4/4.

******

Shoulders fought against each other just for the right to swipe at Ophelia first.

Her blade was ready to meet them.

With a flash of silver to better even the approaching storm of swords, Ophelia swept her sword out in a wide crescent. Billowing wind met the tide of leaping bodies, sending them hurtling back to a chorus of gasps. 

And then came the flurry of knives.

Even before her brethren hit the ground, unseen daggers were released from belts and sleeves. They flew at her with the precision of feathered arrows, drawing a return swipe from Ophelia’s sword as she elegantly twisted on the spot. They clattered to the floor and dug into the door behind her, joining the knife still embedded in the same handle she optimistically tried to reach for.

And then the actual arrows came.

A pair of twangs followed by a distinctive whistling. Deep familiarity and elven hearing alike sent Ophelia hitting the ground. A heartbeat later, Duck A was unceremoniously struck off her head. It gave a quack of displeasure as it was violently flung away, multiple arrows lodged into its fluffy white feathers.

Ophelia glanced towards it. But only for a moment.

It’d be fine.

More than her, at least.

The wave of irked elves righted themselves and threw themselves at her lithe figure on the ground. 

Ophelia didn’t wait. She pushed off her heels, springing through the legs of her leaping distant relatives and traumatised childhood acquaintances alike, before acrobatically tumbling back onto her feet. 

Her sword swept up, slicing through an elven shortbow before swinging around. She met the knife launched at her back, deflecting it towards a second shortbow and severing the strings. Yet no sooner had both bows been broken than they were replaced by blades, their wielders joining the main body of elves as they added to the simple dance of attempting to dogpile her from all sides. 

And also stab her a lot in the process.

Ophelia raised her posture before spinning on the spot. A song of silver echoed in the air as her elven sword parried the first of its sister blades. And then those same swords became fists and clenched teeth instead.

Because even more than the wave of swords attempting to separate her head from her neck was the chorus of vitriol … although they were still very much inclined towards murdering her with instruments less sharp than blades of grass, if possible.

“You were like this at Aunt Mildew’s 85th birthday! You tried to blow everyone up with fireworks! You said you were bored!”

“During the Yule Festival you made snowmen in the shape of Cousin Leo kissing that tramp down the road! Everyone knew they were having an affair! Why shout it out loud?! Do you know how awkward you made everyone feel that day?!”

“Therapy! I was only 7! … And I still haven’t been signed off!”

“You have no tact for anything! This is why you’re still single!”

Ophelia felt a mortal wound strike her from that last one.

She groaned as she leapt into the air, and though she avoided the mass of bodies tackling where she’d just stood, little could be done against the scathing judgement landing with pinpoint precision as she alone somehow failed to ensure the continued genealogical line of her entire race. 

“I am not having this conversation,” said Ophelia adamantly, as she somersaulted to deflect an entire sword chucked at her. She landed beside the door again, then tried opening it to an endless hail of daggers. “You guys can have your mothers meetings. But I have my own stuff to do. I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy!” came a voice belonging to … someone, maybe everyone. “We’re all busy! That’s not a reason. It’s an excuse!”

Ophelia wondered if letting a few swords whack her face would be less painful than listening to the conversation involving half of these elves discussing their family planning as they tried to murder her.

Instead, the silver in her hand glowed with flashing brilliance as she sliced the air before her in a vertical decapitation.

“[Helix Arc].”

Her motion well telegraphed, all the approaching elves split like a river coursing past a boulder. They tumbled to either side, then followed through with barely a lost moment as their nimble steps brought their blades upon her.

That’s when Ophelia held up Duck B.

“Okay, stop, stop, stop, stop. Time, time!”

A pause greater than any wounds or pitiful pleading Ophelia could have displayed met her as the wave of ire was chilled by the sight of a very fluffy duck looking generally cute.

Quack, quack.  

Then, all eyes turned to Ophelia to hear what words of repentance she was willing to offer.

“I said one free stab only. Some of you are seriously stretching the string. And most of you aren’t even eligible. Hey! You in the back. You still need your free stab. Once you’re done, I can start stabbing back.”

The uproar that greeted Ophelia’s words was enough to shake the furniture.

Especially as some of it was promptly lifted.

Indignation came in the form of chairs, drawers and a lamp being tossed in her direction over the heads of those still content to simply lunge at her. Ophelia hacked a nightstand in half, then generously went to make herself available to the one guy who still needed to have a shot at her.

The moment she did–

Thwump.

Ophelia the Snow Dancer, with footwork more graceful than a leaf upon a pond … fell flat on her face.

All movement came to a grinding halt as Ophelia spent a moment merely blinking into the newly discovered darkness. And then she lifted her head and looked back.

A vine, stretching like a green cobra, had wrapped itself around her foot.

Pushing through the cracks between the tiled floor, this mysterious plant twisted around her ankle with a grip which belied its strength. 

And then it continued to grow. 

Ophelia could only regard it with curiosity. None of these throwing furniture at her were mages. Or if they were, she certainly hadn’t seen any magic being cast.

Which made sense, since none of them had cast it.

Fwup, fwup, fwup.

All of a sudden, the flapping of wings filled the air, heralding a large raven with feathers blacker than any night perching on the same window Ophelia had entered through. It regarded Ophelia with a pair of colourless eyes, then hopped into the room.

Elves parted at once, swords and chairs dropping along with knees to the floor as the raven’s form twisted and expanded. 

The feathers became a trail of dark hair, falling behind robes of finest sequin. The eyes gained a modicum of colour, but were so sunken into the face of the one who bore them that they were like endless wells absorbing all light. 

Even so, it was neither the strange eyes, nor the pallid skin touched by the first hints of wrinkles which drew Ophelia’s attention the most.

It was the crown of golden leaves.

That she recognised any day of the week. Seeing it brought back fond memories. 

After all, it was the first thing she’d ever stolen.

“Ophelia,” said Eucian of the Stars, Elven King and Conversational Projectile Spitter. “I see that petty displays of impertinence continue to define your character.”

A measured and haughty voice filled this room with more pride than Ophelia’s piggybank contained slips scribbled with her most recent dreams just to confuse burglars.

“Now that’s just unfair. You had no idea I was about to yawn in your face.”

The Elven King waited. Ophelia opened her mouth wide, letting out a yawn fit for consuming an entire dinner table.

“You referred to me in ways inappropriate for addressing one’s liege,” he said eventually. “I believe you referred to me as an … old bozo.”

“Yes. I regret that. If I’d known you were nearby, I would’ve called you way worse.”

“Then I trust you to do so while bowing or kneeling. It is beneath you to lay sprawled like a worm on the ground. You’re quite capable of breaking free from a simple [Entangling Vines].”

“I was going to, but then I could tell someone was going to make a dramatic entrance. And I think lying down like this is more relaxing for going to sleep while I pretend to listen to whatever you’re planning to say.”

The Elven King’s lips almost curled into an unimpressed smile.

Almost.

“Quaint. And childish. As always, you continue to lift the elven people with your dazzling swordsmanship while also plunging our reputation to ever lower depths with your crass demeanour.”

“I’m still working on that. Unfortunately, I only spent a few years with the humans. I’ll need to spend a few more before I forget how to talk like everyone else here.”

A wave of indignation swept across the faces of those kneeling or standing regally. 

That one riled them. Excellent. She hoped the next would as well. Ophelia had an infinite supply to go through.

It was a shame the guy in front of her was even less in a mood to listen.

“I suggest savouring the misfortune you’ve experienced in the human realms. Your time toying with the infants is over. I am in agreement with my adjutant. It is no twist of fate that you’ve arrived in this place, at this time. You were brought back to us for a reason.”

Ophelia let out a quiet groan.

The sales pitch was moving up the management ladder.

“Look, I’m going to be real. I have no money. I only have my ducks and my cottage and neither are for sale. At least, well, not for a lot.”

Duck B twisted its beak towards her.

Ophelia reassured it with a look of utmost sincerity. It would have to be a really, really high price. Enough that even an Elven King wrinkled his nose.

“It’s neither your cottage, nor your … ducks which our kind needs, Ophelia. It is your sword, and your ability to use it. A means to an end has been found from which the great plight of the elves can at last be lifted. And with it, the squalor which we all share.”

“You say squalor, but elven life is pretty good. We’ve got tents bigger than manors.”

“Fabrications without foundations. A poor reflection on the homes we left behind.” 

“Well, if you want directions to the Fae Realm to sketch some up to date drawings, I can point you the way. You need to have your shocked face ready, though. Because it’s definitely not here.”

Ophelia blew at a strand of her hair tickling her nose.

She could skip the conversation. It was always the same with these people. Some world ending scheme just to find the welcoming mat they left behind when they were kicked out of the Fae Realm all those years ago. She could see the outline already, even without the explanation. Some shady plan involving conflict between Tirea and Granholtz. Which was fine. Ophelia loved shady plans. They were some of the most fun. But at the same time, she’d only just finished doing the whole secret conspiracy thing.

Now she’d set her eyes on something new. Otherwise she’d already be playing cards with that weirdo in Lotus House or practising her arts & crafts.

Ophelia had a simple goal.

And that was to kill a dragon, become S-rank, and then flip a coin on whether to brutally kill or get permanently hitched with the only person to have ever caused a bump on her head.

That’s why–

She scratched her side, then smiled.

“So yeah, I’ll pass, thanks.”

The Elven King regarded her with a look of quiet disdain. Ophelia was pretty sure he’d practised it. Probably on wanted posters of her.

“I see I made a tragic mistake in humouring your temporary departure from beneath the forest canopy. Neither time nor distance has tempered your impudence … or your disregard for matters greater than yourself. An unworthy quality for one who has always held so much promise.”  

“You’re absolutely right. Except for the word ‘temporary’. I actually decided I’m done with forests. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but I don’t really do bugs.”

“You are an elf, Ophelia. No matter how you shamefully seek to distance yourself from your own kin, the place you belong is with us.”

“I’m pretty happy with my cottage. I renovated the kitchen myself.”

“A hovel to waste away your talents in. In time, you shall come to understand the gravity of what we strive for, and how you may assist.”

“Now, you see, I don’t think you understand how much time needs to pass before I’m bored enough to even consider that.” 

Now the Elven King smiled. And there wasn’t a single thing he imagined which would draw anything but a horrified gasp from anyone else in the world.

“And time we have.”

Pwoooof.

All of a sudden, the stone tiles around Ophelia’s figure burst apart. 

A groan sounded as roots as thick as any found beneath the crystalline trees of the Fae Realm joined the modest vine around Ophelia’s ankle, before coiling around her limbs at a speed which belied their size and weight.

An impressive spell. 

Ophelia wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

More than a king, Eucian of the Stars was an archdruid of the elves. One of the last few remaining who could call themselves that. And that meant as much time spent tinkering with his craft as he did kicking down newcomers.

She had a hunch he was waiting for a chance to show off his fancy new spell. 

And Ophelia’s hunches were always correct.

“Thanks. But I like to think over my poor life decisions in my own time.”

Thus, as a root anchored around Ophelia’s arms, she casually reached forward and grabbed a fallen knife beside her using nothing but her teeth.

Half a frown and half a raised eyebrow met her.

“It is too late,” said the Elven King. “Your sword is stilled. And no other blade here can harm my magic. Now, you may cease your childishness and–”

In answer, Ophelia swung her head to the side, releasing the knife as she did so.

A shimmer surrounded the Elven King at once. His dark hair blew as the vestiges of a wind barrier erected before him. And yet the knife wasn’t aimed at him.

It flew towards the stack of leaking wine barrels in the corner instead. 

Duck A, sitting patiently while watching the proceedings, gave a cute little quack as it looked down at the knife embedding itself deep into the barrel beneath it. A fresh leak sprung from its depths.

Yet this time, the wine didn’t merely spill.

Fwoosh.

It caught fire.

“Hah. I knew it.”

Ophelia smiled in triumph, just as everyone else opened their mouths in disbelief. 

And then everything exploded.