Book 5 - Chapter 47 - The Measure of an Archer (Patreon)

“You did great! I really thought you had that one!” Ranthia enthused, smiling broadly as she emerged from the crowd to embrace Sylphene.

“You are very sweet, but I misplayed two different notes during that performance. It was hardly my best effort.” Sylphene’s own smile was a touch forced.

Her embarrassment was cute, but Ranthia’s words were utterly sincere—the music sounded beautiful to her ear, and she was pretty sure Sylphene could have salvaged her mild mistakes had she just leaned into them. Alas, her lover was still something of a novice in the ways of indulging in chaos. But Ranthia could fix that in time.

“You’ll get Rank 66 next time, I’m sure of it.” Ranthia bumped her shoulder affectionately against Sylphene’s as she fell in beside her lover. “I’m sure lunch from the Bean will cheer you up.”

“Did you not promise that as a treat if I won?” Sylphene’s smirk was far more genuine, even if she was trying to chide Ranthia.

As if she didn’t know better. Ranthia was shameless in every meaning of the word when it came to being a life partner.

“Of course, I had nothing but faith in your victory. But since that didn’t work out, instead of celebrating like I hoped, this’ll bolster your spirits so you can prepare for your rematch!” Ranthia twisted her torso and neck enough to kiss Sylphene’s cosmetics-covered cheek without stopping.

Sure, she had a lot she could be discontented over, but she was choosing to focus on the simple pleasures in her life. Sylphene was at her side, and they’d been together long enough that her heart finally accepted that she wasn’t just going to wake up and find herself alone again. Things weren’t perfect—she no longer saw Sylphene as this impossibly ideal, flawless woman—but her heart and spirit genuinely felt lighter. She had the woman she loved in her life, she had plentiful friends that she loved and cherished in their own unique fashions, and she had a community that accepted her.

And so, aside from her growing wanderlust, her life was pretty great. Some of the conversations she’d shared with Sylphene had been difficult—and she was pretty sure that they were both putting off other fraught topics, even still. But with each day that passed, they rediscovered a bit of their shared rhythm. Their relationship could never again be quite what it used to be, though that was for the best. They both yearned for something far stronger than what they had once shared. Something far more genuine.

Because they both wanted a relationship that could truly endure the tests of time.

“…Ran-ran, is the store sign supposed to be a—” Sylphene came to a stop as they neared the café.

“Yes. An open pod with a single bean left in it, of course.” Ranthia hurriedly answered. She was sure Sylphene would hear the humor in her words, even if she was eager to cull the conversation before the proprietor noticed.

The man truly could be grumpy about those that disparaged his artistic vision, just as Sunny had once warned her. As if it was anyone else’s fault that the sign could readily be used for a brothel.

“Ah, yes. A bean in a pod, just what I intended to say.” Sylphene feigned an inability to contain her own mirth as they resumed their approach to the shop.

“Two bean patty sandwiches with bean-milk cheese, a large bowl of today’s bean stew, two mugs of hot black bean juice, and once we’re done with the meal, a cocoa bean tasting platter for two, with two mugs of hot brown bean juice with a bit of bean-milk.” Ranthia rattled her choices off to the girl behind the counter—Narell, a distant relation to the owners—as she savored Sylphene’s mounting tension.

Oh, she kept it off her face well enough, but Ranthia didn’t miss the little signs hidden within Sylphene’s sweet musculature.

“Shall we take a seat, my shining opal?” Instead of assuaging her lover’s concerns, Ranthia chose to offer a flirty, blissful smile that promised ignorance.

“Well, I suppose I did ask to avoid apples…” Sylphene subvocalized her complaint as she stiffly followed Ranthia to an open table.

Which was fair—the City of Arts’ autumns had their own hazards, even if the weather tended to be wonderful.

The food was great, but Ranthia gained far more satisfaction from watching Sylphene’s reticence about the food slowly turn into delighted surprise. The stew was safe enough and she required several spoonfuls of their shared bowl to gird her courage, then her first tentative bite of her sandwich elicited a joyous note of surprise.

As much as Ranthia loved cooking, she only had a single General Skill for it—a damned good one, but it was still just a General Skill. The Bean’s [Chef] had two classes devoted to his passion for cooking, and the difference was beyond Ranthia’s ability to bridge. Through his classes, he was able to do things that were outright impossible for her, such as controlling how the heat cooked the ingredients within the patty or modifying which flavors were enhanced throughout the process.

The Bean’s menu had culinary delights that Ranthia just couldn’t match. At least so long as she avoided its menu options with far more fraught mouthfeels.

Of course, the true moment that Ranthia had been waiting for came along with dessert. Typically, Narell would have brought the tray to their table, but Ranthia had made arrangements with her. And so, when they finished their lunch, Ranthia collected their empty plates and used cutlery and brought them to the counter where she exchanged for the tray—and she didn’t even try to mask her smile as she set it down in front of Sylphene.

“My love, are these…?!” In her surprise, Sylphene spoke in Avyna’s voice—just as she did at their home.

“Chocolate. It’s actually made using fermented seeds, though the proprietor claims they have ‘bean energy’. The fruit isn’t half bad either, traders will occasionally bring it in… straight from Vynthazz.” Ranthia explained as she plucked her mug of hot chocolate off the tray.

She still wasn’t much of a fan of sweets, but the bitter creaminess of chocolate had earned a place in her heart—and she had the awed woman sitting across from her to thank for that.

Sylphene had attacked her food with gusto, once she warmed up to it. But even that had nothing on the enthusiasm with which she savored dessert, though she did set aside three pieces of chocolate, wordlessly promising lurid purposes through her gaze as she did so.

Ranthia shamelessly ate them. Even if Sylphene was momentarily distraught, well, she had snuck a jar of chocolate sauce onto a warming enchantment that morning. And that promised to be far more fun.

“” The first words Ranthia heard from Sylphene’s sweet lips that morning came in the form of a complaint.

“<Good morning Gemheart, may I ask if you’re finally ready to discuss what Sunny told us over dinner?>” Ranthia grumbled. She wanted to languish and be affectionate for a while before they had to get up!

“<The entire purpose of the great machination is to weaken the relationship between the Unchanging Council and the other powers of our nation! It was never meant to kill young elves!>” Sylphene hissed, careful not to raise her voice.

“<Gemheart, what you know of it came from one man who had his own vision. That plot has been warped by Xaoc knows how many centuries of being handed down to other elves—and I doubt that everyone involved ever shared a singular view for how to best approach their goals. I’m not surprised that someone else decided that destroying part of the elven Academy was an expedient way to undermine trust in the government.>” Ranthia tried to find delicate and tactful words no matter how grumpy she was.

Some topics were not meant to be handled first thing in the morning. She wasn’t a Sentinel anymore! She was supposed to be freed from tackling fraught and weighty discussions shortly after waking!

“<Even worse, my love, it was a childish and foolish endeavor that had no chance of success. I never attended the Academy, but I know the research labs that [Alchemists] use quite well. As an [Enchanter], I have visited more than a few to provide the maintenance services that I once offered. And the plan that Sunny described would not have worked. Even if the child had succeeded in overheating each of the ingredient tanks, there are a thousand and twenty-four different countermeasures in place that would have prevented and mitigated any ignition event. And even if we were caught, we were only supposed to decry and condemn the Unchanging Council—we were never supposed to shout about the great machination itself!>” Sylphene continued her rant, heedless of Ranthia’s reasonable words.

Had she even slept? For once, Ranthia had been the first one to drift off.

“<Okay, babe, please, just look at me for a second. We can’t know what the kid—or, rather, those that indoctrinated him—intended. I guess we should both be glad that the [Merchant] that found you wasn’t quite so bloodthirsty, but you aren’t a part of the great machination anymore. The failings of others have no bearing on you, Gemheart. You’re free.>” Ranthia stressed the words as hard as she could, before seeking Sylphene’s lips with her own.

Sometimes, an affirming, loving kiss was more powerful than any logical argument.

Spring had arrived, but winter refused to release Pallos from its clutches quite so readily. Beyond the City of Arts’ protective field, the days remained cold enough that every exhalation gave birth to a brief-lived cloud. It was, as almost every denizen of the City of Arts was fond of reminding Ranthia, unseasonably cold.

“Come on Solareon, do it for me?” Ranthia fluttered her eyelashes charmingly at the obstinate griffon.

Solareon had taken a single step beyond the city, before promptly turning around and returning to warmer grounds. And if they couldn’t convince her to come along, Neyvern was out, which meant that their hunting trip was dead before it got started—they couldn’t readily capture any of the strange, iridescently-furred miniature hogs without his help.

And the payout was only worthwhile if they could haul a few dozen of the things back.

And yet, to answer her pleas, Solareon screeched in Ranthia’s face and threatened to peck her—not that Ranthia batted an eye as the sharp beak closed in. She knew that Solareon wouldn’t hurt her. Unfortunately, Sylphene did not know this and she had to be restrained by Anthelleon.

“Sheesh, you’re strong for your level, string bean. But don’t worry, Solareon’s a softie, she’s just pretending as part of her tantrum.” An tried to soothe the concerned elf that was supposed to have gone home to practice her new song—her first original piece of flute music.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s happening, Ranners.” Neyvern shook his head.

“Solareon, please? Just one little hunt. You’ll get to fly and be awesome and the best griffon ever.” Ranthia cooed as she scritched the griffon’s weakest points.

With a sound that was somewhere between a distraught mew and a haughty chirp, Solareon yanked her head out of Ranthia’s grasp and pointed her beak straight up into the sky as she stiffened her wings. A firm rejection.

“Apologies, sister.” An offered as she released a grumbling Sylphene.

“Eh, it’s alright. We can always try when it’s warmer out. I forgive you for being silly.” Ranthia offered the obligatory words, before ruffling Solareon’s fur directly beneath her beak—but only for an instant before she yanked her hand away. That could actually cost her a finger or two; Solareon was very particular about that specific bit of her fluff.

Neyvern laughed and offered a wave as he led his indignant Bond back to her boarding house. An didn’t even bother trying to come up with an excuse before she set off in the direction of the Lodge to indulge in her habitual day-drinking, leaving Ranthia and Sylphene behind.

“Meet me back at my place? I’ve got an idea for a recipe that I’ve been wanting to try that’ll take most of the day to cook—might as well make the most of my unexpected free time. You need anything from the market stalls while I’m…” Ranthia trailed off with a blink as she turned toward an unexpected source of noise.

In general, the Auras or something about the barriers that protected the City of Arts reduced excess noise. Even with her better-than-elven ears, Ranthia wasn’t constantly barraged by the cacophony of the arts, unless she got close to any given presentation. Yet even if the sounds weren’t as overwhelming as they should have been, they were still present.

Which meant that unusual clamors stood out.

“A [Merchant] caravan!” Sylphene’s voice carried more than a hint of hope.

Caelillia had never written anything in response to Ranthia’s letters, but with every caravan that arrived, they still hoped for Sylphene’s daughter to make an appearance along with them.

“I’ll meet you back at my place and let you know if there’s anything interesting in the new caravan. I need to check for any letters from Clover or Mahvel anyway—and who knows, they might have some fun ingredients.” Ranthia successfully kept her own words calm and collected.

Sure, she wasn’t Caelillia’s mother—in fact, the girl seemed to despise her—but gods and goddesses, she still wanted to see them reunited. Caelillia deserved to know that her mother was alive and well!

“I… Yes, of course, my—Ran-ran.” Sylphene shook her head to clear it, before she set off at a brisk walk.

Ranthia watched her go with one [Divine Eye]—the formfitting shimmersilk pants that Sylphene wore made her beautiful butt dangerously tempting—while she strolled toward the [Merchants] that were still making their way into the city. It was quite a bit larger than usual caravans at twenty-six wagons, with banners from multiple different trading houses on display.

It felt promising enough that she sent a prayer to Xaoc for luck. Just as she had for the previous four caravans.

The caravan was large enough that it took an inordinate amount of time to get all of the wagons into the city and situated. After that, existing stalls had to be moved to accommodate the sprawling pop-up market—which was already creating quite a gathering of elves between curious locals and the influx of strangers.

Sure, Ranthia had been in denser crowds, but the unfamiliar faces still made her skin prickle each and every time she was forced into close proximity with a stranger. Yet another lingering discomfort from the war that she’d never quite escaped—and only prolonged exposure could numb its effects for a time.

After getting misplaced by the crowd a few times, she finally found her way to the queue of locals waiting to ask after letters. Because of course there was a queue. It felt like half of the city had gathered already, and the caravan’s [Merchants] were still in the process of setting up their shops. With a resigned sigh, Ranthia took her place at the back of the queue.

“So, you really are here.” A frosty, feminine voice promptly interrupted Ranthia’s resignation. Though it was expertly directed to Ranthia individually, more than a few curious eyes turned to look just due to the tone.

“Caelillia, it’s good to see you.” Ranthia stepped out of the queue, smiling earnestly at the younger elf.

It’d been over a hundred and twenty-eight years since she last laid eyes on her, and Caeli really hadn’t changed a bit. She was still a bit curvier than her mother, with an impressively similar face. Sure, Ranthia knew Sylphene’s details well enough that she could pick out differences, but they were similar enough that it would be hazardous for the two to appear side-by-side in public. Even Sunny—who was incredibly face-blind—would probably notice the resemblance.

And much like her most recent encounters with the girl, Caelillia was brandishing her wooden staff—banded with rings of metal on both ends—menacingly at Ranthia.

Okay, so maybe smiling and approaching her wasn’t the best of ideas, but Ranthia was still genuinely happy to see her not-quite-kin!

“Give me one good reason not to kill you, right here.” The young elf growled.

Well, so much for Sylphene’s hopes that her daughter believed nothing was amiss. They’d had their previous disputes, but nothing from their brief time together in Remera could have caused that much fury—much less explained the tears that were blurring the young elf’s eyes.

“I’ll give you two if you don’t lower your weapon right now.” One of the City of Arts’ guards that Ranthia just couldn’t stop tripping over was approaching with a scowl on his face.

“Bastilis, if you point a boomerang at her, you’ll be visiting a [Healer] to get it removed from your ass. Piss off; this is between me and her. I can handle myself.” Ranthia menaced the guard before she fixed her gaze back onto the young elf. “I’m going to ask you to come to my place. I wasn’t lying about the artwork I promised. I’ll give that to you, ask you to hear what I have to say, then whatever you decide to do in response is between us—no one else can intercede in my home.”

She definitely needed to lock her door for a change, just to keep those words from jinxing anything.

“Fine.” Caelillia ground the word out between her bared teeth as she lowered her staff.

And with the promise of violence no longer on the table, the crowd rapidly lost any and all interest in the ongoing drama.

Caelillia never said a word as Ranthia led her to the tree and up the spiral staircase. There were no explanations, no demands, nor any threats. Ranthia spent the entire journey feeling like she really should say something, but she had no idea what to even offer. The silence was wildly uncomfortable, but at least it was safe.

And it wasn’t like she could blurt the truth while they were in public.

After the prolonged, weighty silence, Ranthia finally opened her door and stepped aside while Caelillia stomped her way inside. Once the girl was well away from the doorway, Ranthia followed her in, closing and locking the door behind her.

“Over here, eight paintings total. Four each from the current Rank 4 and Rank 6—sorry, 7 now—Painters in the City of Arts. I’d intended to find somewhere to hang them, but they’re yours. They should sell well, no matter where you intend to take them. It’s the least I can do for calling you out here.” Ranthia wasn’t sure why Sylphene wasn’t there to greet her daughter, but she tried to buy a little time.

Silence lingered for a few precious moments before it shattered.

“I don’t care about the paintings! By the thorns, mom trusted you! But they told me you were there—that you watched her die!” Caelillia screamed her accusation as she took a bold step forward, once again raising her staff.

Ranthia kept her back turned, unsure how to even begin to respond.

“Caelillia… That wasn’t…” Ranthia just exhaled and stopped trying as her [Divine Eye] watched the young elf begin her attack.

The banded staff wasn’t the same weapon that Caelillia had wielded back when the winged ogre twin attacked her caravan. The wood grain was completely different from the pattern in Ranthia’s memories and the new weapon had thicker metal rings. It was heavier and far more practical than its predecessor.

And her attack was well executed too. There was no ridiculous shout or warning. She just stepped forward as she made her attack, using every ounce of grace she possessed to make the movement as silent as possible, and lashed out. It came in the form of a sweeping blow that promised to connect with Ranthia’s ear—an ideal target. Of course, Caelillia was no combat classer, and she was young enough that her class qualities were limited. The power that she could leverage was limited, though there was likely at least one Skill behind her strike.

If it connected, it would hurt. Ranthia could survive mere pain, of course—and Caelillia lacked the power to truly threaten her. Naturally, she had more than a few options for how she could respond. Yet she chose to stand there, unmoving, and feigned ignorance.

Because Sylphene was already standing at the entrance to the room, her face damp after her efforts to scrub away layers of cosmetics.

“Caeli!” How she managed to incorporate both a heartfelt call to her daughter and an admonishment into a couple of syllables was just one of motherhood’s many enduring mysteries.

“…Mom?” The young elf froze, her weapon just over three-quarters of the way through its arc. A moment later, she released the staff entirely, as she fully turned to face Sylphene.

Ignoring the weapon as it clattered to the floor, Ranthia pretended to give mother and daughter their privacy as they embraced. She was watching the entire thing with her [Divine Eyes], of course, but she kept her back to the duo and performatively studied the paintings, trying to keep the smile off of her face.

Their teary reunion felt like a beautiful moment lifted out of one of the books Ranthia loved to read!

“How?! <They told me that you were dead—that she was somehow there and you died!>” Caelillia was the first to speak up, her face still buried in her mother’s collarbone.

“” Sylphene tried to soothe her daughter, combing her fingers through the younger elf’s hair.

“<In truth you…? Mom, what did she make you do?!>” Caelillia had something of a gift for jumping to conclusions that condemned Ranthia.

Sylphene sighed, hesitated for the barest instant, then shook her head.

“<It was me, sweetling. Everything began well before I met her. To be honest, it started soon after Evi’s death. In my grief, I joined a decentralized organization that had the goal of undermining the Unchanging Council, in hopes of removing them from power. I never dared to imagine that Ranthia might be among those that found and caught up to me. And she certainly never expected to find me there, responsible for the stolen goods. She even correctly recognized my guilt, yet she still fought for me. She had never even heard of the great machination. Instead, she saved me from the consequences of my own actions. So please, sweetling, spare her your fury.>” While Sylphene spoke, a bit of distance opened between the two elves as a tear-stricken Caelillia tried to focus on her mother’s expression.

“<I… That— But you…? So even before I was born, you were plotting something ridiculous!?>” On her fourth attempt, the young elf finally managed a coherent sentence.

“good and genuine in a way that I… find myself hoping I can learn to become.>” Sylphene brushed her thumb across her daughter’s cheek as she leaned forward to rest her forehead against Caelillia’s.

“<Thorns and barbs!>” The younger elf shrieked, driving her forehead into her mother’s aggressively, before she stumbled back, escaping Sylphene’s grasp. “<You never even told me! Seriously, you were just going to… what?! Disappear forever and leave me wondering what happened to you?! It’s been almost a century since they told me you were dead and I just find you here—with a cute haircut, living your best life!>”

She absolutely suffered the worst effects of the headbutt. By the time she finished speaking, Caeli’s forehead was an angry shade of red, whereas Sylphene’s skin was utterly unblemished. The impact hadn’t harmed Sylphene a bit.

The words, on the other hand… Those clearly inflicted far more grievous harm than any physical rebuke ever could.

“<No! Caeli, I—>” Syphene reached for her daughter’s hand, her voice wavering.

“<She wasn’t here until I wrote to you. She had to wait, she had to make sure everyone else thought she was dead. And that’s why her hair is different, and she’s usually caked in cosmetics—she goes by Sylphene now. >” Ranthia hurriedly interjected as she turned to face the duo, trying to keep her own expression calm.

Sylphene had made a terrible mistake, yes, but she’d been indoctrinated from a tender age! And she never acted out of malice or cruelty, which meant everything. Ranthia refused to let their bond fray because of a lack of communication! There was no way that she was just going to sit back and watch one of the best mother-daughter relationships she had ever seen unravel! If they could just talk things through properly…

“<I—no,> I can’t do this. <Mom, this just isn’t fair! I refuse to be a part of this. Prisms, I don’t even know what to think of you!>” Caelillia pulled her hand away from her mother’s questing grasp, then shoved her way past her, as she began to sprint for the door.

Sylphene started to turn to follow her daughter, but she hesitated before she could take a single step. And Ranthia didn’t miss the moment that her pain turned into resignation.

Ranthia’s own indecision, on the other hand, resolved in the opposite direction. Fight or flight? She wasn’t going to run away from this—not from something so important. She ran desperately after the girl, using the full breadth of her stats. There would be a mess to clean up afterwards, but that hardly felt important.

All that mattered were the words she needed to say. And mere paces away from the door, Ranthia caught Caelillia by the wrist. There was no time to slow her perspective back down or rehearse the words, she had to trust that whatever chaotic mess tumbled from her mouth worked. It had to.

“Caeli, please, wait! I know you’re mad. Gods and goddesses, I spent decades mad at her too. And I swear, I would have told you if I could have reached you. But please, don’t go. Not like this. My mother died before I could tell her even an eighth of what I truly should have, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I know you hate me, but—”

When the young elf suddenly turned, Ranthia fully expected an attack. She even braced herself to take it, determined to keep speaking no matter what Caelillia tried to do to her.

But instead, she found herself tightly embraced by her not-quite-kin. And her words died on her lips.

“Thank you.” Caelillia’s voice was barely a whisper, though it was no less raw and emotional than her final words to Sylphene had been. “Just… keep her safe for me. Okay? I’m trusting you. By Her Thorns, I’m actually trusting you. I need time. And I think, with you, she’ll be there when I’m ready.”

With that, the young elf released Ranthia, looked her in her blindfold-covered eye, and turned away.

“Wait!” Ranthia called out, a mere moment before Caelillia touched the door handle. “…Your staff.”

That wasn’t at all what she wanted to say! But the flimsiest damned excuse that might make the girl linger was all that slipped from her traitorous tongue instead.

“Keep it.” Caelillia barked a sound not entirely unrelated to a laugh. “I have others. Maybe you can use it to knock some sense into her.”

And with that, she opened the door, and there was nothing else that Ranthia could say. Sylphene had improved her home’s enchantments thoroughly. In addition to the noise dampening that was already present, she had added vibrational suppression to make it that much harder for anyone to overhear anything.

But none of that mattered with an open door.

“And if I ever see you again, I’ll do worse!” Caeli screamed back into Ranthia’s home, before slamming the door.

She was angry and hurting, but Caeli still understood that Sylphene was lying low. She still did what she could to sell the deception. Because she was just as wonderful as her mother.

“<Thank you for trying, my love. I suppose I should practice my flute now.>” Sylphene finally spoke from the doorway. Her voice was distant. Feeble.

As if mere resignation was the only emotion she had left.

Sylphene turned to fetch her instrument, but Ranthia refused to let her go. Instead, she seized Sylphene by the shoulders and forcefully turned her—ignoring her lover’s piteous protestations—so she could pull her into a hug.

“” Sylphene tried one last time.

“<It can wait.>” Ranthia assured her.

Sylphene fell silent, then—as her entire body trembled—buried her face in Ranthia’s chest as the first sob broke through.

Unsurprisingly, Caelillia never showed her face again. Two days later, the caravan moved on to seek further fortunes from some city or another.

It took far longer than that for Sylphene to rediscover her smile, but one day, while Ranthia verbally reminisced about some of the adventures she had back in Remus—back before she became a Ranger—it made its first true reappearance.

And there was just something unique about a smile that came from the heart. It was indescribably different from a smile worn only because it was expected—not that Ranthia could name a single telltale means to differentiate between them. Somehow, she just knew that it was genuine from the moment she saw it.

Just as she knew that Sylphene would be okay. In the end, Caelillia only asked for time. And they were all immortal—so long as everyone remained reasonably cautious, they had plenty of time to offer each other.

“Xaoc, I thank you for this beautiful day!” Ranthia called her prayer upward as she continued to hike through the forest.

It was technically summer again, but the brunt of the season’s heat and humidity were both taking the day off. Instead, the world felt as though it was the perfect temperature, especially with the breeze flowing through the trees. The trees’ canopies gave voice to the wind and the denizens of the jungle scampered and played amongst the branches and undergrowth, largely ignoring the duo that intruded upon their serene domain.

“Someone seems to be in a good mood.” Sylphene tittered into the side of her wrist as she followed Ranthia. As if she wasn’t seven-eighths of the reason that Ranthia was in a good mood.

Sure, their shared morning had been great—Ranthia cooked breakfast and Sylphene emphatically demonstrated her gratitude for Ranthia’s cooking—but the real reason that she was in a good mood was that, at long last, they were able to sneak out of the city together. No foul weather had stymied their plans. Anthelleon hadn’t caught them near the exit and promptly volunteered herself to tag along. And no other Hunter group was going the same way. It was just the two of them, and Ranthia was definitely looking forward to truly discovering just what her Gemheart’s new archery-focused [Mage] class was capable of.

“Oh, I’m just glad I don’t have to haul the camping supplies.” Ranthia gave a flippant reply while she danced her way through a sunbeam.

Admittedly, she was absolutely going to end up spoiled by Sylphene’s Spatial storage Skill. Her lover was carrying more supplies than Ranthia and her usual party ever bothered with—including spoilage-prone ingredients to improve the campfire meals they made.

“Ah yes, that would explain it.” Sylphene shook her head wryly as she walked through the same sunbeam.

Ranthia delayed long enough for her lover to catch up before claiming her hand.

“Okay, yes, we’ve rarely ever been out together like this and I’m a touch excited. Happy? Now, do you want to show off your archery on stationary targets first, or should we find some monster or menace to hunt?” Ranthia asked her question, all smiles.

It was a beautiful day and they were alone. Everything was perfect.

Too perfect, as it turned out. Ranthia wished that she could be surprised when Sylphene’s response died on her lips after an arrow bounced off of one of Ranthia’s bracers. Stiffly, she caught it, glanced at the incredibly pink fletching, and sighed.

Sometimes it really felt like Pallos itself conspired against her. Just one day together—that was all she wanted!

“Mind just coming out? She’s the one I told you about before, and since you’re here, I’d like to introduce her to you.” Ranthia directed her voice to the forest at large, mostly successful at keeping the grumble out of it.

After all the work to get out of the City of Arts with Sylphene, she wasn’t about to ask her partner to return to the city just because he happened to pop up again.

“I really don’t want anyone to know that I’m here.” Ranger’s voice called back, seemingly coming from every direction at once.

“You’re the one who told me that I could choose what I believed in. Thanks to your advice, I chose to believe that our love was genuine. And now we’re both here—together. I trust Sylphene, and I hope you might be willing to as well. Besides, she’s a Spatial [Archer], and I’d appreciate it if you might have any advice for her? After all, you’ve helped me quite a bit!” Ranthia called back, not even bothering to try to track his voice. It never worked, not that she could explain how or why—it wasn’t like he had a Sound-aspected class.

Sylphene offered a somewhat forced smile and offered a respectful nod, giving Ranthia concerned side-eye the entire time.

“Sylphene? Yeah, I can follow what you’re putting down, Ranthia. Alright, alright. Let it never be said that I’m not entirely too nice to people I kind of mostly tolerate.” As he spoke, the voice narrowed, gradually, until Ranger himself emerged from the underbrush, as though he’d always been there. “Hello there! I’m Ranger, son of absolutely no one. I like your name; way better than anything I could have come up with. Oh, but if anyone asks, I wasn’t here. You can tell them I was last spotted in Venithill.”

Ranthia really wanted to ask where Venithill was—the name wasn’t even remotely familiar—but before she could indulge in petty curiosity, she found herself pulled face-to-face with Sylphene.

“<You know one of the first of my people and you never told me?! My love, he is barely a single step removed from the Unchanging Council themselves—this is dangerous. He must see them constantly!>” Sylphene hissed, not even bothering to try to keep her voice any lower. She knew better than anyone that Ranger would overhear, no matter what she tried.

“Constantly? Hm. I guess I see them more than most people, though seldomly by choice. I’ll put it this way: if any of them invited me to dinner, I wouldn’t be showing up. And I happen to like dinner. A lot. Besides, Ranthia’s the one with a token and a standing invitation to join the household of their youngest member.” Ranger casually threw Ranthia under the proverbial wagon as he approached, wearing the worst farce of an innocent expression on his face that Ranthia had ever seen.

Seriously, he looked like a bunny that’d been caught with her face stuffed into a jar of treats!

“…Godsdamnit, Ranger. <It isn’t like I’m ever going to accept her offer.>” Ranthia hurriedly explained while Sylphene glared at her.

“” Sylphene took a deep breath, before she bowed respectfully toward Ranger. “It is an honor to meet you, great elder.”

“Probably.” Ranger agreed. “But seriously, can we just not with all the bowing and flagrant respect? It makes me itchy. There’s a reason I live in the woods and never enter major cities, and it isn’t because of the bugs. Okay, fine, it isn’t entirely because of the bugs.”

“Sylphene, this is Ranger—he’s been helping me learn to survive in immortal society and interact with people with levels higher than the combined level of some of Remus’ towns. Ranger, this is Sylphene, the woman I choose to love and newly minted Spatial archery-focused [Mage].” Introductions felt safer than anything else Ranthia could have said, even if they were wildly redundant.

“Oho, Spatial! That’s a fun element—so many possibilities. Okay, so you’re masking your level, but you’re a level 1029 [Artisan] beneath that. Gemstone eyes, though that’s a Skill if I haven’t missed my guess? Neat! Class qualities are good for this era; you’re not as young as you’re trying to pass yourself off as. Probably about equal to Ranthia, maybe even better? Mhm, okay, yup, as I expected, I’ve actually got to ask: what level is your [Archer] class?” Ranger blurred circles around Sylphene as he spoke, forcing Ranthia out of his way with a surprisingly gentle bit of force applied to her armored shoulder.

“You get used to it.” Ranthia offered a deadpan lie when Sylphene shot her (another) concerned look. Somehow, when it came to other people, the man managed to be both utterly clueless and terrifyingly insightful.

What else was there to do but to try and accept it?

“Level 762. It was less than ideal, but my team and I had no intention of continuing our run through the Dungeon when we departed.” Sylphene took a moment to center herself and rediscover her resolve before she answered the lingering query.

“Less than ideal? Ha! Try absolutely perfect! Hm… Well, maybe. Ranthia’s alright, but I don’t quite trust her enough to do this without getting to know you a little first. Still, I’ll give you a freebie—every bow has different quirks for fast shots than it does for slower ones. Make sure you practice at different speeds, so you know what to expect from slow, deliberate shots and desperate rains of arrows. Seriously, you’d be surprised just how many archers can only manage one extreme or the other. And with that nugget of wisdom shared, how would you like to help me train Ranthia for a bit?” Ranger grinned as if he had some grand plan in mind.

Somehow, Sylphene ‘helping’ Ranger with Ranthia’s training took the form of Ranthia watching while they played the same game that she always did. Ranger threw darts with varying speed and intent, with Sylphene tasked with catching, deflecting (with a small wooden shield), or evading the dart—with the first two being preferable if it was safe to do so.

Her first two attempts went awry due to missteps—both related to the tiny shield—but by the third, Sylphene seemed to have found her rhythm for the game. And, against Ranthia’s expectations, she didn’t just blow past her best streak. Sylphene utterly dominated the game.

“Aaaand that’s thirty-two correct calls in a row! At this point I think our audience will agree that you’ve got a knack for this and continuing any further would be a waste of time?” Ranger twisted his head to look Ranthia’s way, offering her an expectant wink.

“Agreed. Holy Xaoc, Gemheart, that was incredible!” Ranthia offered earnest applause to accompany her praise.

“It was hardly difficult, aside from the impractical shield.” Sylphene demurred as she returned the shield to Ranger while he retrieved his darts.

“See, if you would just—”

“If you tell me to feel the intent and stop using logic, I will find a way to stab you.” Ranthia groused.

“—succeed like she did, we’d be done already. Like I keep saying, you just have to feel the intent. So, stop trying to use logic already! Sylphene, what would you recommend for our stubborn friend here? Her best streak is still just fifteen.” Ranger concluded, unbothered by her threat.

The knife she threw had even less effect. He just caught it and bounced it between his palms while he tried to look thoughtful.

“The game is too simplistic. Without a challenge or real peril behind it, she fails to engage in it using her instincts.” Sylphene stepped clear of the field and retrieved a bottle of water.

“See, Ranthia? Why couldn’t you figure that out?” Ranger shook his head as he beckoned her into position. “We’re changing the game. Keep the darts you catch, they’re your new friends. While you dodge darts that you can’t catch or deflect safely, I’ll be vulnerable and you can hit me with a dart. I won’t even try to dodge. Hit me five times and you win! …Oh, and once you’ve hit me three times, I’ll stop catching darts that you really should have dodged. And if you throw a dart at the wrong time, I’ll break one of your fingers. Good luck!”

Without any further warning, he threw the first dart.

Ranthia wished that she could claim that the challenge brought out her best and allowed her to breeze through the challenge. Ranger didn’t make it so easy—he offered her minimal opportunity to “counter-attack” as he continued to throw dart after dart from a seemingly limitless supply. On her first attempt, Ranthia ended up too injured to keep up the challenge. And [The Dancer’s Costume] capped during her second.

But finally, a mere two hours before sunset:

“Aaand the all-powerful and quite possibly evil Ranger has been defeated! The day is saved by the most unlikely of heroes—a solitary human at a fraction of his magnificent level!” Ranger announced after his exceedingly dramatic, four-minute-long death scene.

Ranthia was still on her knees and struggling to catch her breath, ignoring Sylphene’s musical giggles and Ranger’s theatrics. By the end, Ranger was moving at the outer limits of her speed and the throws she had to evade blew past her like volleys from dwarven siege weaponry.

“Drink, my love.” Sylphene seemed to know exactly when to approach.

She had been conversing with Ranger throughout the game, but Ranthia honestly wasn’t even entirely sure what they had been discussing. It was probably somewhere in her [Immortal Armaments], but she was too spent to consult her Skill.

“By the way, I got you up to eighty consecutive correct calls before I let the game end.” Ranger was back on his feet, blurring through the area as he collected the darts scattered… pretty much everywhere. Surprisingly, no tree was harmed, but some of the darts had left furrows through the ground.

Not that Ranger left those either. He gently stamped the ground back into its usual not-quite-flat state after retrieving the darts that were responsible for the damage.

“Thanks…” Ranthia wasn’t even sure if she intended the word as scathing sarcasm or genuine gratitude.

“I think I’m supposed to say ‘any time,’ but my heart wouldn’t be in it. You’re decent enough—better than most folk, honestly—but I do seriously like my me time. But hey, I’m still here for the moment, so let’s move on. Sylphene! I think it’s time for you to show me what you can do. Do you have your own bow, or do you need to borrow one of the many that I carry?” Ranger paused to point dramatically at her nose, before he produced something… unusual from one of his Spatial storage items.

It was a box with a target crudely painted over it, but the whole thing wriggled like a slime as he set it down, even though it didn’t seem to be alive. Ranger stood to the side and leaned over to press his finger against it.

“I have my own.” Sylphene affirmed as her usual bow materialized in her hand, followed by a quiver filled with arrows.

Though Ranthia had never seen the pretty ornament that hung from the bottom of the crystalline weapon. It was a simple sphere—heavily enchanted—but it sparkled and shimmered unlike any metal Ranthia had ever seen.

“Huh. Okay, sure.” Ranger frowned slightly before shrugging. “Let’s start mundane. No Skills and power down those enchantments—five arrows. Aim for the center dot.”

It wasn’t a large target, but it wasn’t particularly challenging either for their level. A circle, just ever-so-slightly larger than Ranthia’s thumbnail.

Sylphene nodded and nocked her first arrow after fiddling with her bow. Smoothly, she drew the bowstring back and loosed—and the arrow’s journey concluded with bouncing off the center target. Still, even if it’d failed to penetrate the strange material, there was a subtle glow indicating where the arrow’s tip first made impact. Sylphene paused to blink in surprise, then her remaining four attempts played out much the same.

For her part, Ranthia was proud of just how tightly grouped the impacts were. Sylphene had been impressive during the war, but it was clear that she had improved in the intervening years. And damn if it wasn’t satisfying to see her lover’s hard work pay off.

“Now with the enchantments and your Passive Skills. Same number of arrows.” Ranger’s tone gave nothing away and his expression was atypically serious.

Sylphene prepared her bow again and once again fired the arrows. That time she showed off a bit, taking her time with the first and fourth shot, while the others were fired far more swiftly. And if anything, her grouping was even tighter that time.

“Alright, give me one arrow and put everything you’ve got into it. Pretend ol’ Gelly here is a nasty monster coming to eat you or something you’re fond of.” Ranger gave a final order after tightening his lips for a moment.

Sylphene widened her stance ever so slightly as she drew her bow back as far as it physically allowed. She took a moment to feign tracking her opponent’s nonexistent movements before she activated [Tunneling Arrows] and loosed. Almost the instant her bowstring twanged back into place—still vibrating—the arrow struck the target and rebounded off with enough force that Ranger was forced to snatch the arrow out of the air to keep it from flying away.

“Great showing, babe!” Ranthia cheered. The intervening minutes had largely allowed her to recover, even if she hadn’t bothered to shift into a fresh body.

“That’s your best?” Ranger asked with a curious expression.

“Yes. Though I am surprised that I leveled during the demonstration.” Sylphene confessed.

Huh. [Artisan – Gemstones] level 833. [Artisan – Arcanite] level 1029. [Mage – Spatial] level 765. She really did get three levels out of that. Sure, Ranger was a near-divine being and a living legend, but three levels from merely demonstrating her basic proficiency with just eleven arrows was more than a bit surprising.

Ranger finally allowed himself to smile—a genuine, bright smile.

“Oh, good. You’re terrible! That’s a relief.” And with those unexpectedly dark words, he picked up his cube and turned away from Sylphene.