Next Day
"Oberon, wear the clothes I prepared for you." Mother's voice was firm, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.
I sighed, tugging at the stiff collar of the embroidered tunic. "I will, Mother. So, who is it? The ambassador from the Alf Forest?"
A mischievous smile curled her lips. "Fufu~ She's your aunt, Oberon."
"Aunt?!" My voice cracked. Since when did I have an aunt?
"Yes," Mother chuckled, her fingers brushing my unruly gold hair into place. "And she's been dying to see you."
She led me toward the front gate, where Laffey and our household guards stood at attention. Beyond them, the village buzzed with excitement—laughter, whispers, the clatter of wooden carts. And then I saw it.
A white carriage, pulled not by horses, but by a great stag, its antlers adorned with golden filigree. Around it marched elven guards in pristine white plate armor, their emerald-green capes fluttering like leaves in the wind. They moved with eerie precision, their faces unreadable.
Mother's grip on my shoulder tightened. "Oberon, be careful. Mind your manners, or she'll snatch you away."
A shiver ran down my spine. I quickly recalled Laffey's endless etiquette drills and activated my magic eyes, scanning the newcomers for threats.
Then—chaos.
"Hey, is that Lord Oberon?!" A villager's voice cut through the murmurs.
"It is! It's really him!"
My face burned. I'd never appeared in public before, and now every eye in the village was on me. I grabbed Mother's sleeve, my cheeks flaming.
Viska, Laffey, and the guards all clenched their fists internally.
Too. Damn. Cute.
The carriage door slammed open.
A blur—too fast. Like a hawk diving for prey.
Pyon!
Something soft, warm, and suffocating smashed into my face. Darkness. The scent of flowers. My mind short-circuited.
"Hnnngh—!" I flailed.
"Mmm~ Just as adorable as I imagined!" a melodic voice cooed.
Mother groaned. "Sister… must you?"
The elven woman—blue-haired, silver-eyed, and grinning like a wolf—peered down at me, then at Mother.
"CAN I KEEP HIM?!"
"NO." Mother's reply was instant. She yanked me free, and I gasped for air.
"Laffey, handle the Alf guards," Mother ordered. "Sister, inside. Now."
'Sister?!'
"Wait, Viska!" My so-called aunt giggled. "I brought someone else."
A figure stepped forward—five feet tall, draped in a flowing white cloak, their face hidden except for a pair of luminous, knowing eyes and pointy ears.
But what unsettled me wasn't their appearance.
It was their aura.
'Something… unnatural. I can't see it at all'
Mother's voice dropped to a whisper. "Inside. Too many eyes here."
The cloaked stranger smiled—just their lips visible, curling in a way that made my skin prickle.
Who… no, what are you?
====x====
The warmth of the hearth flickered across the room as I nestled into my mother's lap, her arms a familiar comfort yet it feels like she keeps me close like a mother protecting her cup. Across from us, two guests sat stiffly on the embroidered sofa—one, my ever-cheerful aunt, and the other, a stranger draped in a white cloak, her face hidden.
Even Aunt Hyrmr's usual playful demeanor had dimmed, her smile tight. The way her fingers twitched, the slight tension in her shoulders—it was subtle, but I knew.
'Mother wasn't exaggerating. She really does want to take me away.'
"First, I welcome you to Wishe Forest," Mother said, her voice smooth and regal, the kind she reserved for formal audiences "My apologize that my husband can be at present because if his duty."
The cloaked figure inclined her head. "Thank you for your warm hospitality, Lady Viska Aendryr Wishe. I understand and there is no need to apologize for your husband who protect this forest from Fultone."
A shadow passed over Mother's face. "Thank you for understand."
"King Larfal sends his apologies. Rakia's lately restless so we can't show any sign of weakness on other side." Hyrmr added.
I suppressed a sigh. Our homeland was a fortress surrounded by wolves—without our advanced magic, we would have been overrun long ago. But this fragile peace will become fleeting memory knowing the gods give power for mortal without thinking.
'One spark, and everything burns.'
"Enough of such grim talk," Mother said sharply, her gaze flickering to me before softening. "Sister, the woman beside you—is she who I think?"
All eyes turned to the cloaked stranger. Slowly, delicate fingers reached up and drew back the hood, revealing silver hair like moonlight and piercing violet eyes.
'She looks young too young.'
The girl—no, the being—bowed gracefully. "Greetings, Lady Viska. Lord Oberon. Forgive my intrusion." Her voice was melodic, yet carried an ancient weight. "My name is 'Sindarin'."
The air in the room thickened.
"Mother," I whispered, "who is she?"
Mother's grip on my shoulder tightened. "One of the 'Lunethra'."
My breath hitched.
The elven hierarchy was simple: the king ruled, the high elves served, and the commoners lived beneath them. But the Lunethra? They existed outside of it all. Guardians of the Sacred Tree, bound by no laws, answering to no crown. Even King Larfal held no sway over them.
And now one stood in our home.
"It seems you already know of us," Sindarin said, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "I come with a letter—for your son."
From her sleeve, she produced a scroll tied with a violet ribbon, its wax seal embossed with unfamiliar runes.
"This letter is for Oberon's eyes alone." She added.
Mother's fingers twitched. "May I ask its contents?"
Sindarin shook her head.
A beat of silence. Then, with careful hands, Mother tucked the scroll into my pocket. "Sindarin, Sister, you may rest in the guest chambers. Tonight, we feast." Her tone left no room for argument. Then, to me: "Oberon, return to your room. I must speak with your aunt."
Aunt Hyrmr's face fell. "But I—"
"Later." Mother with firm and cold tone.
With a reluctant bow, I excused myself, the weight of the scroll burning against my thigh.
Alone in my room, I tossed my coat over the chair and placed the scroll on the desk, resisting the urge to tear it open. Instead, I collapsed onto the bed, replaying the encounter.
'So that aunt Hyrmr.' I smirked.
But my thoughts quickly turned to the silver-haired envoy.
'The Lunethra. What do they want with me?'
In my past life, elves revered their sacred trees—sources of power, life, magic. Here, the legends aligned. The Lunethra guarded theirs fiercely. And if the scroll was any indication…
'I might finally see it for myself.'
Curiosity won. I snatched the scroll, broke the seal, and unfurled it—only for the ink to glow, lifting off the parchment in emerald wisps.
A sudden rush—memories, knowledge, something—flooded my mind, crisp and vivid.
My hands trembled.
'No way.'
"This is not just a letter! It's a Grimoire!"
====x====
After received such knowledge my mind instant remembers the similar spell. I draw both each other in large scroll draw a magic circle in detail on bot paper after I finished, I compared both spells.
"…There is no mistaken it was a summoning magic."
I did intently recognize the difference in both magic.
"How, this look far perfected than the magic circle I learn in pervious life."
My talent in summoning magic is incomparable to Nanahoshi and Perugius, but now the rush new knowledge finally clicks something that I had been dying to be able to do.
"In theory I could finally summoned a humanoid spirit!"
I start to think to abandon the project of Automaton where infused a spirit to artificial body using Zanoba knowledge the only problem is finding the material to build one, but…
"No, I shouldn't abandon the project. With both spirit servant and an army of Automaton I could protect everyone."
I sat in silent once again to remake my planed future project, however there is one thing I had to know.
"That girl… maybe I should approach her to gathered some information about the Lunethra."
====x====
Night had fallen, and the festival was in full swing. The air hummed with laughter and music—delicate harp strings plucked by skilled fingers, flutes weaving melodies as old as the forest itself. Lanterns cast a golden glow over the elven revellers, their joy infectious, their voices rising in song.
I shifted uncomfortably on the throne, my fingers tightening around the armrests. Every eye in Wishe people was upon me, their gazes burning with curiosity, reverence, or—worse—expectation. My cheeks burned.
'If only I could bury my face in my hands and disappear.'
To distract myself, I activated my magic eyes, scanning the crowd. Most auras shimmered in muted greys, while children glowed with pure, untarnished white.
'Hm. Still no one like Sindarin…'
Then I saw him.
A lone elf stood apart from the others, his aura darker than midnight—a swirling mass of shadows that clung to him like a second cloak. His attire marked him clearly: the crest of Ryumilua, the most hostile of the elven forests, embroidered on his cape.
'So, the elves did have someone like him hu.'
My stare must have lingered too long that mother notice my change expression.
"Is something wrong, Oberon?" Mother's voice, smooth yet probing, pulled me back.
I forced a smile. "Nothing concerning. I just noticed the Ryumilua crest. Aren't they the guardians of the Sacred Forest?"
"Indeed." Mother's lips curled knowingly. "And home to Lenna, their finest archer in the Elven kingdom."
I blinked. "Lenna? I've never heard that name before."
"Fufu~ Of course you haven't." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They say she can strike a target from kilometres away without missing her target."
My eye twitched.
'An assassin's dream.'
"Her ability brag by her leaders," Mother added, as if sensing my unease. "So, take that with a grain of salt."
"Understood." I swallowed hard—then flinched as a pair of sharp violet eyes locked onto me from across the hall.
Aunt Hyrmr, the King's right hand and the most feared mage in the Elven Kingdom, was watching me like a hawk eyeing prey. The sheer density of mana around her was suffocating.
"Oberon," she called, smirking. "I hear you've taken an interest in magic. Why not return with me to Alf Forest? I'll teach you properly."
"I must decline," I said quickly. "Though even if I accepted, Mother would chain me to this throne."
"Ehh? How cruel you think of your mother!" Mother gasped, hand over her heart—then paused. "…I would not do such a thing."
The hesitation in her voice was so blatant I couldn't help but laugh.
Before I could retort, the banquet began. Servants brought out platters of roasted pheasant glazed in honey, steaming herb-infused bread, and goblets of elderberry juice. The rich scents wrapped around me, momentarily easing my nerves.
Then, a soft voice beside me.
"Lord Oberon."
Sindarin stood there, her silver hair catching the lantern light.
"Lady Sindarin," I greeted. "I hope you're enjoying the feast."
Her gaze drifted over the villagers—laughing, dancing, their worries forgotten for one night. "They're happy," she murmured. "After so much tension… it's good to see."
A beat of silence. Then I leaned closer.
"Sindarin… can we speak alone after this?"
Her eyes flicked to mine, searching. "What about?"
"I need to confirm something."
She hesitated—then nodded.
The party ended, and after exchanging pleasantries with the villagers, I excused myself. Mother allowed it, though not without a knowing glance.
Sindarin met me in the garden behind our estate.
The full moon bathed the world in silver; the rustling leaves and distant owl cries the only sounds. We sat on the terrace, facing each other, the cool night air between us.
I took a breath.
"First, I need to ask…" My voice was steady, but my pulse wasn't. "Who—no, what are you?"
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