Argrave’s head turned ever so slowly, taking in all the sights before him. He saw the redwoods, as thick as towers and stretching as far as the eye could see. He saw the destruction left behind by the paths of war—the elves, Kirel Qircassia’s servants, or the centaurs following Sarikiz’s lead. The great beasts of this land already scavenged the corpses that had fallen, sating their long hunger after the chaos wrought by the battles.

Next, Argrave saw the empty plain left behind by Kirel Qircassia. The god had toiled desperately to flatten this stretch of land, and succeeded in large part. It was a flat and empty wasteland of brown dirt, mixed with particles of wood and littered with yet more bodies. The remnants of magic colored the land where Erlebnis’ emissaries had ambushed the elves and their gods. But now… here the elves all celebrated, camped near the edges of the trees as the elven gods watched over them.

Behind him, the wearied and battered Veidimen made camp. Orion and the three Veidimen officers ate one of the creatures hunted in the forest, and the relief from a battle won emanated outward from them. With three dead, and eleven seriously wounded, the Veidimen had done their part. Argrave had asked much of them. Artur, Vasilisa, and Moriatran shared a campfire, saying little.

“I cannot tell what you think,” Anneliese said to Argrave. “What is our move? I feel we should take it quickly. In moments of pause, I feel that hound of purposelessness rising,” she told him. “I think… I think this will not be a simple thing to resolve, personally speaking. All the more important that we should hurry to the dryads.”

Argrave looked at her. “Sure. If you want purpose… I’ve got some thoughts.” When he saw the intrigue on her face, he hesitated a moment, then began, “Just wondering when I became capable of this. And wondering if it’ll be a problem.”

“A problem?” Anneliese repeated. “Is being capable a problem? I always knew you were strong, Argrave, internally. If you realize it yourself, without the turmoil and self-doubt… then what is the problem?”

“I don’t know if it’s strength, or something else. Maybe… apathy,” Argrave shook his head. “Did I act prudently, or did I act in ego?”

“But this isn’t troubling you,” Anneliese said, surveying his face. “I can tell. Either that, or you finally managed to fool me.”

Argrave laughed quietly out of his nose. “No… you’re right. Feels like it all keeps coming at me fast enough I’m losing what I was to begin with. I take one step after the other, tackle one problem into another. Problems keep inclining, making me stretch further to take the next step… but at this point, walking is all I know.” Argrave looked at his hand, where the blood echoes persisted as he squeezed his hand into a fist even now. “I feel… confident. Cautiously confident. And that’s just not who I am, I don’t think. That constant worry kept me ready, kept me focused, kept me moving. But that’s fading, now.”

“Is personality static?” Anneliese asked, and when Argrave searched for an answer she continued, “Are the lazy doomed to be that way forever? Will the kind stay benevolent their entire lives? Change is possible.”

Anneliese stared at him, her amber eyes looking at him as though he said something foolish. As thick strands of her white hair blew from the wind, Argrave bunched it up and placed it behind her ear.

“You’re to blame, I think. What you said about self-pity kept me going.” Leaving her with that, Argrave looked back to the elven army. He didn’t care to trouble her with pointless musings anymore, given she still suffered with her feeling of purposelessness. “Duty awaits. Elenore isn’t here, but I can still think of an alliance between our people that benefits us above all. I had intended to rely on them for securing dryad bows, but I think we cut out the middlemen, trade with the dryads directly.”

Anneliese walked up beside him, staring at the elven gods and the army with them. “The dryads are our only lead on where Onychinusa might be. She might be… she might be dead, you know.”

Argrave nodded. “We’ll see to them after the negotiations. Fact is, I need elven manpower,” he looked at her. “We need open borders—we need to entice immigrants in droves. We need trade—with the elven gods having descended, there are going to be more goods they’ll trade than lumber or meat. On top of that, this can become a safe trade route between north and south.” Argrave inhaled deeply as he thought of more. “Long term… this place will transform dramatically as the elven gods make it theirs. I intend to secure favorable terms on the ground floor.”

Anneliese listened intently, then asked, “Do you have a plan to persuade?”

“Same thing as usual,” Argrave nodded. “I have leverage with Ganbaatar and Batbayar. They’ll listen to me. I gave Batbayar all the ammunition he needs to become Supreme Myriarch—if I give him the right prods, I think he’ll take the honor. I think the elven gods will be spiritual leaders more than anything, so the secular leaders will still be the most important for us. From there… say the right things, don’t say things that don’t need saying… and they fold.”

Anneliese raised her hand up, squeezing her lips together as her brain worked. “I think you underutilize the elven gods. Even in their roles as guardians and spiritual leaders, an endorsement from them will go a long way to secure popular support.”

“Fair point. You have an idea?” Argrave asked her.

“I do,” Anneliese nodded. “We ought to pave the way for total integration of the Bloodwoods… and you forget that Elenore is everywhere, all at once, now. To us, at least.”

Argrave tilted his head, puzzled.

#####

Elenore wrote diligently on a piece of paper, hunched over her desk. Off to the side, she occasionally glanced to review the preliminary results for those pieces of fruit that Argrave had shipped from the elven woods. She was drafting a plan on how best to implement their effects on a grander scale.

Suddenly, she felt a large hand on her shoulder. She jumped up and screamed immediately, and had the warding ring Durran gave her ready to cast when she realized it was someone familiar.

“Hey,” Argrave greeted as Anneliese stood behind him and shook her head. “Working hard or hardly working?”

She threw her quill pen at him. “You piece of--!” she cut herself off, sighing and sinking back into her chair. “I hate you. I really do.” When she made sense of things, she studied them with her gray eyes, looking at her desk to make sure she hadn’t tipped anything over in her haste. “How did you…? No, that spell book… it must’ve been that. It worked? You moved that distance with magic?”

Just then, the door opened, and four guardsmen stormed into the room. When they saw Argrave, they all paused.

“Just leave us,” Elenore commanded, and they obediently left.

“I told Argrave not to do that,” Anneliese told Elenore, shaking her head even still.

As Elenore ran her fingers through her black hair, she questioned them, “Is it over? The trouble in the Bloodwoods. I mean… Nikoletta portrayed it as desperate.”

Argrave nodded. “We won.” He reached into his duster and retrieved something. “We wanted your thoughts on a draft alliance.”

Elenore took the paper, her heart still beating from that scare. She studied the terms carefully, then looked up at Argrave.

“You know… I always hate it when you go on those journeys. Heading to Quadreign disguised, heading to the Bloodwoods… but you always come back with some ridiculous stuff like this.” She set the paper on her desk. “Yeah… I can think of some things to add.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry anymore,” assured Argrave, sitting on her desk. “With transportation magic at our disposal… you’ll never miss me more than a day.”

Elenore looked up at Argrave. Her gaze was less than pleased. She shook her head, sighing, and then resumed her writing. The king sat there beaming.

#####

Argrave and Anneliese manifested in a clearing. The two of them looked around, spotting the familiar redwoods stuck with thousands of arrows. This was the entrance to the forest of dryads.

As Anneliese huffed happily, Argrave straightened and said, “That spell will fundamentally change how we operate from now on. My god…”

“It’s costly,” Anneliese reminded him. “Especially for long distances. The spirits might run dry if we abuse it, and getting more…”

“It is costly,” Argrave agreed, thinking back to in-game figures the spell used. “And it’ll become even more costly on the other end. We have to prepare countermeasures, after all—it’ll do no good to allow someone like Dimocles this ability in Vasquer.” He shook his head. “So much to do. But you… are you prepared? We might not be welcome here, depending on how things ended.”

“I need to try,” Anneliese said.

“Need?” Argrave repeated.

Anneliese nodded in confirmation. “Like I keep telling you… this insecurity of hers has wormed its way into me. I need to find Onychinusa once again, Argrave. Even if only… if only to confirm her fate,” she finished with some difficulty.

Argrave studied her with concern. He had assumed that whatever she experienced conversing with Onychinusa would pass, but every day she mentioned it all the same, describing it as a hound or a cloud that refused to fade. He gripped her arm, and then walked into the dryad’s mist with eyes wide open.

After a time of passing through a familiar forest, Argrave and Anneliese finally broke into the familiar stone courtyard. The place was empty, the four statues undisturbed. After a brief search, they moved past that, heading for the courtyard where the mother dryad had waited.

When they arrived, the tree with purple leaves still stood strong the same as ever. He studied its leaves for a moment, but his eyes gradually fell to the face emerging from it.

“You shouldn’t have returned,” the dryad said with a calm sadness.

Then, on the fringes where the wider forest waited… dozens of others filtered out through the forests. Though all with dresses of leaves and hair as black as Argrave’s own, they were no longer the children that had left here. In moments, the dozens became hundreds. When they were children, it had been endearing. But now… now, it seemed their numbers were for something else other than enthusiastic greeting.

“Regardless of our feelings about what you did, we are our master’s,” the dryad continued. “And you two… she hates you and what you did more than any other. We have responsibilities. A slave must obey.”