"Thank you, noble lord. Thank you for saving us."
The elf woman—the same one who had been driven out by the mob, pelted with stones and curses—offered her gratitude with a deep, respectful bow.
Her voice was soft, trembling with equal parts relief and lingering fear.
Behind her, her son stood quietly, his small hands clenched at his sides, watching the exchange with wary eyes.
He did not interrupt.
Arthur laughed.
Not a polite chuckle.
Not a gracious acknowledgment.
A full, genuine laugh, as if she had just told him the funniest joke in the entire universe.
"Will a noble save you, my lady?" he asked, his emerald eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "No, lady. I'm not a noble."
He jerked his thumb toward Stephanie, who was standing slightly apart from the group, her arms crossed and her expression carefully neutral.
"She's the noble."
Stephanie's composure cracked instantly.
Her cheeks flushed as she sputtered, "Hey! I don't want anything to do with this charade, Arthur! Don't drag me into your—"
Arthur ignored her completely, his attention already back on the bewildered elf woman.
Yumeria—for that was her name, though Arthur had not yet asked—looked between them with obvious uncertainty.
Her son, however, seemed to gather his courage.
He raised his small hand, his voice tentative but curious.
"Then... what are you, my lord?"
Arthur's expression softened.
He reached out and gently ruffled the boy's pale hair, the gesture surprisingly tender for a man who had just blinded an elf with a wave of invisible force not ten minutes ago.
"I'm a dragon," he said simply.
The boy's eyes went wide.
Arthur chuckled again, withdrawing his hand. "And you, young one? What are you?"
The boy's confidence faltered.
He looked down at his feet, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "I don't know... Maybe half-elf? That's what the others called me. Before they..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Merlin, who had been watching the entire exchange with an expression of amusement, finally spoke up.
His voice carried that infuriatingly knowing tone that made everyone want to either listen closely or punch him in the face.
"Don't tease them, Arthur. You're frightening the poor boy."
Arthur rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck. "I'm not teasing anyone. I'm telling them the truth. There's a difference, Merlin. Though I suppose you wouldn't know."
Merlin placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "You wound me, my king."
Arthur ignored him and turned back to the elf woman. His expression shifted—the playful edge fading, replaced by something harder.
Something real.
"Now, Lady Elf. What do you want to do?"
Yumeria flinched slightly at the directness of the question. "Y-Yumeria, my lord. My name is Yumeria."
"Yumeria," Arthur repeated, testing the name.
He nodded once. "What do you want to do, Yumeria? We're heading into dangerous territory. Perilous journeys. Monsters. Possibly more people who want to throw rocks at you. It's not safe for you to follow us."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"But it's also not safe for you to stay."
Yumeria's shoulders sagged.
She looked down at her son—her beautiful, innocent boy who had done nothing wrong except be born of two worlds—and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"I don't know, my lord," she admitted, her voice cracking. "I just... I just want my son to live a peaceful life. A comfortable life. That's all I've ever wanted."
Arthur's gaze did not waver.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"You would have that already... if your son were pure-blooded."
The words hit like a physical blow.
Yumeria flinched.
Even Stephanie looked away, uncomfortable with the brutal honesty.
But Arthur wasn't finished.
"In this world, Lady Yumeria, birthright decides your character. Your reputation. Your worth—at least in the eyes of those who hold power." He gestured broadly, encompassing the island, the kingdom, everything. "So tell me. How can a peaceful life be won... without a fight?"
He let the question hang in the air.
"I am not someone of high birth. I am a commoner. A farmer's son. My hands have held plows more often than swords." His voice hardened.
"Yet here I stand. I beat those sons of bitches—the ones who thought they were higher than us, more superior than us. Do you know why?"
Yumeria shook her head slowly.
"Because just like any other bully... they fear the strong."
Arthur took a single step closer.
Not threatening.
Simply present.
Unavoidable.
"The question, Lady Yumeria, is this: Do you want to become strong? Or do you want to stay weak?"
The silence stretched.
Yumeria's hands trembled at her sides.
Her son pressed closer to her leg, sensing his mother's turmoil.
For a long, agonizing moment, it seemed she might refuse—might choose the familiar misery over the terrifying unknown.
Then, slowly, she bowed her head.
Lower than before.
When she spoke, her voice was steadier.
"My lord... I will do anything to become as strong as you. Please... teach me."
Arthur noted the pronoun immediately.
Not we.
Yumeria was offering to bear the entire burden herself.
To shield her son from the cost of their survival.
A good mother, he thought.
Truly.
Stephanie, who had been silent since her earlier protest, finally spoke up.
Her voice was practical, measured—the voice of someone who had learned to think in terms of resources and logistics.
"Perhaps they should stay in the village, Arthur. They could help with trivial matters. Cooking. Cleaning. Maintenance." She glanced at Yumeria and her son, her expression not unkind, but realistic. "They don't seem like people who can fight."
"I don't think so."
The voice was soft, but firm.
Olivia stepped forward, her gentle eyes fixed on the elf mother and her child.
There was something in her gaze—a recognition, perhaps.
She knew what it was to feel weak.
To feel helpless. To watch your world burn and have no power to stop it.
"I believe they can become strong, brother," she said, her voice carrying a quiet conviction. "I believe in their resolve."
Arthur looked at his sister for a long moment.
Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
He turned back to Yumeria.
"You can come, Yumeria. Your training begins immediately." His gaze shifted to the boy, and his expression softened—just slightly. "But your son stays in our village. He's too young for what lies ahead. Sir Bedivere will look after him. He'll be safe. He'll be educated."
The young elf's composure finally broke. "But—! I can fight too! I'm not—"
Yumeria moved before he could finish.
She stepped in front of him, her body blocking his from Arthur's view, and bowed deeply once more.
Her voice was thick with emotion, but her words were clear.
"Thank you, my lord. We accept your generosity."
Arthur nodded once. "Good. Go and rest now. You're hired."
He turned away—a clear dismissal.
The conversation was over.
Yumeria straightened and took her son's hand.
The boy looked back over his shoulder, his young face a storm of frustration and helplessness, as his mother gently but firmly dragged him toward the door.
He wanted to argue. He wanted to prove himself.
But he was just a child, and the world did not care about the wants of children.
They were nearly out the door when Yumeria paused.
She looked back, her expression hesitant.
"My lord... if you need a place to stay, our home is modest, but it's clean. Certainly cleaner than the local inn, which—"
Arthur chuckled, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. "We're adventurers, Lady Yumeria. We'll sleep anywhere that's clean and convenient. A barn. A field. Under the stars if necessary."
His smile softened. "Go. Your son needs you more than we do."
Yumeria held his gaze for a moment longer.
Then, with a final, grateful nod, she turned and left, her son's small hand clutched tightly in her own.
The door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
Merlin was the first to speak. "You handled that well, my king. Though I must say, the 'dragon' claim was a bit dramatic, even for you."
Arthur didn't look at him.
His gaze remained fixed on the closed door.
"It wasn't a claim, Merlin."
Merlin's amused expression flickered—just for a moment—into something more serious.
He said nothing.
Olivia moved to stand beside her brother. She didn't speak. She simply was there, a quiet presence of support.
Stephanie, meanwhile, let out a long, exhausted sigh. "I still think they'd be more useful in the village. But fine. Your team. Your rules."
Arthur finally turned away from the door.
A genuine smile—warm, tired, and somehow older—crossed his face.
"It's not a team yet, Stephanie."
He walked past her, toward the rooms Merlin had secured for the night.
"But it will be."