iron water feature. The long silky cape draped across her shoulders, flowed down her sides and flared outwards across the floor. Marschal found the colours and circular patterns on the cloak hypnotically alluring, reminding him of eyes on a butterfly's wings.

She closed her eyes as she propped the stringed instrument up on her lap. When her delicate fingers struck the chords, the crowd was gifted with a wave of music that was complimented by her soothing vocals. In response, the Paravellan closed his eyes while enjoying the elf's performance.

It wasn't until he eventually opened them again did he finally realize the lean, silent warrior standing by the elf's side. Was he also an elf? Marschal found it difficult to tell from the excessive amount of cloth obscuring the bodyguard's face. He could only make out a dark slitted gap in the fabric for the warrior to see through. After studying him for a bit longer, the Paravellan noticed that he couldn't see a single piece of the bodyguard's skin beneath his attire. His sleeves were tucked into his dark brown gloves and his pants were tucked into his boots. The rest of the warrior's clothes reminded Marschal of the desert garb he had seen in books he read about the Wasteland. Was that where he was from?

The Paravellan's gaze then followed the warrior's hand resting on the curved blade handle on his hip. All of which presented an interesting contrast between the beautiful elven singer and the cold stoic warrior standing beside her. However, judging from the crowd's faces, no one seemed to be paying the bodyguard any mind. When the warrior turned to face Marschal, the Paravellan quickly tore his gaze away from the bodyguard and continued to listen to the soothing lullaby.

With his attention back on the musical elf, only now did he notice the foreign lyrics carried by her mellifluous voice. Where did this beauty come from? And why was she here? He pondered these questions until the lulling performance gradually faded away into a still silence.

When the music had completely died, Marschal jerked up as though he were jolted awake from a dream. An expression he seemed to be sharing with the rest of the crowd. The Paravellan observed the faces around him and how they all exchanged awkward glances with each another. Eventually, the palpable silence broke when the sound of one or two people clapping their hands echoed across the quiet audience. The clapping volume was then layered by three or more people. Not too long after that, the entire crowd burst into thunderous applause for the elf's performance. The Paravellan glimpsed the beaming smile on the elf's face as she bowed to the crowd.

At that moment, a man from the crowd approached the elf while still clapping enthusiastically. "You voice is absolutely-"

The man never had the chance to finish his sentence before he was suddenly halted by a curved blade on his throat. Everyone around Marschal belatedly grabbed their weapons in response to the bodyguard's swift movements. Yet despite a courtyard full of armed enemies, the silent warrior showed no sign of being unnerved as his blade pressed into the man's skin.

"Vaisp," said the elf with a stern tone. "It pasot erme te."

Her words seemed to have no effect on the bodyguard. The Paravellan couldn't imagine the poor man's eyes growing any wider with the warrior's blade biting into the skin of his throat.

A small drop of blood then began to trail down the man's throat.

"Vaisp!" the elf yelled.

Was that his name?

At first the warrior still seemed unresponsive to the elf's berating. But eventually the heavily garbed bodyguard conceded and lowered his blade from the frightened victim. The moment he did, the man immediately grabbed his throat and staggered backwards.

"I am sorry," the elf apologized in accented Piosian.

The man glanced at the warrior's unreadable gaze before responding to the elf with a vigorous nod. He then hurriedly stepped back away from the pair until he disappeared into the crowd.

With the man having fled, Marschal turned his attention back to the elf and her guard and noticed her rebuking him in her own tongue. All the while, the silent warrior stood frozen like a statue, gazing down at her. The cloth surrounding his face made it difficult to discern the bodyguard's reactions to the elf's words.

Marschal was still observing their interactions when he heard a child's voice yelling right beside him. "Digegi da chimon!"

The Paravellan turned around to face the voice.

Suddenly, his body reacted on its own as he leapt out of the way before the metal boot could crush him beneath its weight. The boot landed onto the iron floor with an echoing clang of metal on metal. Marschal would have tumbled over completely if his hands hadn't found a boulder nearby to lean on. When he looked back to see what had almost killed him, he found himself gazing up at a formidably tall giant donning a cloak wrapped around a full body of armour. The giant's movements were not only slow but the Paravellan could also hear an assortment of metal parts moving along with its awkward gait.

While it trudged through the crowd, Marschal noticed two children seated comfortably on the iron giant's shoulders. On his left shoulder sat a small girl with red hair tied up in two braids. On the opposite shoulder sat a boy of the same age with elven ears and short dark hair tucked in a grey cap. The Paravellan could see the fiery eyes of a forge elf glowing like a beacon from the boy's face. He also noted the metal tube-shaped contraption strapped to the elf boy's back. What was that thing? Was it a weapon?

The human girl manoeuvred herself on the armoured shoulder perch until she was able to glance down at the Paravellan.

"Disulii!" the girl giggled gleefully as the crowd dispersed, forming a path between the armoured giant and the other unoccupied fountain. By the end of his lumbering and trudging procession, the armoured giant eventually reached the fountain and took a seat on its edge. The children buckled and laughed from the sudden impact of the giant's descent.

After Marschal used the cloth-covered boulder to prop his posture upright, he glanced over at the giant's face under the hood. However, all he could see was a wedge-shaped helmet with two punctured holes and a horizontal line carved into the metal, which ended up resembling a crudely drawn smiling face.

The Paravellan narrowed his eyes at the armoured giant and couldn't help but wonder about the person large enough to don it. Or perhaps the armour was-

At that moment, Marschal's hand slipped when the boulder suddenly began to shift and turn around. He whipped his hand back and stepped away from what he thought was the boulder, to see it slowly unravel itself into a looming giant somehow taller and larger than the armoured stranger that almost stepped on him. The Paravellan gazed up at the house-sized giant and noted the sheer roundness of his physique. Were it not for the tufts of brown hair on his scalp and his pointed ears, Marschal would have still been mistaking him for a lump of stone. And his dull grey clothes didn't help either. However, that impression was fading fast with the giant's brown eyes frowning down at the Paravellan.

Then the giant's eyes widened in fear.

"Ixoti!" shouted the giant as he swiped at Marschal like a bothersome fly.

In response, the Paravellan drew out his dagger and was barely able to aim it at the giant before a large hand struck his body and sent him flying across the courtyard. The crowd were kind enough to move out of the way and allow Marschal to land on the hard iron surface with a heavy thud.

After a few seconds passed, or perhaps a few minutes, the Paravellan was slowly recovering from a murmuring headache while pulling himself up with painful groans.

"Ow!" cried the giant.

Why was the giant in pain?

Marschal turned around and glanced at the giant to see him clutching his hand in agony. It was only then did the Paravellan notice the blood staining the dagger in his hand. Did he hurt him? Surely, it couldn't possibly compare to the pain of his own aching body. Marschal studied the giant to see his face crumpled into an expression that reminded Marschal of a baby about to cry. That impression was further punctuated when a deafening wail suddenly erupted from the giant and echoed across the courtyard.

The Paravellan didn't know when he started approaching his assailant but he stopped himself when the crying giant noticed him. To his surprise, rather than a bestial outburst, the giant instead crawled back away from him, still clutching onto his bleeding hand. The people behind the round moving mass all yelped as they scrambled to flee from the giant's path.

But the giant could only crawl so far before his back eventually ended up hitting the iron wall of the courtyard fence. When he did, the giant's eyes darted around like a cornered beast until it rested on Marschal, who was still approaching him slowly and cautiously. At the sight of the Paravellan, the giant hid his face from the human, curled up into a ball and continued to cry into his hands.

Fascinated by the idea of a giant cowering in Marschal's presence, the Paravellan's curiosity drove him forward to approach the-

"What did you do to him?!"

Marschal whipped around to see a lean, white-haired elf glaring down at him with pale blue eyes.

"Wha-" was all the Paravellan could manage before the elf interrupted him again.

"I said..." The elf approached him, forcing Marschal to step back away from her. "What. Did you do to him?"

The Paravellan noted the accent in her voice as he continued to retreat from her steps. Marschal raised his hands and stuttered a response. "I-I didn't do-"

"Zelly!" the giant cried out.

Both Marschal and the elf turn to face the giant to see him whimpering and cradling his bleeding hand. The Paravellan then turned to the white-haired elf and saw her glancing at the blood-coated dagger in his grip.

"De moho!" said the elf.

Before Marschal could wonder what that meant, the elf snatched the weapon from his grasp. How was she so fast? He took an instinctive step back, preparing himself to evade or block the knife attack. However, he only ended up knitting his brow when he observed the elf girl vigorously wiping the blade down with a white cloth.

What was she doing? Why was she cleaning his weapon?

Marschal contemplated the questions for what must have been a whole minute before the elf was finally satisfied with the lack of blood on his dagger. After she was finished, the elf then strode right past the Paravellan and headed towards the still sobbing giant. All the while, she still held onto Marschal's blade.

The Paravellan moved to demand his weapon back but stopped himself when he found the looming giant being consoled by the diminutive elf. Like watching a lion being comforted by a mouse. When the giant reluctantly revealed his hand to the doting elf, Marschal was able to glimpse a hint of blood on his palm. But from where he stood, the size of the 'wound' seemed to resemble more of a pin prick than a savage attack. Hardly a battle scar. The elf seemed to have had a similar thought as she began to berate the giant in a language the Paravellan couldn't recognize. Obviously an elvish language but not Naiye. Marschal couldn't help but grin, watching the giant arguing back at the elf indignantly while she worked to bandage his cut.

After the elf finished tending to the childish giant, she then turned around to face the Paravellan with a cold glare. The Paravellan took a step back in response to her hard eyes and continued to retreat when the elf started approaching him.

"Odoute," she started. "Ta denohili umni sicritam nun cummonebetar? Tredibet eatim quo plecit fecoio taei ist?"

"W-what?" Marschal almost stumbled trying to widen the distance between him and the elf.

Alas, his efforts were wasted when she eventually reached him and suddenly clutched the Paravellan's throat.

"You think you can threaten whomever you wish with blade?" growled the elf.

The Paravellan struggled to answer with her fingers constricting his airways. "No...I..."

She then pressed the cold steel of the dagger against his cheek. "You think you can stab my friend with blade?"

"...I...I..."

"I teach you lesson," said the elf before raising the blade to strike him. The Paravellan's eyes widened as she moved to bring the dagger down.

But before he could even flinch, Marschal felt the pressure on his throat immediately release the same time the elf leapt back from the Paravellan. A split second after, a sword appeared in the empty space previously occupied by the white-haired elf.

"You're quick," said another female voice. A voice that sounded familiar.

Marschal coughed and fought to catch his breath while he eyed the blade hovering before his face. He followed the weapon's edge until he found himself gazing up at the dark haired women that apologized to him earlier in the streets.

"You're just slow," the elf replied.

The swordswoman smirked and glanced down at Marschal. "I told you to wait for me."

Marschal tried to respond but ended up offering another bout of coughing.

"Who are you?" asked the elf.

The dark haired swordswoman answered with a smile and gestured at the Paravellan. "I'm a friend of his."

"Your friend stabbed my friend."

"Your friend's a big boy. I'm sure he doesn't need a nursemaid."

"Don't make me kill you."

"Is that a threat?" The swordswoman grinned as she raised her weapon at the elf.

"Do you feel threatened, human?"

The white-haired elf bent her knees and crouched as though she were bracing herself for a lunging sprint. In response, the swordswoman also braced herself into a stance that promised bloodshed. Sensing the tension in the air, the crowd hurriedly shuffled away from the two fighters until their distance created an arena ringed by spectators.

Marschal shook his head. Whatever was happening here, he knew that he wouldn't survive much longer if he kept making enemies. The Paravellan could have let the swordswoman fight for him but too many things could go wrong and he wasn't comfortable taking that bet.

Just as the elf and the swordswoman inched closer to charge at each other, Marschal jumped in front of his raven haired champion and bowed to the elf.

"I'm sorry," said the Paravellan. "I shouldn't have harmed your friend. Please convey to him my deepest regrets for the pain I've caused him."

With his head still bowed, he could feel the elf's eyes fixated on him. He could feel the swordswoman staring as well.

A moment of silence passed before Marschal eventually heard the sound of a sword sliding into its sheath. The Paravellan gazed up to see the elf straightening up and relaxing her posture. She then looked back at the giant and his lip-trembling frown before turning back to face Marschal.

"...Okay." The elf nodded. "I accept your apology."

The Paravellan sighed with relief as the elf smiled.

With a single coil of lightning as his only warning, the white-haired elf closed the distance between herself and Marschal in a split second, appearing right in front of him. Before the Paravellan could step back or the swordswoman could draw her weapon, the elf was already offering up Marschal's dagger to him, hilt-first.

"Be careful with it," the elf warned.

The Paravellan stood there frozen for a moment, glancing at his own knife. Eventually, he slowly pushed himself to grab the dagger from the elf. She grinned down at the Paravellan then at the swordswoman, who responded with a grimace. When the swordswoman gripped her blade, the elf had already turned around and headed back to the giant.

"Elves and their tricks," muttered the swordswoman.

Marschal's eyes widened at the use of his native tongue. "You are Paravellan."

The swordswoman nodded and smiled before offering him her hand. "Nivere."

Despite being flustered and confused, he managed to shake her hand and introduced himself. "Marschal."

"Well met, Marschal," Nivere greeted. "It's been a while since-"

A grape suddenly struck the swordswoman in the face.

"Boo!"

Marschal and Nivere whip around to see the two children from earlier hurling fruits at them from the armoured giant's shoulders.

"Nuas vualuns vuor li cumbet!" shouted the red-haired girl.

"Boo!" the little boy elf repeated himself.

"Bets tuo!" they shouted in unison. "Bets tuo! Bets tuo! Bets tuo! Bets tuo!"

The swordswoman sneered and stepped towards them with her hand on her blade. In response, Marschal stepped in front of Nivere the same time he heard the children yelp. He glanced back to see them hiding behind the giant, peeking over his shoulders. The Paravellan then turned to face the swordswoman and spoke to her in Paravella.

"I think we've had enough conflict for today," Marschal insisted.

However, his scrawny frame was no match for her athletic build as he almost slid across the ground trying to impede the swordswoman's advance.

"Those children need to be taught a lesson," Nivere growled.

Marschal strained to hold her back. "I think they're just disappointed about the lack of bloodshed."

"Then allow me to oblige them."

"No, we shouldn't."