The trees opened only because Carlos burned them.
Flames licked the sky as he stepped through the smoldering arch, his soldiers behind him—some silent, some still wide-eyed in disbelief. The fire had not harmed the forest around it. Only the passage. Only the barrier that dared stop him.
The Elves were waiting.
Armor woven from vine-steel. Skin ageless and pale as moonstone. And their eyes—
Their eyes burned with fury.
"You desecrated the gate," the lead elf hissed. Her crown was woven with living leaves, her hair like threads of silver. "You destroyed our mother's arms."
Carlos stepped forward, cloak dusted in ash.
"I walked through," he said. "I do not ask permission."
"You burned her."
"I warned you in my mind long before I stepped foot here. You did not listen."
His tone was even. Cold. He looked at the high elf with the same face he had given orc blades and traitor steel. As if to say: get lost, or get buried.
Behind him, the soldiers fanned out. They knew the look in his eyes now. Even those who once doubted had learned on the battlefield—this boy commanded like a storm.
The elves bristled. Their hands hovered near spells. Vines curled across the forest floor.
Carlos didn't move.
He'd imagined this moment. In his past life, it was the Elves who threw the mortal realms into war—petty vengeance for ancient sins and some accept him and his soldiers only for them to betray Carlos and his army. Carlos might have seen them as family once in the past. Now they are nothing but something he has to step on. And now they stood again, pride bloated, memories long, wisdom short.
Long-lived, Carlos once thought, and yet they act like spoiled children.
His thoughts were steel now. There was no time.
The road back would take three days—maybe four if fate was cruel. The coming here was great because those people might think Carlos would lose against elves but once he stepped out of this place alive, Carlos was pretty sure they would get attacked on the way back to the palace.
Seven days left. Only three to get the root.
Only one day to speak, if not war is coming.
"If I must speak," Carlos said, "I will speak today."
"And if you do not give me what I came for—" his eyes flicked to the forest—
"Then I will take it tomorrow."
The silence snapped tight.
—
Back in the palace…
Erevan woke up coughing blood.
The lilies were still there.
The scent stung his nose, coated the back of his throat like honey turned sour.
He turned his face away, hand trembling as he tried to sit up. Pain bloomed across his chest like flames. The healer caught him gently.
"Don't," she murmured. "You'll worsen the damage."
"I need to know…" Erevan gasped. "Carlos—"
"The prince is alive." said the healer. "My Lord left three days ago."
The king's shoulders sagged.
"Why? Why would he leave?"
"No, even if there is a reason, why didn't you stop him?"
the healer's mouth tightened.
"I couldn't. Because when he carried you into my chambers, he had already made a decision. And, my king, you are on the verge of death. We couldn't possibly believe anyone else."
She remembered it still—how he kicked open the door. How he walked in like he'd done it before. His grip was too steady. His voice is too calm.
"There was… cruelty in his eyes. If anyone had dared to stop him," she said quietly, "he would have killed them."
Erevan looked down. "He's only fifteen…, he can't even swing his sword properly."
"But he carries a sword and tries to swing it properly…" she said. "For Your Majesty."
They were interrupted by a sharp knock.
The queen entered.
Cloaked in mourning black and garden-white, she moved like ice, all grace and authority. But the healer saw the stone beneath the silk. The kind of mother who mourns the loss of control more than the child's pain.
"My son is resting." she said to the healer coldly. "Don't agitate him."
The healer clenched her jaw. "He's breathing poison, Your Grace. The lilies must be removed from the palace."
The queen looked at the flowers beside Erevan's bed, her expression unreadable.
"They are his favorite," she said softly. "They stay."
"Your son is dying," the healer snapped. "He may not have ten days. These flowers are part of what's killing him."
SLAP… "You Should Know Your Own Place Healer." The slapping can be heard across the room. And yes, it is no other than the queen slapping the king's personal healer.
Erevan looked away. It is not that he didn't want to stop. It is just that he couldn't stop. His hand trembled as it reached for one of the lilies. Slowly, he pulled it from the vase, petal by petal, and let them scatter to the floor.
"They used to mean purity," he whispered.
"They still do." the healer said, watching the queen back with steel in her voice. Her cheek covered earth red. "But the world doesn't care about meaning. It cares about consequences."
The queen turned without a word and left. She has already made this commoner know her place.
The healer wanted to scream. She wanted to talk back to the queen. But she can't. Even a king can't talk back, how could she, a mere commoner that got adapted by the palace healer. Even if she may be her father's adopted daughter, even if she is a noble, she couldn't possibly be the level of the queen.
The king's lips were pale. His heartbeat is slow and fragile. She had studied for decades. Learned to heal both kings and beggars. But all her knowledge meant nothing when politics choked the air.
If she had her way, she would burn every lily in the palace.
But she couldn't. Not unless the king commanded it. Not while he couldn't even talk back to his own mother. Who would have thought the king who killed his own father with cold blood can not talk back to the queen, at least he still has human feelings unlike his own mother who want to kill his own child.
---
That night, Erevan asked to be taken to the balcony. The healer helped him, and though it nearly broke her to see him limp, pale and fragile— she was being sensitive because he was a king, it is because he is her patient. It is not easy for her to not be able to help her patient. And it is hard to see as a healer whose job is to help everyone. It is like breaking her father principle of healing everyone.
His first question still made her ache.
"Do you think Carlos is cold at night?"
She didn't answer. Not with words. Just wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
This boy—this king—had murdered his own father for the crown.
And yet the first time he awoke from poison and near death—
And right now the only thing he asked if his little brother was safe.
For that, Lumira swore she would never doubt him again. After all, the healer realized that the king is not weak, no never have been weak. It is just that his weakness is attacking him which is his own family.
---
Kave, meanwhile, was watching. Always watching.
The nobles were confined to the palace. The gardens cordoned off. Suspicion hung like a blade over every corridor.
And Kave, unlike Carlos in the past, knew how to dig.
He watched which servants stopped speaking when he passed. Who changed cups? Who brought the lilies into the hall. He traced the wine back to its cask—and found that it hadn't been imported, but alchemically made.
Made inside the palace.
He was getting closer.
But danger was, too.
The snakes in the court were shifting.
And soon… one of them would strike again.
__________
The elves' faces turned dark, their eyes narrowing with growing tension. The words from Carlos, so simple yet so defiant, cut through the air like a blade.
"You come here, to our home, without permission, without respect." the head elf thought. If only the ancient mortals had wronged us, this would be easier.
But now, here was Carlos—an unwelcome descendant of the humans who had once pushed the elves to the edge of war. He had the gall to stand before them, challenging their honor with his presence. He threatened them in their sanctuary, a boy who clearly had no understanding of the gravity of his actions.
The elves muttered in anger, the bloodlust rising in their chests. They had dreamed of the day they could watch the mortals tear each other apart, savoring the destruction. But this? This wasn't the time to wait. This boy, barely a man, had crossed a line.
The head elf, despite his age and wisdom, understood something more than just rage. His gaze lingered on Carlos, noticing the boy's mask—the unmistakable mark of an Outer God. It was then that realization hit him hard. This wasn't just a rebellious child from the mortal world; this was a child touched by something far older and far more powerful than any elf. An Outer God's blessing was not to be trifled with.
The head elf didn't dare speak those thoughts aloud. Not when Carlos's gaze never wavered from his. It was as though the boy had already read his mind, sizing him up like prey. It was unsettling. Carlos didn't fear the elves. He didn't fear their land. His presence was cold, unyielding. But he remembered that elf, he is the one who took him and his soldiers to death. Carlos remembered it clearly, how that elf treated them with so much kindness that Carlos had thought of paying the debt by protecting the elf village for the rest of his life. But in the end, an animal always shows its nature by himself when the right time comes. And that elf shows the true meaning of saving him and his soldiers. It was to watch Carlos and his soldiers die fighting each other.
"My Lord, he became a monster. He doesn't have a mind to control anymore. My lord…."
"We have to kill him, My lord."
"Because I Fucking hate humans." Carlos can hear the elf's voice in his mind. That day he had to kill his remaining soldiers to end their suffering.
The head elf's command broke the silence between his soldiers and elves and Carlos' own mind.."Let's discuss this"
"Fine," Carlos finally said, cutting through the tension. Even if Carlos wants to kill that man, that elf is still needed for his secure in getting the Mother's Root. His revenge can come later, his brother's life is more important.
The elves behind him hissed, their impatience palpable.They didn't want to discuss anything; they wanted to kill. To end the threat before it could become real. But the head elf was wise, and even if he hated every moment of this, he had to keep his composure. The boy, with that mask, wasn't just any mortal. And no matter what happened next, the head elf knew he couldn't afford to underestimate him.
Carlos, for his part, had no interest in wasting time. He was here for one thing only. He didn't need to be polite. He didn't need to care about their ancient grudges. The flame within him burned hotter with every second, scorching his hands as if they were aflame with hellfire. He could feel it, but he couldn't stop it. The fire wasn't burning through his gloves; it was burning him from the inside.
His body was a vessel for the god's power, but at a cost. If it comes to fighting, Carlos thought bitterly, I'll burn them all. And I'll burn myself to ash along with them. But if that's what it takes to save Erevan…
Maybe that is what Erevan had been suffering in the past. The thing is Carlos starts from his hands as they are the most important. But for Erevan, it started from his heart.
Before the head elf could say another word, he turned sharply, his eyes flashing toward the trees. "Fenric, stop!" the head elf shouted.
But it was already too late.
From the shadows of the sakura trees, an elf leapt toward Carlos, his blade flashing in the dim light. Fenric, quick as a shadow, was already in mid-air before Carlos had even finished processing. He can feel it. But his body right now is not as he was before. That 15 year old's body will kill him one day with how gentle his body is. He had to train again to get to the point of the body before. The attacked elf assault was swift—ferocious—but Carlos was ready.
Without hesitation, Carlos stepped into the attack, meeting Fenric's strike with his own. His hand moved like lightning, a blur of motion as he twisted Fenric's wrist and struck with the other. The impact sent Fenric sliding back, momentarily stunned.
Fenric, however, recovered quickly, his grin widening as he got back to his feet. "You've trained. That wasn't instinct."
Carlos didn't speak. His focus was elsewhere, his hands burning beneath his gloves. He wasn't interested in talking. He had a mission, and it wasn't about proving himself to anyone.
With the fire pulsing through him, he stared at Fenric, his voice low and cold: "Try again… and you'll need a new spine."
The head elf raised his hand, signaling his people to hold. Carlos also did the same as his comrades were already pointing swords against the near elves each. The elves were murmuring in disbelief, a boy no more older than 16 years countering the youngest and fastest elf of theirs, but they held back, still unsure of what this boy was capable of. The head elf, however, had already made his decision.
He turned back to Carlos, his tone measured. "One day. You have one day to get what you need. After that, we will no longer stand by."
Carlos nodded, his gaze unyielding. "One day. That's all I get. Then I take my root."
The head elf's jaw clenched, but he gave a single nod. There was nothing more to say. The elves were in no position to challenge him—not with the god's mask upon him. But that didn't mean they would let him have his way without a fight. And they have already let the gates burn, there is no way a higher elf would like it when they hear it, if that boy wants to die then they just let it happen faster.
Carlos turned away, his eyes already focused on the road ahead, on the palace he had left behind, on his brother. Three days there. Three days back. If fate had other plans, four days. That was it. Only three days remained.
Even if he had to burn everything in his path.