Deep, deep inside the elves’ forest, at the base of the World Tree, spread a city. The many layers of the World Tree’s leaves and branches filtered the light of the sun to a faint golden glow even at high noon, but the mana it produced cast the city in a sharper, cleaner, brighter light. The water was clear—blessed by the spirits—and a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves.
A palace stood in the middle of the city. Inside, an elven woman was listening to the stories the spirits had to tell her. Stories witnessed through the eyes of spirits were often closer to the truth than those humans could recall. Of course, spirits were hardly infallible; this was why she had her scouts, who lived out from under the shelter of their home tree and sent back word of all the great things that came to pass in the wider world. Between the two currents of story, she could fairly appraise the state of the whole continent, moment to moment.
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting her pleasant conversation.
“Please excuse me! We have received important news from Liefe’s adventurer’s guild,” the newcomer—a dark elf woman—announced as she entered the room.
“Must you bother me? I am busy. Can you not leave that matter to the elders?” the woman asked, displeased that her time with the spirits was cut short.
She hoped to resume her communion, but her companions had sensed the change in atmosphere and vanished. The woman let out a long sigh, shifting her attention back onto the dark elf.
“What ‘important news’ do you speak of?” she asked, an uninterested look on her face.
“They have found Lord Fauzard, the greater fire spirit.”
The woman’s eyes shot open. “What?!”
The spirits, still in hiding, were just as shocked by the news, their mana signature wavering.
“How is he?!” the woman pressed.
“It seems that he’d been sealed under a mansion all these centuries; he was only turned up just recently,” the dark elf explained.
“Sealed, you say? That bodes ill. We must take the utmost care in freeing him; I fear for us all, should we err.”
Under different circumstances, they’d most likely have been able to free Fauzard without too much worry. But he’d been a casualty of the war; if his treatment had been as inhumane as she feared, the odds were good that he would turn his vast anger upon the land. They’d need to send the cream of the crop to pacify him...or so she thought.
“Actually... It seems that Lord Fauzard broke his own seal, and the adventurers who’d found him managed to appease him,” the dark elf woman continued.
“They have abated a greater spirit’s fury?!” the elven woman exclaimed in shock. “How much has been lost?”
The dark elf woman glanced at the document in her hands. “Nothing but an old mansion slated for demolition.”
“Is that all? Are you certain it was him, and not some lesser flame?”
A greater spirit’s rampage could easily wipe an entire town off the map altogether. And yet it had come and gone with so little calamity... Something didn’t add up.
“The guildmaster who reached out to us—the half-elf, if you remember him—stated that it was, without doubt, a greater spirit,” the dark elf said. “Also, Lord Fauzard has said that he wishes to return to the city in search of his contractor’s next of kin.”
The elven woman nodded; it was only natural for a spirit to want to know their contractor’s fate after an age spent apart.
“I knew his contractor, and I am acquainted with his granddaughter as well. Pass along all our records of the man, and arrange a meeting with the child.”
“Understood.”
“One last question. Who are these adventurers who saved him? They could hardly be cut from the same cloth as much of their kind,” the elven woman said, her curiosity piqued.
“It seems that they’re a party called the ‘Carpet Riders,’” the dark elf replied.
“The Carpet Riders?” the other woman repeated. “I have heard that name before...”
Standing up, she walked to the bookshelf where she kept her old reports.
“It must be somewhere around here,” she muttered as she picked up a document and skimmed through it. “Not this one... No, not this one either...”
She tossed the ones that didn’t meet her criteria aside as she rummaged through the shelf until she found her prize. Just as she thought, the name was familiar; it had appeared in a file from ten years ago, and in another from fifty years ago.
“There it is. They were involved in the suppression of the stampede in the northwest, as well as the coup in Lawbyle.”
According to the records, the Carpet Riders had defeated a colossal monster during the stampede, earning their promotion to S-rank. Moreover, one among their number had been implicated in the scandal that eventually brought about the Kingdom of Lawbyle’s collapse and reconstruction; the old king had stretched his military powers too far for his country to bear, all in the name of wringing the secret of immortality from her. In the end, his own brother dethroned him, and the adventurer he had been after slipped through his fingers, vanishing from history for a time. According to the records, this adventurer belonged to none other than the Carpet Riders.
The elven woman asked the spirits for the name of that adventurer; they told her without hesitation.
“Chise, the Witch of Creation, hm?” she muttered.
She had heard the spirits recall rumors about her countless times before.
She’d turned what had once been the Wasteland of Nothingness into a beautiful forest—or so the stories told—and had in turn become its master. She’d been endowed with a colossal reserve of mana and eternal life—and some said youth. She possessed a skill that let her create anything she desired from thin air. She ruled a nation of demons, had befriended an ancient dragon, and been appointed as a goddess’s prophet. Some even claimed that she’d been blessed with knowledge from another world. The claims went on and on.
Ever since she’d started hearing these rumors, the elven woman had been keen on establishing contact with this Witch of Creation, but now she’d gone and done her people a direct service.
“Would you like me to do anything else?” the dark elf woman asked, noticing the other woman’s heavy air of contemplation.
“Althea. I need you to invite the Witch of Creation and her guardian to our forest. Welcome her personally. Do not, under any circumstances, show any disrespect towards her,” the elven woman said.
“Are they truly such important guests?” Althea asked.
“She is an immortal witch and is said to have the protection of the goddesses. Besides, even if they had just been regular people, they have freed and pacified Fauzard. Treat them accordingly,” the elven woman sternly reminded Althea, who swallowed with a loud gulp.
“Understood. I shall be on my way, then,” Althea said before exiting the room.
“I hope that Witch of Creation will prove to be a discussion partner worth my while,” the elf queen muttered, a smile on her face.
She was looking forward to finding out.