A week passed quickly in the wake of the crisis. The day of departure arrived with a clear, blue sky.
Outside the café, a sleek, black rune-car—the newest model, modified by Sebas's mechanics and enchanted by Gellert—sat idling softly. Legolas stood next to it, looking every inch the high-end designer he aspired to be. He wore a stunning, fitted travel coat of his own design, cut from a slate-grey fabric that seemed to shimmer, and carried a leather handbag that looked worth more than most houses in the district.
Soma stepped forward, shoving a large, heavy packet of food into Legolas's chest. "Here," he grumbled, looking away. "Ration it well. Or else you will end up starving halfway to the Capital. It's not that I'm worried or anything, it's just that your skinny elf body won't sustain any wild beast attacks if you pass out from hunger."
Legolas just smiled, a soft, genuine expression. He pulled the chef into a tight hug. "Thanks, little brother. I'll eat every bite."
"Hey!" Soma shouted, pushing Legolas away but not fighting the hug too hard. "I was created before you! You're my little brother! Show some respect!"
Gellert leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. "Stay safe, Legolas."
"And keep in touch in the Hub," Zero added sternly, pointing a finger. "Mandatory. You come to the Hub once every day. No negotiation. If you miss a check-in, we send Sebas."
Legolas chuckled. "Yes, yes, Mom. I'm going to the Capital, not the abyss. The road is safe, don't worry about me."
Erwin slammed the trunk shut with a solid thud. "The startup money for the Capital branch is in the back," he said quietly. "It's a lot of Sol. Make sure you don't get robbed."
Sebas stepped forward and placed the car key in Legolas's hand. "Travel safe, Young Master. The vehicle is tuned to perfection."
Legolas looked at the key, then up at his family. He smiled, spreading his arms wide. "Group hug!"
They didn't hesitate. Zero, Soma, Gellert, Erwin, and Sebas all crowded in, embracing the elf in a tangled, warm huddle of arms and laughter.
"Alright, get off me, you clingy bastards," Legolas laughed, pulling away. He walked to the driver's side and slid into the leather seat. He rolled down the window, revving the silent, powerful engine.
"Bye, losers!" he shouted, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll be back once I'm rolling in Sol!"
He stepped on the pedal, and the car sped off down the street, turning the corner and disappearing toward the highway that led to the Royal Capital.
The group stood there, waving until he was out of sight. The smiles remained on their faces for a few seconds longer.
Then, Zero dropped his hand. His expression shifted instantly to one of cold calculation.
"Sebas," Zero said. "You got your subordinates following him, right?"
"Of course, Master," Sebas replied smoothly. "Two teams of spiders. They are shadowing him from the rooftops and the road."
"I already told them to K.O.S. in any dangerous situation," Erwin added, his voice flat and serious. "Any bandit gets within fifty feet, they drop them."
"Way ahead of you, Young Master Erwin," Sebas said.
"Great," Gellert noted, dusting a speck of lint off his suit. "Make sure they don't even scrape the tire of the car. I put a lot of work into those enchantments."
Soma looked at the four of them blankly. "You're all scary," he muttered. "I'm just going to go back and cook some congee."
He turned and went inside, leaving the overprotective brothers to guard the empty street.
…
Hours later, night had fully cloaked the sky over Evercrest.
Deep beneath the city, in the expanded underground headquarters of the Hao Pavilion, the air was cool and still. Misela sat at a large mahogany desk, sorting through stacks of coded information scrolls.
The heavy iron door creaked open. Sebas walked in, wearing his immaculate butler suit.
Misela looked up, immediately standing and bowing. "Master."
Sebas nodded, walking to the center of the room. "Any urgent news?"
"Nothing of the sort," Misela reported, her voice professional. "The rebuilding of the Pavilion is smooth. We have also finished the primary excavation of the underground chambers. We are currently connecting them with the old smuggling tunnels around the Duchy. Soon, we will have a comprehensive underground road network for our organization to move around unseen."
"Great," Sebas said, a tone of approval in his voice. "I can leave it to you and Amanzio from now on."
Misela's professional mask cracked. A look of sadness washed over her features. "Do you... do you have to go to the Talbott Duchy?"
"It is time for us to expand," Sebas said, his gaze distant. "It will not be under the name of the Hao Sect. It will be under a different name. But ultimately, it will all be under Nazarick. All you have to do now is cement the standing of the Hao Sect here in Evercrest. Be the foundation."
Misela walked around the desk, closing the distance between them. She wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. "Master... can you at least grant my wish for a goodbye?"
Sebas looked down at her. He sighed, a soft sound. "Fine."
Misela didn't hesitate. She lunged up, capturing his lips in a fierce, desperate kiss. Slowly, her hands moved to the ties of her robe. Sebas reached out, his gloved hand caressing her shoulder as the silk slid away, revealing her naked body to the dim light of the underground chamber.
The night was just starting for them.
Meanwhile, at the 7th Precinct, the vibe was decidedly less romantic but equally weary.
Erwin had just finished changing out of his uniform. It had been a surprisingly eventful day of community policing, and the resulting paperwork was intense. As he walked out of the locker room, he greeted fellow officers who were heading out for the night shift.
He ran past Captain Céline in the hallway.
"Officer Smith," she called out.
Erwin stopped and turned. "Good night, Captain. Still working?"
Céline rubbed her neck. "Just finished sending the reports to the Capital."
Erwin winced playfully. "Uh oh. Did I do something worthy of reporting to the Capital today?"
"On the contrary," Céline said, leaning against the wall. "You seem to be doing small arrests these days. Trying to do the easy job already?"
Erwin smiled. "Please, Captain. My arrests are still much bigger than Valdi's. And I assure you, my cases are tight. Too tight for the District Attorney to drop."
Detective Celvise walked past them, swinging her keys. "Hah! There is no such thing as a 'tight case' if you fight against a good lawyer, rookie. Good night, Captain." She waved and kept walking.
Erwin watched her go. Wolfe and Monet came walking down the hall a moment later.
"Haven't gone home yet, Boot?" Wolfe grunted.
"Just doing small talk, Sarge, that's all," Erwin replied. He looked in the direction Celvise had gone. "By the way... is Celvise's husband a lawyer?"
Wolfe shook his head. "No. Her partner, Morhan. She's the one with the lawyer husband."
Erwin raised an eyebrow. "I thought Watchers weren't really close to lawyers."
"Well, yeah," Wolfe muttered, adjusting his belt. "Those snakes cuddling criminals are no good in my book."
"They are needed," Céline interjected diplomatically, "to make sure we do our job right and complete with evidence. Iron sharpens iron."
Monet piped up, her eyes bright. "Do you guys think I can be a good lawyer?"
Céline and Wolfe answered in perfect unison: "No."
Monet's face fell.
"Trust me," Wolfe added gruffly, "it's a compliment. You have a conscience."
Monet pouted. "But Morhan's husband is a lawyer, and you're all okay with it!"
Wolfe shuddered slightly. "We let him be because we fear Morhan. If she can handle him, he's fine."
Céline chuckled. "Alright, all of you go home. Tomorrow will be another busy day."
"Bye, Captain!" Monet chirped.
"Good night, Cap," Erwin said.
Wolfe just nodded.
They walked out of the precinct into the cool night air. Monet fell into step beside Erwin.
"So, Erwin," she asked. "Going straight home?"
"No," Erwin said, checking his watch. "I think I'll go to the café first. I need to eat their daily special."
Monet's eyes lit up. "Café LeBlanc? Oooo! Let's go together!" She turned to the grumpy sergeant walking behind them. "Sarge! You should come too!"
Wolfe looked at Monet incredulously. "Me? Go to a trendy café?"
"Please!" Monet pleaded, grabbing his arm. "Get a drink with two of your rookies! It's every T.O.'s dream!"
Wolfe sighed, the sound of a man defeated by relentless cheerfulness. "Don't push your fantasy onto my head, Boot." He looked at Erwin, then back at the precinct, then finally at Monet's hopeful face.
"Fine," Wolfe grumbled. "I'll come with. But I'm not drinking anything pink."
…
Three glasses filled with a vibrant, frothy pink liquid sat on the bar counter.
Erwin grinned, raising his glass. "Cheers, Monet!"
"Cheers!" Monet chirped, clinking her glass against his.
Wolfe stared at the third glass in front of him with deep suspicion. "What is this?"
"Oh, nothing," Monet said with an innocent smile. "Just a gift from both of your rookies. It's strawberry milk tea with popping boba. Cheers, Sarge!"
"Drink it, Sarge," Erwin urged, taking a sip. "It's good. Sweet."
Wolfe grunted, looking around to make sure no other officers were watching, then grudgingly took a sip. His eyebrows raised slightly, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. "Too sweet," he muttered, though he didn't put the glass down.
Soma emerged from the kitchen, balancing three steaming plates of curry. "Here you go. The daily special."
"Thanks, Soma," Erwin said.
"Thank you, Somaaa!" Monet said, her eyes lighting up at the food.
Wolfe just nodded his thanks.
Soma's face softened instantly. "You're welcome, Officer Monet."
"Hey," Zero called out from the espresso machine, not even looking up. "They all said thanks. Why are you only answering Monet?"
Soma froze, his face turning the same color as the chili oil in the curry. "Shut up! I was answering everyone!"
As they ate, the tension of the job melted away. The conversation flowed easily between bites.
"Oh, Sarge," Monet asked, waving her spoon. "What actually happened to the Hao Sect? I heard the Pavilion is reopening soon."
Wolfe wiped his mouth with a napkin. "They are an official organization now. Filed the paperwork this morning. It seems they're pivoting to become some sort of union for all the small folk in the district."
He gestured with his fork. "Unlike specialized unions for dockworkers or smiths, the Hao Sect is taking care of the general 'small folks'—street vendors, maids, servers. Helping them stand together against exploitation. I bet you the owner of this café is also a Hao Sect member."
Zero smiled from behind the bar. "You're right, Sarge. It's been helpful to have someone to lean on. They helped me negotiate my supplier contracts. Saved me a lot of Sol."
"Haaahh," Monet sighed dreamily. "Mistress Misela is so cool. To help the community like this, protecting the weak..."
"You're a Watcher, Monet," Erwin pointed out with a smile. "You also help the community."
"Hehehe, I guess," she giggled.
In their heads, Erwin and Zero shared a silent, victorious thought. 'Great. Now the Hao Sect is just a benevolent union in the public eye. Legitimate, legal, and untouchable.'
Erwin decided to pivot the conversation. He leaned in, a teasing glint in his eye. "Hey, Monet. You like the chef, don't you?"
Monet visibly went red, nearly choking on her boba. "What?! No! I... w-we're just close friends! That's all!"
Wolfe, who had been silently eating, spoke up nonchalantly. "Just make sure it doesn't distract from your work. You're a good officer, Montallet."
Monet stopped panicking and looked at the grumpy sergeant, surprised. "Sarge...?"
"We are just close friends!" she reiterated, though her voice was softer now, pleased by the compliment.
As the hour grew late, the café emptied out. Wolfe left first, grumbling about needing sleep. Erwin followed soon after, giving Zero a subtle nod. Finally, Monet stood up, stretching.
"I think I'll go back now," she said. "It's quite late."
Zero, sensing the moment, loudly yawned. "Well, I'm heading to the loft. Closing time. Goodnight, you two." He disappeared up the stairs, leaving the two of them alone in the warm, quiet café.
Monet grabbed her bag. "Goodnight, Soma."
"Wait!" Soma blurted out.
Monet turned at the door. "Hm?"
Soma wiped his hands nervously on his apron. "I... I'm trying some new recipes. For the autumn menu. Can you... can you help me choose which one is the best?"
Monet blinked. She looked at the door, then back at Soma's hopeful, terrified face. She smiled, dropping her bag back onto the stool. "Okay. But not for long."
Soma beamed, his relief palpable. "Yes! Of course! And... and you can take home the one you like! You can reheat it for tomorrow's lunch!"
Monet sat back down at the bar, resting her chin on her hand, a playful smile playing on her lips. "Is it free?"
Soma was caught off guard. "S-su-sure! Of course!"
Floating invisibly above the spice rack, the ghost of Gusteu twirled around, whispering loudly in French. "Ah, l'amour! Regardez-le! He is falling so hard, he will crack the floor! Allez, mon petit chef! Cuisine with your heart!"
Soma ignored the ghost, his heart pounding louder than the sizzling pans as he turned back to the stove to cook for the only critic who mattered.
…
In a high-end atelier in the Capital, the air was thick with the scent of spilled ink and desperation.
Ysolt Delacroix, the genius behind the Duchy's most avant-garde fashion house, was on the brink of insanity. It had been months. A long, dark slump where the colors seemed dull and the fabrics felt dead in her hands. There was no inspiration. There was no muse.
"AAGGGHHH!" she screamed, swiping a pile of sketches off her drafting table. Paper fluttered to the floor like dead leaves—designs that were derivative, lifeless, hollow.
She looked up at the ceiling, screaming into the void of the night. "Where is my muse?! God... please! Every single one of my colleagues has a muse of their own! Where is mine?! WHERE IS MINE?!"
The Delacroix manager stood in the doorframe, watching the breakdown with a grim expression. He checked his pocket watch. "The Board is pushing for the Winter Release, Ysolt," he said, his voice calm but tight. "We haven't released a single design in two quarters."
Ysolt fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands.
The manager sighed, looking out the window at the city lights. 'Should we get an outside designer? Ghost-write the collection?' He looked back at Ysolt. Her state was not stable. She was fraying at the seams.
He sighed again. Like it or not, he needed to do something drastic. "Pack your bags, Ysolt," he decided. "You're going on a trip. If the muse won't come to you, we'll drag you through the mud until you find it."
…
Days later, on the border between Evercrest and the Capital.
Legolas was taking his time. He was supposed to be driving straight to the Capital to start his business, but the artist in him—and perhaps the Elf in him—demanded he enjoy the journey. He had been stopping frequently, sketching landscapes, feeling the textures of leaves, searching for inspiration in the wild.
He was currently driving along an old, scenic trail road. The sun hadn't quite risen, leaving the world bathed in a cool, ethereal blue twilight.
He rolled down the window of the silent, rune-powered car. The morning air rushed in, crisp and smelling of pine and damp earth.
"Haaa," Legolas exhaled, a contented smile on his face. "That's a great smell. I never knew I missed the smell of trees so much. Does the Legolas card effect me this much?"
He shrugged, enjoying the breeze.
Suddenly, his long, pointed ear twitched.
Through the hum of the engine and the rustle of the wind, he heard it. A scream. The clatter of wood splintering. Metal on metal.
He immediately pulled the car to the side of the road, hidden behind a thicket of bushes. He stepped out, locking the door with a click. He reached into the back seat and grabbed his composite bow and a quiver of arrows.
He moved. He didn't run; he flowed through the forest, his boots making no sound on the fallen leaves.
Ahead, through the morning mist, he saw it. A wealthy, ornate caravan had been ambushed. The carriage was overturned. Armed bandits were looting the luggage, while the guards lay groaning or dead on the ground.
Legolas narrowed his eyes. He nocked an arrow.
Twang.
The first bandit, who was rifling through a jewelry box, dropped silently, an arrow through his shoulder pinning him to the carriage wheel.
Twang. Twang.
Two more bandits fell, clutching their legs and arms. The mist was Legolas's ally; to the bandits, the arrows seemed to materialize out of the air itself.
"Who's there?!" the leader shouted, spinning around. "Show yourself!"
Legolas climbed a tree with effortless grace, perching on a high branch. He rained down suppressing fire, killing them with surgical precision.
Panic set in among the thieves. The leader, desperate, grabbed the only passenger who hadn't fled. He hauled a young woman out of the wreckage. She was dressed in what could only be described as a fashion disaster—a gaudy, layered explosion of clashing silks and feathers, clearly an attempt at 'traveling chic' gone wrong.
"Come out!" the bandit screamed, pressing a jagged knife to her throat. "Come out or I'll slit her throat!"
The woman squeezed her eyes shut, trembling. "Don't kill me... I haven't finished my collection..."
Legolas, high in the canopy, drew the string back to his cheek. He took a breath. The world slowed down. He saw the bandit's sweat. He saw the fear in the woman's eyes. He saw the gap between them.
Release.
The arrow sang. It flew through the mist, a silver streak of judgment. It struck the bandit squarely between the eyes.
He didn't even gasp. He just crumpled backward, dead before he hit the ground.
The woman screamed. "Aaahhh!"
Legolas leaped down from the tree, landing softly in a crouch. He stood up, slinging his bow over his shoulder, and walked toward the shivering woman.
"It's alright, Miss," he said, his voice calm and melodic. "You're okay."
He extended a hand to help her up.
The woman, Ysolt, slowly opened her eyes. She looked up.
At that exact second, the sun finally broke the horizon. A shaft of golden morning light pierced through the canopy, cutting through the mist like a spotlight on a stage. It illuminated Legolas.
She saw the sharp, elegant features. The pointed ears. The slate-grey coat he wore—a coat of impeccable structure and unknown design that shimmered in the light. She saw the way the wind caught his hair.
It wasn't just gratitude. It was a revelation. The dull world suddenly snapped into vibrant, high-definition color. Her heart hammered against her ribs, not from fear, but from an overwhelming surge of artistic ecstasy.
She took his hand, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. She had found him.
She had found her Muse.
**A/N**
A bit of a rant: why the fuck do I need to give them a two-week notice if they can just fire me on the spot? That's right, my superior felt generous with his late April Fools' joke and just fired me on the spot. I asked for what reason, and he just said that upper management wants more efficiency. Well, shit. It's been two days already, and it feels weird to not go to work. I don't even know how I feel. I was mad, but at the same time, I knew this would happen eventually. Mostly, I'm just afraid/scared. I've seen the job applicant landscape, and it scares the living shit out of me. I've seen people with better GPAs, more work history, and who are better than me on paper still trying to get a job. This is just a rant; like with my novel, I like to put my shit into my writing. I guess it is what it is. But hey, I got more time to make more chapters, am I right? :)
**A/N**