[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Heart Kingdom Outskirts]
"That was so… AWESOME!"
The voice broke through the settling silence of the plains.
For a moment, everyone assumed it must have been Meryl or Arabella—their kind of outburst. Yet, to everyone's surprise, it was Andrew. His eyes were wide, sparkling with boyish wonder, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that he himself seemed shocked to carry.
What had roused him was clear. The short but brutal duel between Mikoto and Shuten-dōji, a clash that had been as fleeting as it was terrifying. The ground still bore scars—deep craters and cracks streaking across the earth as though giants had wrestled there.
Shuten-dōji, relaxed now, dismissed her blade with the same casualness she had used to summon it. A faint grin lingered on her lips, amusement and interest mingling as her crimson eyes traced Mikoto's form. He, by contrast, looked distinctly unimpressed. Sabre hung loosely against his shoulder.
"You were so fast!" Andrew blurted again, stumbling into his words. "And all like—whoosh! And then swoosh—!" He swung his arms through the air, mimicking cuts and parries, even adding sharp sound effects with his mouth. His face reddened mid-motion as he realized how utterly childish he sounded. He quickly averted his gaze, rubbing at the back of his neck.
Gretel chuckled softly.
"I have to say, I share Andrew's sentiment," she said, her tone thoughtful. She cast her gaze across the ruined field, her sharp eyes cataloguing each crater and broken seam in the earth. "It was brief, yes, but quite the battle. Destructive, almost disturbingly so, for how little time either of you fought in earnest."
Arabella, arms folded tightly, mumbled just above a whisper, "It was… okay." Her voice trembled ever so slightly, betraying awe beneath her attempt at nonchalance.
Meryl giggled at her, then suddenly stopped, her gaze caught on the sword still resting in Mikoto's grip. She sniffled loudly before blurting out, "But that sword… it's pretty."
Her words drew everyone's attention to the weapon.
"Sabre," Mikoto said curtly, almost reflexively. Only then did he notice that he was still holding it, his fingers unconsciously tight around its hilt. It should have been dismissed already. Yet here it lingered, heavy yet comforting in his hand, a presence he hadn't felt before—certainly not in the world he had come from. There, the blade had been just another instrument of use to him. Now, unsettlingly, it was almost reassuring.
A faint red glow shimmered along its edges as he released it with a thought. The weapon unraveled into drifting motes of red light, dissolving into nothingness.
"The name is quite simple for such an extraordinary blade," Shuten-dōji remarked, her voice lilting, a smirk tugging her lips.
"It's not its real name," Mikoto murmured, his eyes narrowing. "It was a holy sword once. But that was long ago. Now it's tainted—abandoned its true nature." His expression darkened, brows furrowing as the words left him heavier than he intended.
"You speak as if it's alive," Gretel observed, her head tilting slightly.
Mikoto looked away, his jaw tightening. "Nevermind," he muttered. Then, with a sharp huff, he folded his arms and added, "That little duel was a waste of time."
Shuten-dōji's grin widened, teeth flashing. "Aww. Are you pouting because I chose not to use sorcery?" Her voice teased.
"Can it," Mikoto shot back sharply.
Gretel, ever observant, interjected before the tension could deepen. "Still, I noticed you held back as well. You didn't call on your armor."
"Hm," Mikoto muttered. "It's just sitting around. The colors are more trouble than they're worth. I'm… altering it."
"Altering?" Meryl repeated, sniffing again, eyes wide. "Do you even know how to work a forge, Mikoto?"
A thin ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, almost smug. "No. I have other methods. Methods a little brat like you doesn't need to know about."
Meryl's face puffed into a pout. "Hmph!"
Andrew, still fidgeting, stepped in hesitantly. "Uhm… my mother's a tailor. She could help too, if… if it's something to do with the cloth parts. She's good with that sort of work." His tone was shy, but there was a trace of eagerness—wanting to be useful.
Mikoto's red eyes lingered on him, quietly mulling. Magic was convenient, yes, but when you lacked the precise spells, it was not as simple as people assumed. Clothing enchantments, especially those meant to alter durability or adapt under stress, were notoriously complicated. They weren't just about stitching or weaving threads with mana; they demanded perfect alignment of it within fibers, a balance of structural reinforcement and flexibility. A single misplaced speck of mana, a single imperfect channel in the threads, and the whole thing unraveled. It was the sort of work most sorcerers avoided because of the meticulous time it consumed. Hence a blacksmith was needed.
"I'll think about it," Mikoto murmured at last. He shifted his weight, his expression returning to its usual guardedness. Then, with a glance toward the horizon, his tone hardened. "But for now—let's move. Those pests are on the move again."
The lightheartedness evaporated instantly. Gretel's eyes sharpened, her hand settling against her side as though readying herself.
"I see," she said quietly. She turned toward the rest of the children, her presence suddenly commanding. "Well then. Back to the village we go. No distractions. Stay sharp."
The group stirred into motion, the air tense once more.
----------------------
[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Heart Kingdom Outskirts]
[Virelheim Mountain Village]
The return to the village passed quietly, though not without its irritations. The pesky Oni was all too amused by her own smugness. Mikoto ignored it all, he was someone long used to unwanted annoyances. The journey was mercifully brief; the village was not far, and the familiar wooden platforms soon came into view.
When they arrived, the group slowly dispersed, each person peeling away toward their own errands. Mikoto found himself left in the company of Andrew—the quietest, and perhaps the least unbearable, of the goblins.
The boy shuffled awkwardly at his side, his small hands tightening into fists as though working up courage. Finally, in a voice pitched halfway between a whisper and a stammer, he said, "Uhm… m-my mother's shop is on the third platform." His gaze fell instantly to the ground, refusing to rise to meet Mikoto's sharp red eyes.
Mikoto exhaled faintly through his nose. He tilted his head toward Andrew with the faintest trace of a smirk. "Are you still this bashful? Come on, kid. I'm not that scary."
Andrew's face snapped up just enough to stutter out, "N-no, it's not that!"
"Oh?" Mikoto's lips curved slightly, a bemused expression softening his otherwise doll-like features. His red eyes glimmered faintly with amusement as he leaned closer, forcing Andrew to recoil half a step. "Then what is it? You've been avoiding my eyes all day. Don't tell me…" His tone took on a sharp tease. "…you've got a little crush? Hate to break it to you, I'm a guy. Remember?"
Andrew went rigid, ears flushing crimson. "It's not that either!" he blurted, his voice carrying across the platform.
Several passing villagers turned to look, their expressions a mix of curiosity and faint disapproval at the sudden outburst. Mikoto, unfazed, lifted one pale brow.
"My, my. Loud today, aren't you? Doesn't fit the image of the shy little goblin I know." The faint smile tugging at his lips was unnerving in its rarity—his face so often kept cold.
Andrew's blush deepened until it seemed permanent. He stumbled for words, but Mikoto spared him further torment, straightening with a soft sigh.
"Alright, enough. Lead the way, kid," Mikoto said lightly, flicking two fingers forward in a casual gesture.
Andrew grumbled something incoherent under his breath but obeyed, walking briskly ahead. Mikoto followed, hands loose at his sides, red eyes drifting to study the village more carefully than before.
They wove through winding walkways, ascending the broad steps to the second platform. There they crossed a wooden bridge, the faint creak of planks echoing under their boots, before climbing again. Soon, they reached the third platform.
The atmosphere here was different—livelier, fuller, almost overwhelming in contrast to the quieter levels below. Rows of wooden buildings crowded the platform, many decorated with painted signs. Despite their worn faces, the buildings carried life, energy, and color.
Andrew, noticing Mikoto's observation, finally found the courage to speak again. His voice was still small, but steadier. "T-the third platform mostly serves as a hub for all our shops," he explained.
Mikoto gave a small hum in response, his gaze sliding from one storefront to the next. "Shops, hm? No libraries around?"
Andrew's face dimmed slightly. "W-we only have the small bookstore on the second platform. My mother says trade with the cities has slowed… almost stopped. Without merchants, we can't get many new books." His words grew quieter at the end, as though embarrassed to admit the truth.
Mikoto's eyes softened for only a moment, then narrowed again. He made a low sound in his throat, neither agreement nor dismissal, and kept walking.
It was not long before they stopped before a striking structure nestled between two plainer shops. This one stood taller, made of smooth concrete washed in white, its roof a sharp green. The glass front revealed a display of dresses and garments draped on mannequins—each piece painstakingly crafted, stylish without being gaudy.
Mikoto's red eyes lingered on them, his mind noting wryly, ("Now that I think about it, a lot of these shops are unusually fancy for a village this remote.") His gaze flicked upward to the painted sign, the store's name carved carefully in curling script: The Verdant Stitch.
"This is it!" Andrew's voice cracked with excitement as he hurried forward, pushing open the glass door. The boy's demeanor shifted; the nervousness seemed to melt into pride.
Mikoto stepped in behind him. The air inside was different—sweet with the aroma of flowers and warm fabrics. The floorboards were polished to a sheen, catching the light from lanterns strung high across the ceiling. Wooden mannequins stood in neat rows, each decorated with unique attire: long flowing gowns embroidered with silver thread, sharp tunics lined with fur at the cuffs, finely cut coats of deep indigo and red, and dresses ingrained with patterns of birds and leaves. Every piece spoke of practice.
Mikoto paused just inside, his eyes swept the room.
Andrew, meanwhile, looked as though he might burst with anticipation, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as he whispered, "It's special, huh?"
Mikoto said nothing at first. He merely let his gaze trail from garment to garment before lowering his eyes to Andrew, one pale brow lifting.
"Well. I'll give you this much… it's not what I expected."
Andrew's blush returned at once, though this time it was paired with a proud smile as Mikoto's gaze drifted slowly across the shop's interior, most of the patrons were women—wives, daughters, seamstresses—browsing. Yet from the corners of their eyes, many stole glances at him. Some lingered with open curiosity, others with awe, as if uncertain whether they were looking upon a simple youth.
Before he could turn away, a voice rang from deeper within the shop, accompanied by light footsteps.
"Oh? Andrew? What are you doing here?"
The words carried with them both recognition and surprise.
A woman stepped into view. She was striking, her heart-shaped face framed by sleek raven hair tied back neatly, amber eyes warm. She wore an elaborate red dress, its sleeves and hems threaded with streaks of gold.
"Mom!" Andrew's voice cracked with boyish excitement. He darted forward, nearly colliding with her in his eagerness. The woman gave a soft, warm laugh as his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
"Haha, come now, Andrew. Did you grow so impatient you couldn't wait for me to come home?" she teased gently, her hand resting atop his head. "Though, I admit, I am flattered." Her smile carried affection.
Andrew pulled back, his cheeks flushed, already grumbling in protest. "Ahem, i-it's not that…" His words tumbled out in uneven mutters. "Uhm… Mikoto needed some help, that's all."
The woman's attention shifted, her amber eyes settling upon the figure who stood quietly behind her son. The moment lingered as she took him in fully, and for a brief second, her composure faltered.
"Oh my…" she breathed softly, surprise cutting into her expression. "I've heard the rumours—people whispering about a stranger of… radiant beauty wandering our village." Her gaze traced him with disbelief, as though trying to decide if the sight before her was real. "But I thought the tales were exaggerations." She tilted her head with a sly smile. "Andrew, you never told me your new friend was this pretty."
"Moooom…" Andrew's groan of mortification filled the air, his face nearly red enough to rival her dress.
She chuckled softly, covering her lips with her hand. "Ah, forgive me, I couldn't resist. Well then—are you here for a dress? I know just the thing that would flatter you. Something colorful, something exotic. With the right cut, you'd leave the rest of us in shame."
Mikoto's eyes narrowed faintly. His tone was flat but steady. "That's nice and all, but I'm a guy."
The woman blinked, caught off-guard. A flicker of confusion—quickly hidden, but not enough to erase the faint crease between her brows. Skepticism lingered in her silence, but she did not give it voice. Instead, she inclined her head slightly, smoothing over the misstep.
"Ah… forgive me. I spoke too quickly." She straightened, gathering her poise once more. "Ahem. Then let me introduce myself properly—I am Raven, Andrew's mother." She placed a hand lightly on her chest, her voice shifting into formality.
Mikoto gave the barest nod. "…Mikoto."
"Charmed," Raven replied, her lips curving. There was no insincerity in it, but there was curiosity. She lingered on his name, as though testing its sound. "Now then, Mikoto… what can I help you with?"
"I need alterations to some of my armor. Fabric reinforcement, color adjustments. Certain sections dyed. The currency here is Eor, correct? What would the cost be?"
"That would depend on the armor itself," Raven answered, thoughtful. Then her gaze softened as her hand reached to ruffle Andrew's hair, making him squirm. "But I couldn't possibly charge a friend of my little one."
"Hm." Mikoto's voice was almost reluctant. "Alright then. I'll bring it later."
"No problem at all." Raven's eyes brightened with a hint of pride as though her craft was a gift. "If you'd like, I could make adjustments to the alloy as well—strengthen it, temper it differently. The fabric alone won't carry you as far as the steel."
Mikoto paused, genuinely caught off-guard. "…You can do that?"
"I dabble in the forge from time to time." She lifted her chin with understated confidence, a touch of pride in her tone. "It isn't my primary work, but when the forge calls, I answer. And it would be on the house, too. A small thing for the sake of seeing Andrew surrounded by more… friends."
("How… nice.") The thought flickered dryly across Mikoto's mind. Outwardly, he gave a shallow nod, his delicate features betraying only the faintest shift. "…Thanks. I appreciate it."