Gardenia’s Heart

In the luxurious room, now fully repaired, several girls sat around the table having dinner.

It had already been the second day since Nia’s departure. The sky, painted in shades of purple, made it clear that it was late afternoon, with night fast approaching.

“So the elves’ communication device is working perfectly, Elarielle?” With a small silver-haired girl sitting on her lap, eating a sandwich, Lily looked at the black box on the table.

The voice received by the box transmitted its message to the other side, and soon, a reply came.

“Like I said, I had the artifact analysts check it hundreds of times. There was no fault on our end.”

Though slightly distorted, the voice coming directly from the box was unmistakable.

In a faintly irritated tone that made her lack of sleep evident, Elarielle, the Queen of the Elves, explained her analysis once more.

“According to the report, the written message containing the council meeting invitation was sent on the same day it arrived. There was no delay caused by us, as the dragons claimed.” Her voice grew sharper, blending with the sound of glass vials being handled—she continued working even as she spoke.

“What does that mean?” Selene asked, her rabbit ears twitching as she tasted another snack. “Did whoever was responsible for sending the message mix up their duties and end up lying to avoid getting in trouble?”

Wiping a bit of sauce from her cheek, the rabbit girl shifted her gaze between Lily and Thelira, who both wore equally tense expressions. However, the answer came from the box on the table.

“That’s highly unlikely,” Elarielle said. “Even though it’s the clan responsible for culture, it’s the Fang Clan that handles communication between nations. That’s been the case since the time of the war. In terms of raw strength, they are the weakest clan, and because of that, they’ve always been responsible for complex logistics—delivering messages across battlefronts back when communication artifacts weren’t fully developed yet. I can’t imagine Tiamat making such a mistake and then trying to cover it up like that—not after what happened in the past.”

The elf’s firm words made Lily raise her eyebrows in confusion.

“The past? Wait, Elarielle, what are you talking about?”

As she asked, Lily noticed the artifact fall silent for a brief moment before a response finally came.

“It’s not something that’s widely talked about, because it’s considered a national disgrace.” Even through the communication artifact, the discomfort in Elarielle’s voice was evident. “During the war, the former leader of the Fang Clan suddenly disappeared from his post one day and was never found again.”

“Disappeared?” Lily repeated.

“Yes. Without a word, he vanished without leaving any trace behind.” Elarielle explained. “Since there was no evidence of an invasion or anything similar, the conclusion was that he abandoned his responsibilities under pressure and fled. Dragons value strength—running away and disappearing like that is no different from the greatest weakness one of their kind can show.”

The silver-haired girl listened to the explanation in silence. Even after being answered, however, she felt like something was still missing.

“And what exactly does that have to do with Tiamat?”

“The former leader was Sovereign Tiamat’s older brother.” Finally joining the conversation, Thelira answered the silver-haired girl.

Her own words made the elf cast a sorrowful glance toward the communication artifact, making it clear just how deeply that weighed on a family—especially on the leader of a people.

Even without following a system like a monarchy, the responsibilities that came with the position were the same. Upon assuming the role, one inherited not only the strengths of the previous leadership, but all of its burdens as well.

“Even though she wasn’t mature enough for it, Tiamat was still the strongest in the clan. Because of that, the position was passed on to her. I don’t know all the details, but it seems that after that, she became even stricter with her clan, following every ritual and tradition to the letter. I don’t blame her—she was trying to restore her family’s name.” Wiping her daughter’s cheek with a napkin, Thelira wrapped her arms around the girl’s slender waist, holding her close with tenderness.

The explanations from Thelira and Elarielle left Lily silent for a long moment. Everyone knew better than to interrupt her train of thought, so they continued eating in silence.

For several long minutes, Lily remained with her eyes closed, reflecting on everything she had heard. When she finally opened her mismatched eyes, her gaze settled on none other than the small girl sitting on her lap.

Pulling Rose closer, Lily gently stroked the girl’s silver hair, offering a soft smile before turning to the others.

“Hypothetically, if a dragon dies, according to their people’s traditions, what should be done?”

Though it was an unusual question, everyone could tell she was thinking something through, so without questioning it, they began to answer.

“Well, that’s a delicate matter,” Thelira said, her expression turning serious. “Regardless of how they died in life—whether honorably or not—every dragon deserves a proper funeral. There’s land at the top of the mountain, above the mist, reserved for each clan, serving as a cemetery.”

As soon as Thelira finished speaking, another voice followed through the communication artifact.

“Before you ask—during wartime, dragons who couldn’t be brought back were given funerals on the battlefield.” Raising her voice slightly through the device, Elarielle spoke, already anticipating Lily’s next question. “Of course, unlike the burials in Athamas, we would completely cremate the bodies—without exception. After all, we couldn’t risk any demon obtaining parts of their bodies or their blood.”

Strangely, instead of another question from Lily, everyone present—and even those not physically there—let out small startled sounds when a soft laugh suddenly broke out.

“So that’s how things are…” Covering her mouth with one hand, Lily practically bent forward as she let out a restrained laugh. “Elarielle, when will you be ready?”

Finally stopping her laughter and ignoring the confused looks directed at her, Lily turned toward the artifact on the table.

“Your guess was right, Lily.” Even slightly confused by the laughter, Elarielle responded quickly. “I should have everything ready tomorrow, before the end of the day.”

“Perfect.” Lily stood up, carefully holding the little girl, who continued eating the food she had prepared with a bright smile on her face. “Rose, can you help Mommy with something?”

“Of course!”

The cheerful response came instantly—everything Lily needed to head for the door.

“Lady Lily, where are you going?” Caught off guard by her sudden actions, Thelira asked.

“Tomorrow will be the decisive conclusion. I have a plan that might work. I just need to lure our rat into the trap.”

Turning to Thelira, Lily narrowed her eyes, her voice growing serious.

“I’m not arrogant enough to claim I understand complicated politics. I can’t say whether my idea will lead to a beneficial outcome for the elves or not,” Lily said, shaking her head. “For what I want to work, we’ll need one more thing to resolve everything. It’s something only you can obtain—but doing so might throw all your efforts away. Because of that, I want you to decide, Thelira.”

Lily remained still, her mismatched eyes fixed on the elf with crescent-shaped pupils.

Clenching her fists, Thelira swallowed hard. The decision now rested on her shoulders. The realization that she couldn’t answer alone weighed heavily on her, the burden of war pressing down as her heart pounded in her chest.

For a moment, the elf fixed her gaze on the artifact resting on the table, but with a synchronicity that bordered on the impossible, a voice soon came from the other side.

“This is up to you, Thelira,” Elarielle said, her voice—filled with joy for the first time in that conversation. “Don’t forget, the reason I sent you wasn’t just to build our reputation, but because I trust your decisions completely.”

It was as if all the doubts in her mind had been swept away by a strong breeze.

“...Sis,” Thelira whispered, clenching her fists once more. This time, however, her eyes, filled with determination, focused on Lily. “Just tell me what I need to obtain.”

---

Beneath a sky that was beginning to take on a starry pattern, a group of rather unique individuals walked across a green plateau.

“P-Please, don’t draw attention! If the members of the Wing Clan find out I’m bringing you into their district, I’ll be in serious trouble!”

Running back and forth around the group while checking if anyone was watching them, a beautiful woman with short orange hair looked utterly desperate.

“Even if we’re in their district, we’re still far from the range of their sense of smell. We’re safe,” Thelira said, walking gracefully in a long emerald dress as she tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her pointed ear.

On the other hand, upon hearing the elf’s carefree remark, Annona—who was guiding the group under orders she couldn’t question—couldn’t stop herself from breaking into a cold sweat.

“B-But—!?”

Before she could complain again, the princess of the Golden Hive felt a hand grab her head.

“You’re the only one making a scene here. If you don’t stop complaining, I’ll tell Rhei.” With the fluffy ears on her head folding in clear discomfort at the annoying voice, Selene snorted irritably.

At the mere mention of that particular bee-woman’s name, Annona felt her body go cold. Turning to protest, her eyes met those of the small girl in the honey-colored dress, held in the rabbit woman’s arms. With an innocent smile on her face, Cherry traced an invisible line across her neck with her thumb.

Remembering the little girl’s words on the plains—that she planned to use her corpse as a way to prevent the war—Annona felt the very core of her being tremble.

“Hic!” Letting out a panicked hiccup, Annona dashed forward and began knocking frantically on the door.

Unlike the Fang Clan, whose houses had a more open design filled with corridors and inner gardens, the Wing Clan seemed to follow a more minimalist pattern. Though there were still gardens, their homes most closely resembled those found in human cities.

Because of the size of the house, the echoes of her anything-but-subtle knocking made the wooden door tremble loudly enough for an immediate response from the other side.

“Lady Annona, you can’t just go out at night like—!?”

Opening the door with a heavy sigh, the young boy who had been expecting to find the bee-antlered woman froze in place the moment he saw the woman standing before him.

“Hello, we’re the elven delegation. Is Elder Ipomoea available?” With a perfect smile on her face, Thelira—who had already pulled Annona aside—addressed the young dwarf.

“Y-Yes…” Frozen in place, jaw slightly dropped, the small dwarf holding a toolbox blinked several times, finally realizing that the beautiful woman he was seeing was real. “H-Hello… I’m Mioculca.”

Jumping aside in a fluster, the boy—still unable to process the situation—made way for them.

“Excuse us,” Thelira said with a polite smile as she stepped into the house.

“Thank you for having us.” Likewise, grabbing a certain frightened bee-woman by her dress and pulling her inside, Selene couldn’t help but widen her eyes as she noticed a small rectangular object on the wall displaying colorful moving images. “Is that a painting!?”

Rushing toward the object, which seemed far too thick to be a painting, Selene could barely resist the urge to press her face against it. Her astonishment was more than justified.

Emitting what was—despite its low quality—clearly an image of the Sea of Clouds’ landscape, the strange “painting” wasn’t static, showing the entire cycle from sunrise to sunset.

“N-Not exactly! I’m working on something that makes capturing images and sound easier.” Adjusting the glasses that were about to slip off, Mioculca showed a small prism-shaped object from his toolbox. “At its current stage, I’ve managed to make the capture device portable and get decent audio, but I’m still having a lot of trouble with the image quality.”

Stammering as he explained to the overly excited rabbit girl, Mioculca jumped in place again when, all of a sudden, Selene leapt toward him.

“That’s amazing! You’ve got talent! Want to come teach at my school!?” Still holding Cherry in her arms, Selene spoke with such energy that her pink eyes seemed to shine.

Smiling as she watched the girl enthusiastically discuss the new artifact with the dwarf, Thelira walked deeper into the house with firm steps. The strong smell of alcohol and the heat of the poorly ventilated space grew more intense with each step.

“Good evening, Elder Ipomoea.”

In the dimly lit living room—which now resembled a cluttered cellar more than anything else—an old dwarf with a long, thick beard took another gulp from his mug.

“So you finally decided to come beg for help, young lady?” Sitting with his arms resting on a long counter, he didn’t even bother turning around to speak. “For a dragon and demon slayer, you’re feeling fear quite easily.”

Ignoring the man’s rude tone, Thelira pulled a chair up to the counter beside him, adjusted her dress, and sat down without hesitation.

“I didn’t come for that.”

“Oh?” Ipomoea whistled, taking another sip of his drink.

“First, I’d like to apologize.” With her eyes closed, Thelira placed both hands on the table. “I underestimated your keen perception, Elder. Years of experience truly can’t be taken lightly.”

Turning toward the old dwarf, Thelira—her face free of any exaggerated emotion—spoke plainly.

“In fact, it wasn’t I who defeated General Fafnir, nor Twilight.”

As if he had finally heard what he was waiting for, a smile spread across the dwarf’s face. His suspicions had been confirmed. Even the elder couldn’t contain his amusement.

However, his smile lasted only a second—because Thelira hadn’t finished speaking.

“But I would like to make it clear that it wasn’t my sister who accomplished that either.” Calmly, Thelira watched as the dwarf’s expression twisted.

Ipomoea felt every wrinkle on his face deepen, a vein pulsing on his forehead. As if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him, whatever excitement had begun to bloom in his chest vanished completely.

“You’re saying it was another elf besides her? No—actually, I don’t care. What did you come here for, anyway?”

“I came to collect a favor you owe us, Elder Ipomoea.”

Her calm words were met with an explosive reaction.

“I’m sick of hearing this nonsense. You’re ruining the taste of my drink. Get out!” Slamming his mug hard enough to crack the counter, Ipomoea shouted. “Mioculca, stop fooling around and show them the way out!”

Hearing his name being called, both Mioculca and Selene—still carrying Cherry—rushed into the room.

Yet without moving a single muscle to leave, Thelira remained seated, her gaze fixed on the cup in the man’s hand.

“You really like food and drink,” she remarked casually, as if his outburst had never happened.

Raising an eyebrow at the elf’s strange and seemingly unrelated comment, Ipomoea shook the mug in his hand, confused.

“Do you know how many calories you burn working at a forge? Eating and drinking a lot is the bare minimum.”

Resting her elbow on the table, Thelira propped her chin on her hand, looking toward the large barrel in the corner of the room.

“That liquor over there… it’s something produced only here in Athamas, isn’t it?”

Among the many empty barrels, a single one remained full, as if it had never been touched. The scent coming from it, saturating the air, was so strong that it seemed everyone unconsciously avoided getting too close.

“I see you’ve at least got a good eye for drinks, young lady.”

Puffing out his chest, the dwarf stood up and slapped the barrel—three times his size—with the palm of his hand.

“Dragons are extremely resistant to alcohol, so the liquor has to be absurdly concentrated. I managed to get my hands on a single barrel of this after a lot of negotiation.”

“Oh? Would you mind if I tried a bit before leaving?” Thelira asked, looking straight at the proud dwarf.

“Your body wasn’t made for something like this, young lady. It still needs to be diluted. Not even my strongest blacksmiths could drink it in this concentrated state.”

Giving the barrel a few more enthusiastic pats, Ipomoea—who had already been ready to throw the unwanted guests out—felt his feet freeze in place when he heard the most absurd sentence of the night.

“Would you like to make a bet?”

With a smile on her face, Thelira asked, her tone making it clear she wasn’t joking.

“Hahahahahahahahahahaha!”

And precisely because of that, Ipomoea couldn’t hold back the insane burst of laughter that exploded out of him.

With a heavy thud, the dwarf—still laughing uncontrollably—grabbed the enormous barrel beside him without a hint of hesitation and placed it on top of the counter.

“We take turns drinking a mug each. The first one who can’t continue for any reason loses.” Grabbing a large mug—big enough to hold a full liter—Ipomoea tossed it toward Thelira, who caught it midair. “If you win, I promise to listen to whatever nonsense you want to tell me. If you lose, never show your face to me again.”

“I accept.”

Without hesitating for even a second, Thelira extended her mug, which was immediately filled with a bubbling amber liquid.

“W-Wait, Elder, such a high concentration of alcohol could be lethal! If the elves’ Sage dies here, we’ll have serious problems!”

“Exactly! If this girl dies, I’ll die too!”

Though for very different reasons, both Mioculca and Annona shouted, trying to stop what was about to happen.

“Selene, you’re my witness. I accepted this challenge in full awareness. If I die, there must be no retaliation from the elves under any circumstances.” Looking at the rabbit-eared girl, and then at the small elf whose bee-like ears were hidden beneath a hat, Thelira gave a broad smile. “Trust Mommy, alright?”

There was no longer any way to stop them.

“No mana, spells, medicine, or potions. We’ll settle this with our pride on the line.” Finishing filling his own mug, the old dwarf turned to the elf beside him. “With just one gulp, your throat will seize up, and it’ll feel like you can’t breathe. Your stomach will burn like it’s on fire while your liver struggles to keep your body alive.”

Savoring the scent of the amber liquid, Ipomoea burst into laughter once more.

“I’m known as the one with the strongest liver in the east. If you want to back out now, I’ll pretend this whole conversation never happened.”

“Let’s just start already.” Swirling her mug, Thelira replied bluntly.

Whistling at the elf’s boldness, Ipomoea knew her pride wouldn’t let her back down at this point.

“As a courtesy, I’ll drink first, young lady.”

Without a moment of hesitation, the dwarf brought the rim of the mug to his lips, the amber liquid pouring down his throat in an audible stream.

His pale skin immediately began to take on a noticeable flush, sweat pouring uncontrollably down every side of his face.

Each gulp seemed worse than the last, yet even with a tremor so strong it made his fingers shake, he pulled the mug away and turned it upside down—completely empty.

“Your turn…” Breathing heavily, Ipomoea stared at the elf.

Watching the dwarf, Thelira understood just how potent that liquor truly was. Even someone as experienced as Ipomoea could barely remain seated after a single mug. The dizziness was evident in his eyes.

Even so, none of that would stop her.

The moment the amber liquid touched her lips, Thelira felt an immediate surge of heat spread through her entire body. Like ground glass sliding down her throat and exploding in her chest, it felt as if her stomach now held molten lava.

Her eyes burned in response to the wave of fire constricting her body—a searing pain that seemed to spread through her ribs, up her spine, and all the way to the tips of her fingers.

As if pure electricity were coursing through every vein in her body, tearing through her flesh, Thelira finished the mug in one go, slamming it down on the table as proof it was empty.

“Your turn,” she huffed.

“N-Not bad…”

Though confidence still lingered on his face, Ipomoea couldn’t suppress the fear rising within him.

As the amber liquid poured from the barrel into his mug, a cold sweat ran down his body.

He hadn’t expected the elf to actually drink it.

He had managed once—but he had no confidence he could do it again.

His vision swam, his sense of up and down growing distorted.

Using all his focus just to bring the mug to his lips, he fought the urge to vomit and began drinking the amber liquid.

The old dwarf was certain the elf wouldn’t be able to finish two mugs. All he had to do was get through this one, and it would be over.

His racing heart made his hands tremble. The hot nausea rising in his throat felt like it carried smoke with it, his body practically begging him to spit it out or throw up.

His vision darkened in pulses.

Each gulp brought a warped wave of pain. Every nerve in his body burned in protest.

How much was left?

Had he already passed halfway?

Ipomoea couldn’t tell.

As seconds stretched into what felt like hours, the old dwarf lost himself in panic… until an irritated voice echoed out.

“What’s taking you so long!?”

Slamming a mug onto the table hard enough to make the dwarf drop his own—spilling all the liquid—Thelira had already filled hers once again.

With a single gulp, more than a liter of liquor slid down her throat effortlessly. Her face was completely flushed, the redness reaching all the way to the tips of her pointed ears.

Ipomoea couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It had to be a hallucination.

Mug after mug, without even waiting for him, Thelira kept pouring the contents of the barrel down her throat.

Suddenly stopping, the elf stood up, knocking her chair over in the process. As if she could no longer endure the heat consuming her, Thelira grabbed the hem of her emerald dress and tore the skirt vertically, freeing her legs. With a bold motion, she kicked her heels away, sending them crashing against the wall.

“Strongest liver in the east!? What a joke!”

Filling another mug, Thelira grabbed the old dwarf by the shirt, lifting him out of his chair and holding him suspended in the air with one arm alone.

“Stomach burning in flames!? Trouble breathing!? Don’t make me laugh, you old drunk!”

Throwing Ipomoea to the floor, Thelira took another gulp of the liquor, hurling the empty mug to the floor with enough force to shatter it.

“Do you even know what it’s like to feel pain just from wearing clothes? To have your skin cut by nothing more than a slightly stronger breeze? To have your throat torn apart just from drinking water or eating soup?”

Shouting as she stomped the floor in fury, Thelira glared at the dwarf, rage written all over her face.

“That kind of pain is nothing compared to what I’ve had to endure my entire life! You think I need to prove myself with some pathetic drink just to make you listen? Fuck off!” she snapped. “It’s harder to pretend the tea Selene brews tastes good than it is to drink this garbage, you weakling!”

“Hey!!” Selene protested, covering Cherry’s eyes with her hand. But as if her words went unheard, the elf kept shouting.

“Hic-! This is the first official job I’ve taken outside the forest, and everyone—Hic! Every single one of you here acts like you’re against me!”

Walking toward the fallen dwarf, completely dazed, Thelira shouted right in his face.

“First, they try to kill my daughter, then they accuse me and my friends of plotting murder! This was supposed to be a peace meeting—why do you all insist on picking a fight over everything!?”

Grabbing the man by the collar once again, Thelira stared straight into the depths of Ipomoea’s eyes.

“I’m not here to ask for your help! I have incredible friends who are more than capable of dealing with what’s going on! All I want is for you to sit your damn fat ass in a chair and listen to me for five minutes—if you don’t want your lands to fall!”

Even though she mentioned a chair, Thelira threw the dwarf to the ground once more before pulling out a thick bundle of documents hidden in her dress.

“Eight years ago, in Anthus, in the city of Caligo, Orlaith—the Fifth Twilight—tried to activate her new invention, the Chaos Seed, and destroy the entire city. It’s an unprecedented weapon of mass destruction, capable of using the Twilight stigmas to endlessly absorb mana from marked individuals before detonating.”

Opening one of the many sheets in front of him, Thelira began showing a list of materials and calculations.

While still recovering from her battle with Orlaith, Nia had asked Selene to investigate every purchase record and stockpile of materials. Her goal was to determine how many Chaos Seeds could still be produced with the resources Twilight had already gathered from across the continent.

However, after analyzing her memory of the artifact’s structure—the very one she had destroyed—and comparing it with the data Selene gathered, something kept bothering the metamorph for years.

Among all the materials used to construct the Chaos Seed, one particular mana-infused mineral alloy did not originate from Anthus. At first, Nia thought it came from Finis, something Orlaith had brought—but after further investigation, she realized she was wrong.

“Orichalcum.”

Thelira, her face still completely flushed, declared it firmly.

“The legendary metal discovered by the dwarves in their lands—so rare that not a single piece has been allowed to leave their capital since it was first extracted.”

She threw several documents toward the elder, her tone turning colder.

“We can’t prove it directly, but based on the estimated properties of that metal alone, one of my companions ran all the mass-control calculations for the resulting singularity when combined with the other materials used in the bomb. Review them as much as you like—I expect you to. Because you’ll realize we’re neither wrong nor lying about any of this.”

Even drunk, Ipomoea wasn’t confused—he understood the weight of her words.

“Wait… you’re not trying to imply that—!?”

Crouching in front of him, Thelira looked him straight in the eyes.

“Orichalcum taken directly from your capital was used by demons against other kingdoms. There is a traitor among the dwarves.”

Those words made the very core of the old dwarf’s being twist. He froze in place, his trembling hands clutching the documents she had given him.

Standing up, Thelira lightly fanned her flushed face with her palm—before noticing the pleading look of a certain rabbit-eared girl.

“…Is my tea really that bad?”