The chamber had not changed.
Stone walls curved inward like a ribcage, etched with sigils that pulsed faintly in hues of dormant blue. The air was cool—unnaturally so—filtered and regulated by unseen mechanisms embedded deep within the domain. Crystals set high along the ceiling cast soft illumination, not bright enough to dazzle, not dim enough to obscure. Everything here existed in balance.
At the center of the room, upon a simple resting platform, the elf stirred.
Her movements were hesitant, almost fragile, as if waking itself demanded permission from the world. Fingers twitched first—slender, pale, almost delicate enough to seem unreal. Then her shoulders shifted, a shallow breath catching in her chest.
Her eyes opened slowly.
Green.
Not the sharp emerald often sung about in elven poetry, nor the deep forest hue worn by wardens and rangers. Hers were lighter—fresh leaves after rain, young and untested. They blinked once. Twice.
She inhaled sharply.
Awareness rushed in all at once.
The elf sat up too quickly, a gasp tearing from her throat as panic flared across her features. Her gaze darted across the chamber—walls, ceiling, unfamiliar sigils—before settling on the two figures standing several paces away.
She froze.
She was small. Unmistakably so.
Barely four feet in height, her frame was thin to the point of fragility, limbs slender and light. Her skin was fair, unmarred, almost luminous beneath the crystal light. Blonde hair—soft, flaxen, and faintly flared at the ends—fell messily down her back, unbound and unstyled, as though she had never cared much for appearances.
She wore a light embroidery-sleeved dress, the fabric pale and modest, stitched with delicate threadwork along the cuffs and hem. It was not ceremonial. Not noble attire. Simple. Practical. Almost… humble.
Slippers covered her feet—soft, worn at the edges.
She looked like someone who was never meant to be seen here.
Her breath trembled as she hugged her arms to herself.
Agatha stepped forward first.
Not abruptly. Not threateningly.
Her gown whispered against the stone as she moved, violet runes along the fabric dimmed low. Her amethyst eyes softened—not entirely, but enough to be noticeable. Enough to be deliberate.
"You are safe," Agatha said calmly. "You are within a protected domain."
The elf swallowed.
Her gaze flicked past Agatha.
To the man standing behind her.
Seth did not move.
He stood with his posture relaxed, hands at his sides, blindfold concealing eyes that never met hers. His black jacket hung neatly over a white shirt, cobalt accents faint under the light. He was utterly still—like a piece of the chamber itself.
Unreactive.
Watching without looking.
Agatha turned slightly and gestured back toward him.
"This is Seth," she said. "Master of this domain."
The elf hesitated, then pushed herself off the platform. Her legs wobbled slightly, but she steadied herself and bowed—not deeply, but respectfully.
"My name is Evelyn Leafyn," she said.
Her voice was soft. Clear. Young.
Agatha's eyes narrowed just a fraction.
"Leafyn," she repeated.
Then, with measured clarity, she spoke again—this time not just for the elf, but for Seth.
"She is of the Leafyn line," Agatha said.
"One of the royal roots of the Elven Empire."
The air changed.
Not magically—emotionally.
Even the crystals seemed to hum lower.
"The Leafyn," Agatha continued, her tone sharpened by quiet significance. "A lineage bound directly to the capital. To the heartlands. To the World Tree itself."
That… was rare.
Royal roots were not merely noble families. They were bloodlines intertwined with ancient pacts, older than kingdoms, older than borders. The Leafyn name was not spoken lightly outside elven lands.
Evelyn lowered her head.
Seth remained silent.
Only after several heartbeats did he incline his head slightly in acknowledgment.
"Welcome," he said simply.
The elf looked up at him.
She studied his voice more than his presence—curious, uncertain. Then she nodded once.
"…Thank you," she said. "For saving me."
Her hands clenched the fabric of her dress as she spoke.
Seth paused.
A noticeable pause.
Not because he was searching for words—but because he was deciding whether they were necessary.
"You were found within my territory," he said at last. "Leaving you to die would have been inefficient."
The words were flat. Unembellished.
Evelyn blinked.
Agatha shot him a sideways look.
"…Nonetheless," Seth added after a moment, "you are alive."
That seemed to satisfy her.
She bowed again—deeper this time.
Agatha cleared her throat softly.
"You are far from home, Lady Evelyn," she said. "Returning you to the capital will not be simple."
Evelyn stiffened.
Agatha continued, turning slightly as if already calculating routes.
"By road, the journey would take over a year—longer, if we avoid hostile territories. By sea, nearly the same. Flying chariots are not an option."
Her eyes flicked to Evelyn.
"Those are reserved for royalty."
Evelyn's fingers trembled.
Agatha noticed.
Seth spoke next.
"Resources can be allocated," he said. "But distance remains distance."
Silence followed.
Then—
"I don't want to go back."
The words fell quietly, but they struck like a fracture through glass.
Agatha turned fully toward her now.
"…Explain."
Evelyn's shoulders hunched.
Her voice wavered.
"Going back will only cause more trouble," she said. "For them. And for me."
Agatha's expression hardened—not with cruelty, but with suspicion.
"Why?"
Evelyn hesitated.
Then she whispered it.
"I'm an outcast."
The word lingered.
"Of the Leafyn," she continued. "Of the royal roots."
Seth tilted his head slightly.
"There are mechanisms," he said calmly. "Political. Legal. Even magical. Exile is rarely absolute."
Evelyn shook her head.
"They already tried," she said.
Her voice cracked.
"They tried to erase me."
Agatha's lips parted slightly.
"They said it was for stability," Evelyn continued. "For the image of the roots. For the harmony of the Tree."
Her hands tightened at her sides.
"They found out the truth of my birth."
A tear slipped free.
Then another.
"My mother…" Evelyn swallowed hard. "She committed an abomination."
The word tasted bitter.
"She was taken in by the royals," Evelyn said. "Hidden away. I was told she was dead."
Her breathing faltered.
"I've never seen her. Not once."
Tears streamed freely now.
"They kept me out of sight. Away from the capital. Away from the Tree. I was never allowed to stand beneath it."
Her voice broke completely.
"I wasn't meant to exist."
The chamber fell silent.
No hum.
No movement.
Agatha's expression softened fully now—pity unmistakable in her eyes. She stepped closer, placing a gentle hand over Evelyn's shoulder.
Seth did not move.
Did not speak.
His face remained unreadable beneath the blindfold. His posture unchanged.
Stoic.
Unyielding.
Emotion did not touch him.
The silence stretched—not awkward, not rushed.
Heavy.
Waiting.
And somewhere deep within the domain, unseen mechanisms continued to function perfectly—indifferent to bloodlines, grief, or the quiet tragedy of a girl the World Tree had never acknowledged.
Agatha crossed the distance between herself and the elf girl without urgency, her footsteps measured, deliberate. The underground chamber hummed softly with artificial light and distant machinery, but here—right here—the noise seemed to fade.
Evelyn stood rigid, hands clasped in front of her, shoulders drawn inward like a wounded animal expecting another strike. Her ears twitched at the slightest sound.
Agatha stopped in front of her.
Then, without warning, she pulled Evelyn into an embrace.
It was not tight. Not possessive. Just warm.
Agatha's hand rose, fingers sliding gently through the elf's hair, patting it in slow, steady motions. Evelyn froze at first—then her breath hitched. Her shoulders trembled once. Twice. Then she leaned in, just slightly, as if realizing too late that comfort had been offered and accepted.
"Everything is going to be okay," Agatha said softly, her voice low enough that it felt private even in the open chamber.
"Alright?"
Evelyn nodded.
No words. Just a small, fragile motion of trust.
Agatha released her carefully, as though afraid sudden distance might undo the moment. Then she turned.
Seth sat near the core of the computing system, posture relaxed but mind clearly elsewhere. Streams of pale-blue data scrolled across semi-transparent panels suspended in the air, mechanical arms moving rhythmically around him as if obeying silent commands.
Agatha approached.
She leaned down, close enough that her breath brushed his ear.
Close enough that words could not escape.
"What you are doing," she murmured, "is inefficient."
Seth did not look at her.
"What you are proposing," he replied calmly, "is unnecessary."
Agatha straightened slightly, arms folding beneath her chest.
"She needs shelter."
Seth:"And I need justification."
"She could stay here."
Seth finally turned his head just enough to acknowledge her presence.
"Why should I accommodate something that isn't profitable to my account?"
Agatha's brow twitched.
"Then offer her a post," she said. "There are vacancies that need filling."
"It's too early for that," Seth replied immediately. "I see no function she can perform that you cannot already handle."
Agatha's eyes narrowed.
"Excuse me?" she said, her glare sharp enough to cut steel.
Seth said nothing.
Silence stretched.
Agatha exhaled slowly, recalibrating. "Fine. Maid duties, then. Cleaning. Washing. Basic maintenance."
"That position is already filled."
"You don't have maids."
"I have robots."
Agatha blinked once.
"Oh. Really?"
"Yes. Fully autonomous. Efficient. They do not complain."
She stared at him.
Then smiled—thin, dangerous.
"Office assistant."
"There is no office on these floors," Seth replied. "You don't even have an office."
Agatha's jaw tightened.
She began listing positions—logistics aide, archive assistant, research helper, record keeper, inventory clerk—each one dismissed with precision.
"Not required."
"Too soon."
"No current demand."
"Redundant."
Finally, she stopped.
"I'm pretty sure," Agatha said slowly, "she could be an informant."
Seth turned fully now.
"You just want her under you," he said flatly. "Why don't you just take her?"
Agatha's eyes flashed.
"It is not my place to decide that,"
Agatha paused.
Then her expression shifted.
"Oh," she said lightly. "How about a cook?"
Seth frowned. "You can handle that."
"No," Agatha replied calmly. "I won't."
He blinked.
Seth:"You're serious?"
"That isn't part of my jurisdiction."
Seth:"Now you're just being unreasonable."
Agatha leaned in, her voice dropping.
"Or you're dumping unessential duties on me."
"I am not dumping," Seth said evenly. "I am assigning. And if you show adequate performance, promotion could be discussed."
She stared at him.
"So more work," she said, "while you sit around pretending not to rule this place?"
"I don't sit around."
Agatha laughed under her breath.
She turned away without another word.
Seth watched her walk toward Evelyn. His jaw tightened.
Agatha's demeanor changed instantly—her smile warm, reassuring.
"My dear Evelyn," she said sweetly, "the boss and I have just concluded your placement within our policy."
Evelyn's eyes widened.
"R-really?"
"Yes."
"No," Seth snapped from behind them. "We did not agree on anything."
Agatha ignored him.
"How would you like to become our cook?"
Evelyn straightened, panic flickering behind her eyes—but she bowed slightly.
"I truly appreciate the opportunity," she said earnestly. "I'll commit myself fully."
"Unacceptable," Seth said sharply, standing.
He turned to Evelyn. "Can you prepare grilled beef ham?"
Evelyn froze.
"…No?"
Seth gestured. "You see?"
Agatha spun on him.
"That doesn't matter!"
"Elves don't eat meat," Seth continued. "They're vegetarians. Assigning her cooking duties that conflict with her biology is inefficient."
"You're hiding behind excuses," Agatha snapped. "Not knowing how to prepare something now doesn't mean she can't learn!"
Seth exhaled slowly.
"Tell me, Evelyn," he said calmly, "what is it you are actually good at?"
Evelyn hesitated.
Then quietly:
"I… I love clothing. When I was little, I learned dressmaking. I grew up sewing."
Seth's eyes flickered.
"Dress…?" he murmured.
Agatha placed her hands on Evelyn's shoulders, turning her gently.
"Evelyn," she said solemnly, "by the power invested in me—"
Seth's head snapped up.
"—I grant you employment."
Evelyn gasped, tears welling.
"Thank you. I'm honored."
"On whose authority?" Seth demanded.
"Yours," Agatha replied smoothly.
"You're only doing this because it benefits you."
Agatha smiled as she guided Evelyn toward the exit.
"I'm sure she'll be able to tailor your outfits with practice."
They left.
The doors sealed.
Seth stood alone.
"Despicable," he muttered.
Suddenly—
ALERT. ALERT.
Seth spun back toward the computing system.
"State report."
All mechanical arms halted mid-motion as a monotone voice echoed.
"Construction of the Third Floor is complete.
Construction bots have ceased function.
All materials and engineering supplies are critically low."
The message repeated.
Seth inhaled sharply.
"…What a pain."