Wren heaved the final stack of logs into the back of the well-laden cart, willing himself not to grunt at the brief tinge of pain in his lower back. The general knew that at the first sign of physical discomfort he’d been swarmed by well-meaning younger elves intent on relieving his burden, and that simply wouldn’t do. Wren could handle his share of the burden. He wasn’t that old.

Besides, a little pain was more than outweighed by the benefits. Wren had come to relish the burn in his arms, the soothing chill from the evening breeze caressing his sweat-dotted brow. When he and his troops had first been taken into their strange not-imprisonment, Wren had been committed to taking no further part in the work details. The Alliance seemed to be fair and just, and offering their help to repair the outpost had certainly raised their standing with their captors, but actually working their fields? Wouldn’t do. Too much like completely giving in. No, Wren would stay in his housing and keep his pride. Maybe write his memoirs. Gods knew he’d already had a more interesting life than most Oaken Elves.

Well, one day spent staring at a black sheet of paper with a quill in hand had thrown that idea neatly out the window. No one needed to read Wren’s fumbling thoughts on the missteps of his ill-fated command. At least a day spent in the fields produced something people could actually use. And more than a few of his troops had been refraining from work detail out of solidarity with him; Wren would throw away his dignity every single time if it meant the elves serving under him were able to turn what should have been a stark internment into something much better.

Blah. Here he was, lost in his own musings. Maybe he was getting too old. Wren took a moment to wipe the back of his neck before turning back to the young elf he’d been working with. “That was it?”

“Yes General,” he chirped back, his axe propped on his shoulder, “That was the last of it!”

Wren offered the soldier, scarcely more than a boy, a rueful chuckle. “Son, I sincerely doubt I’m a general of anything any more. You could just call me Wren if you liked.” The older elf chuckled again as the younger man protested, waving his refusal away good-naturedly as he leaned back against the cart. ”Fine, fine; call me what you like. It’s too fine a day to argue.”

The other elf nodded in agreement, joining Wren as they both stared out at the fields of Shinki Itten. “It is nice here. Right, General?”

“Mm.” Wren could hardly disagree. The sunset cast an ocean of pale peach and purple across the rolling farmland, kobolds and hobgoblins living their lives of simple fulfillment in a scene of picturesque contentment. Wren had already spent more time in Shinki Itten than he had in Quercus, and if he was being honest he had to admit he preferred the latter. Not that he’d ever say it. Instead, he nudged the younger man with his elbow. “Nicer for some than others though, yes?”

The other elf furrowed his brow. “I don’t know what you’re–”

“Hey~!”

He immediately stiffened as a kobold girl leading a placid pack ox appeared through the clearing, bright red creeping up his neck as she waved at the two elves with a sunny grin. “You guys are done already? Wow, great work! Are you sure you weren’t born a farmhand, Aryn?”

Wren knew that Young Ayrn was from a poor but prestigious Oaken Elf family, not quite noble but close enough. He knew that if Aryn’s father ever heard someone suggest that his youngest son might be anything close to a farmer, the proud man would have immediately set himself on fire. And yet all the same, the young man simply blushed even harder in response to the girl’s well-intended compliment. “Um, thanks Hana. Just, you know, doing my best.”

“I can tell!” The girl pushed a lock of curly hair out from her face, her wide smile sparkling against her sun-browned skin. “I’ll get the cart hitched up and get those logs down to the farm. And then, um,” She gained a bit of red in her own cheeks, “Then you could join us for dinner? You worked so hard, it’s the least we can do!” The girl blinked, her coyly averted eyes reminding her that Wren was still there. “Oh! Both of you, of course! You both worked so hard! Um, sorry sir!”

The older man couldn’t resist another chuckle. He’d found himself chuckling a lot, lately. “Don’t give it a second thought. Now, I already have plans, but young Aryn,” He clapped a hand to the younger elf’s shoulder, “Would be thrilled to join you.” He glanced down at the other man. “Right, Aryn?”

The elf shakily nodded, a bit of a crack worming its way into his voice. “Um, yes! Definitely! I love dinner!”

“Oh! Great! Me too!” Hana flashed the boy another dazzling smile as urged her ox towards the other end of the cart. “Just lemme get Dumpling fixed up, and then we can ride down together!”

Aryn waved again as the girl busied herself the cart’s yoke, unable to take her eyes off of her even as Wren quietly spoke. “Seems you really do like it here.” When the young man managed a distracted nod, Wren cautiously continued. “You know, son…if you wanted to start a new life, with a new Side, no one would–”

That knocked the elf out of his reverie. “What? No, I wouldn’t do that to you!”

Wren shook his head. “It’s not doing something ‘to’ me, it’s doing something for yourself. I wouldn’t–”

Aryn’s resolve had been firmly set, however. “No, I won’t abandon my duty. Not me.” He shook himself, then started towards the front of the cart. “I’ll help get the firewood down to the farm, and then I’ll be back for the evening meal with all the other troops. You can count on me, General.”

The general managed to keep his sigh unvocalized as he watched Aryn and Hana finish harnessing the ox and ride away, the young man’s renewed commitment causing a fresh distance to grow between the pair. Unfortunate.

Clearly Wren wasn’t the only one who thought so. “You noticed, right?” The older elf wasn’t particularly surprised to find Bittercup standing at the edge of the clearing, watching the departing cart with an air of regret. “His ears.”

After working so closely with the boy, it would have been hard to miss. It was a simple truth about elves: put them in a new environment, and they tend to adapt to that environment. Elves in forest become Wood Elves, elves at sea become Sea Elves, elves in fancy magical cities become Unbearable. But it only happens when an elf has truly gained a deep affinity for their new surroundings, when something deep inside of them absolutely wants to cast their past aside and embrace a new future.

And regardless of what Aryn claimed, his ears told the truth that he wouldn’t. His sharp, stocky Oaken Elf ears were gradually becoming longer, gaining a charming sort of wobble. It wouldn’t be much longer before Magica officially had a new variety of elf.

“You know that none of them will join up with the village, right?” Bittercup leaned against a tree, shooting Wren a questioning look. “None of them want to be the first. They think it’d be a betrayal.”

Wren pulled off his work gloves, tucking them into his belt. “I know. I’ve tried to tell them it isn’t. They don’t owe anything to Quercus or King Glandem.”

Bittercup arched an eyebrow. “They don’t care about Glandem. They think they’d be betraying you.”

At that, the general had to frown. He knew it was true, though. Silly of them. Very silly. “Making better lives for themselves isn’t a betrayal. Jumping off a sinking ship doesn’t make you disloyal to the captain.”

“Yeah, well, did you ever think that maybe they’d feel better about abandoning ship if the captain would consider doing the same?”

Ugh. She was right, and Wren faintly wished he could find that more annoying. Wren had considered more than once that, had he led a different life, a daughter of his would likely be right around Bittercup’s age. And as much as he wanted to take refuge in the easy excuses of Honor and Duty, he knew that those platitudes would be nothing but ash in his mouth against the girl. “I…” He cut himself off before he’d even started that thought, a weariness settling heavily over him. Maybe he was getting too old. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it, but…”

Bittercup offered the man an understanding smile, reaching out to pluck a bit of leaf from behind his ear. “I know. These are still good ol’ Oaken Elf ears, no question about it.”

Another man might have turned the question around on Bittercup, might have pointed out that her ears were also the same as always. Questioned why she wasn’t making the first move to this new home. But Wren knew better. He knew the horrors that she had barely escaped the last time she’d been beholden to a Side and a Tribe. For Bittercup to ever put herself in that position again? It would take an almost miraculous act. Shin was clever, but Wren wasn’t sure how many miracles the kid had left him in.

Speak of the devil.

As Shin wandered up the path, Wren couldn’t help wondering if his sudden appearance was truly happenstance, or by design. He’d be the first to admit he admired the kid. Respected him. But how could anyone not keep a man like him at arm’s length? He’d saved what remained of Wren’s troops, and the general would never forget that. He was also arm in arm with the monsters who’d slaughtered the rest of his troops. Wren couldn’t forget that, either.

Still. The kid was too interesting to avoid. Whatever it was he was getting up to, Wren found it impossible to keep himself out of it. “Evening, Shin,” he started, offering the younger man an amiable nod. “What brings you all the way out here?”

The kobold grinned, his eyes twinkling impishly. “What, your sterling company isn’t reason enough? You sell yourself short, General.”

Bittercup rolled her eyes, straightening up and brushing herself off. “Well don’t let me get between your budding friendship, boys. I’ll just be–”

“Actually, I have to admit this concerns you.” Shin held up a hand, requesting that Bittercup hold. “Did you have a moment?”

The elven woman popped a hand to her hip. “I have plenty of moments. Whether I have one for you is entirely uncertain. I can only hope you aren’t about to ask me to attend the opening of that Player’s restaurant. Or, Gods forbid, that you’re stupid enough to ask me to work there.”

Shin furrowed his brow, and as always Wren found it difficult to tell whether his surprise was genuine or assumed. “What? No. Absolutely not. I just wanted to ask you a few questions, but only after I deal with the visitor you’re about to get.”

“Visitor?” Bittercup’s eyes went cagey, rather like a deer mentally calculating the safest direction to run. “When? Who?”

The kobold squinted as he glanced down the path he’d just come from, looking for someone who wasn’t there. “According to the Banken who spotted him, ‘When’ should be right about now. As for ‘Who’, it’s–”

“Ah-HA! Finally found you, ya friggin’ bitch!”

Wren snatched up the axe Aryn had been using to split wood as the hideous human burst from the trees, his toad-like mouth stretched in a nasty grin and a dagger bare in his hands. The general’s racing mind quickly pieced together that this was one of the Players Glandem had sent, significantly less dealt-with than Shin had previously suggested. Scratch one more miracle off of the kid’s score card. Well old or not, Wren could still use an axe for more than just firewood. He’d never fought a Player, but between him and Shin–

Shin, however, did not seem to be on the same page as the combat-ready elf. “Ah! Mister JellyDonut! It’s been too long!”

The Player sneered. “Fuck you, bot. You didn’t think you actually got to me with that Psyc 101 horseshit, did you? Not a chance.” He gestured with his dagger towards Bittercup, his sneer turning salacious. “She’s coming with me, and I don’t–hey wait!”

Bittercup, to her credit, had already hiked up her skirt and booked it. Smart girl. Wren could hold the Player off long enough for her to get to the safety of the village, at least. If the kid would stop staring at the Noone with that strange grin, at least. What the hell was he doing?

JD was so taken off guard by his quarry’s flight that it took him a moment to notice Shin’s strange behavior. “Ugh, what a bitch. Making me work for it. Like I haven’t already. You think you’re safe just ‘cause this is a Sanctuary, bitch? Think again, ‘cause I’m gonna…” He balked when he realized Shin, having shuffled closer and closer to him all throughout his profane rant, was inches away from his face. “The fuck! What are you doing, asshole?!”

The kobold’s only response was to continue smiling, the edges of his rictus grin seeming to stretch further than they ought to.

“Uh…” JD took a single step back, glancing in bewilderment towards Wren. “The fuck is wrong with him?”

The general had no idea. Both men could only watch as Shin’s right eye began to flutter, his entire expression twitching as if something was attempting to burst through the mask that was his face. They were so engrossed in his manic tics that when the kobold let out a terrified gasp, something seeming to snap behind his eyes, they both joined in with deeply startled yelps of their own.

“Oh God! Oh Jesus!” Shin babbled, something wildly different about his entire bearing as he grabbed hold of the stunned Player’s shoulder. “Help me! You have to help me!”

Wren didn’t even notice that the axe had fallen from his fingers. “Kid? Shin? What’s going–”

“That’s not my name!” Shin(?) hissed, an eruption of outrage that immediately melted into an outpouring of desperation as he whipped his head back towards JD. “I’m real! I’m real! Please you have to help me!”

The Player squirmed, the color draining from his frog-like face as he ineffectually tried to free himself from the frenzied strength of the kobold’s grip. “I don’t, no, I, let me go, I’m, uh–”

“My name is Greg Chambers!” Shin screamed, tears freely running down his cheeks. “You have to call my wife! Five five five eight, grrf, seven~! Gah! No no no no no~!” Shin gritted teeth for clarity as he began to twitch again. “No, please! Please! Not yet! Just–” His tirade was briefly interrupted by his face snapping back to its doll-like smile, which melted away just long enough for the kobold to unleash an unearthly shriek of terror.

And then he was smiling again, as if nothing had happened. “Ah! Mister JellyDonut! It’s been too–”

Without another word, the Player vanished.

Shin held his position for a moment longer, as if waiting to see if they were truly alone again. And then he straightened back up, throwing Wren a cheeky wink over his shoulder. “How was that? I’ve been practicing.”

The most Wren could manage was a baffled sputter. Thankfully for him, Shin’s histrionics had apparently enticed Bittercup to abandon her flight long enough to sneak a peek at what was going on. “How did you do that?” The woman asked in something between wonder and jealousy. “I recognized…some of that stuff, but the rest of it...you made him think you were from his world?”

“Yes, well.” Shin was doing his best to appear modest, which wasn’t very good. “Someone a bit more nuanced than our friend JellyDonut probably wouldn’t have fallen for it. But it seemed to be enough for him, at least.”

Trees be damned, it was nearly enough for Wren. “But Players aren’t supposed to talk about their world,” the general slowly questioned. “So how could you…do that?”

Shin shot Wren a look that made him feel oddly like a child being taken to school. “People aren’t supposed to do a lot of things, General. They do them anyway. Players are so strong that they don’t care about the little things they throw away. I just gather up those insignificant cast offs into a big pile to drown them in.”

Unless Wren was very much mistaken, a flash of admiration unmistakably flashed across Bittercup’s eyes at that. “Well consider me convinced. You mentioned having some questions?”

There was no doubt about it. And maybe it was just his aging eyes, but the woman’s ears were starting to look a bit longer, too. It seemed the kid had a few more miracles up his sleeve after all.