Somewhere in the heart of the dark elven valley, beneath the dense canopy of ancient trees and within the thick, humid air that clung to the earth like a living entity, he awoke.
The valley was always like this—humid, damp, filled with the scent of wet soil and the distant aroma of river fish being prepared over open flames. The soft rustling of nocturnal creatures still lingered in the early morning haze, blending seamlessly with the gentle lapping of water against the wooden docks where fishermen had already begun their daily routines.
Fa Git stirred, blinking sleep from his amethyst eyes as he stretched his small limbs. He was young—still just a boy—but no different from the countless other dark elves that filled the valley. His features, his deep gray skin, his violet-hued hair, and the natural glow of his gemstone-like irises were all common sights among his people. There was nothing that made him particularly stand out, nothing that marked him as special.
And yet, within his modest home—a home belonging to a family not of warriors, not of nobility, not of thieves or killers, but of honest fishermen—he was content.
His family was honest. Perhaps more so than most.
They did not own vast swaths of land, nor did they partake in the more ruthless trades that dark elven society often demanded for survival. Their livelihood was the river, their wealth measured in the weight of their catches, their worth dictated not by bloodshed or deception, but by the quiet perseverance of those who toiled for their sustenance.
And so, as the world beyond his home stirred with tensions unknown to him—diplomacy and war, alliances and betrayals—Fa Git simply rose from his straw bedding, rubbing his eyes as he prepared for yet another day in the life of a simple dark elven fisherman's son.
Fa Git stepped outside, his bare feet meeting the cool, damp soil of the valley floor. The thick, humid air clung to his skin as the faint glow of dawn barely managed to pierce through the dense canopy above. The world was still waking up—faint chatter from the fishing docks, the occasional call of a nocturnal bird, the rustling of leaves as small creatures scurried about.
With a lazy yawn, he reached down and plucked a twig bug from the nearest tree. The small, segmented insect twitched slightly in his grasp before he popped it into his mouth, biting down with practiced ease. A burst of cool, slightly minty liquid filled his mouth as he chewed—nature's own version of toothpaste, considering the valley didn't have such luxuries. He swished the liquid around before spitting it off to the side, smacking his lips.
"Let's have a recap," he muttered, rolling his shoulders as he stretched under the ever-present shadows of the valley.
"My name is Fa Git. My father's name was Bit Chass. He was a respected fisherman before he drowned in a storm trying to save me."
His arms tensed slightly at the memory, but he quickly exhaled, shaking it off.
"My mother is Kum Slet. She's an imperial elf-hating extremist and a full-fledged racist for what they did to the dark elves... but she's still a beloved member of the community."
Fa Git finished stretching and exhaling deeply before placing his hands on his hips.
"Mom! ... What's for dinner?" He called out, voice carrying through their small, wooden home.
Inside, at a rickety old table stacked high with parchment and ink bottles, Kum Slet barely looked up from her latest masterpiece. The faint scratching of her quill didn't stop as she meticulously penned line after line, her expression one of intense focus.
Fa Git walked in, glancing over her shoulder, and his face immediately twitched.
"Mom... are you writing torture porn on the imperial elves again?"
"Oh, honey," she said sweetly, finally looking up with a warm, motherly smile. "I was just—"
His gaze snapped to the parchment in front of her.
Title: 'To end an Imperial Elf: A Detailed Guide on Ethnic Cleansing'
Fa Git slammed his forehead against the table with a deep, suffering groan.
"Mom."
"What?" she blinked innocently. "It's educational."
"FOR WHO?" he snapped, throwing his hands up. "Mom, we fish for a living! Why the fuck are you writing extremist propaganda instead of making breakfast?"
"Because the truth must be recorded," she said solemnly, placing a hand over her heart. "If I don't do it, who will?"
"I don't know, maybe the actual terrorists?" Fa Git grumbled, rubbing his temples. "Can you at least cook something before plotting genocide?"
Kum Slet sighed, finally setting her quill down. "Fine, fine. But if you think I'm letting go of our people's sacred hatred, you're sorely mistaken."
"Yeah, yeah, sacred hatred, got it," Fa Git muttered. "Just make the damn fish stew before I start writing a book called 'How to Get Your Mom to Stop Being a War Criminal'."
And with that, another completely normal morning in the valley began.
Before breakfast, Kum Slet stood before the small ancestral shrine in the corner of their modest home, her hands pressed together in fervent prayer. The dim morning light filtered through the wooden slats, casting flickering shadows over the crude but well-maintained altar—dedicated not to peace, nor prosperity, but to vengeance.
Her amethyst eyes burned with centuries-old hatred as she bowed her head, whispering a prayer that had been passed down through generations of the oppressed and the vengeful.
"May our great and divine creator goddess, Bhramha, hear my words," she intoned, her voice carrying the weight of countless grievances. "May she punish those cursed cum-skins who have tormented our kind for ages, who have stripped us of our lands, our dignity, and our freedom. May their fields dry and turn to dust. May their harvests rot before they ever reach their unworthy hands. May their women wither, their beauty stolen, their wombs left barren."
Fa Git, sitting at the wooden table with his chin resting on his palm, let out a deep sigh. "Mom, please—"
She ignored him.
"May their children drown in the same rivers where they spilled our blood. May famine, sickness, and ruin bless their doors, so that they may know suffering as we have. May they choke on their arrogance, and may the crows feast on their remains."
She exhaled deeply, as if the prayer had cleansed her soul, then turned toward the steaming pot of fish stew bubbling over the fire. "Alright, honey, breakfast is ready."
Fa Git rubbed his temples, letting out a long, suffering groan. "Mom, you can't keep cursing an entire race before breakfast."
Kum Slet ladled stew into a bowl, her expression calm, almost motherly. "Why not? It strengthens the soul."
"It strengthens the warrant for your execution when the imperial elves eventually hear about this."
"Let them hear." She placed a bowl in front of him with a serene smile. "In fact, let them choke on it."
Fa Git sighed again, staring down at his stew.
It was going to be a long day.
With his fishing net slung over his shoulder and the morning mist still clinging to the valley, Fa Git stepped outside, the damp soil cool beneath his bare feet. The scent of the river mixed with the ever-present aroma of freshly caught fish and morning cookfires, filling the air with the unmistakable essence of home.
As he made his way toward the docks, he was met with the familiar sight of his people—neighbors, friends, and elders who had known him since birth, greeting him with nods and waves, their faces warm despite the hardships of their lives.
"Oi, Fa Git!" called out Nik Gers, one of the kids his age, his ash-toned skin still wet from an early morning swim. "Off to catch breakfast, or are you just pretending to work again?"
"As if," Fa Git scoffed, adjusting the net over his shoulder. "Unlike some people, I don't spend my mornings pissing off the fish."
Nik Gers grinned. "The fish deserve it."
Adults were already hard at work, securing their boats and preparing their gear for the day's catch. Among them was Fuk Fase, a burly, broad-shouldered dark elf who had seen his fair share of storms and close calls at sea. His thick arms were covered in scars, each one telling a story of battles with the tides and the beasts lurking beneath the surface.
"Boy!" Fuk Fase called, pausing from sharpening a harpoon. "You best not be slackin'! Your old man was a legend; don't let his name go to waste!"
"Yeah, yeah," Fa Git muttered, rolling his eyes but feeling a small swell of pride nonetheless. His father, Bit Chass, had been one of the finest fishermen the valley had ever seen—charming, fearless, and respected by all. His death had left a hole in the community, but his legacy still lingered in the way people spoke his name.
As he neared the end of the docks, he passed by Old Man Bast Ards, one of the eldest members of the village, his wrinkled face half-hidden behind a long, unkempt beard. The old dark elf sat on a rickety wooden crate, chewing lazily on a piece of dried fish, his violet eyes squinting as if scrutinizing Fa Git's very existence.
"Back in my day," Bast Ards wheezed, pointing a gnarled finger at him, "kids didn't waste time yapping'. They just fished."
"Back in your day, you still had hair," Fa Git shot back, smirking.
The old elf grumbled something unintelligible under his breath but waved him off, returning to his dried fish like it was more important than whatever nonsense the younger generation was up to.
Fa Git exhaled, finally reaching the dock's edge, where the river stretched wide and deep before him, its surface rippling under the weight of unseen creatures below. He gripped his net, feeling the woven fibers dig into his palms. This was his life—fishing, surviving, carrying on his father's name in a valley that, despite everything, felt like home.
And so, with the sun finally breaking through the mist, he took his first step into the river, ready to begin another day.
The sky darkened with an unsettling swiftness, the once gentle morning sun swallowed by a sea of swirling storm clouds. The winds picked up, howling through the valley like the anguished cries of unseen spirits. Fa Git had barely set his net into the water when the first droplets of rain splattered against his skin, cold and sharp like needles.
His fingers tightened around the net's coarse rope. No big deal, he told himself. Just a little storm. We've fished in worse.
But as the wind roared louder, as the waves beneath the dock twisted into restless, foaming beasts, a creeping, familiar terror slithered into his chest.
The sky flashed white.
The crack of thunder that followed rattled his bones.
And in that instant, the world blurred.
The river was no longer the river—it was a graveyard.
The storm that raged now was that storm. The storm that had taken him. The storm that had taken his father.
Fa Git's breath hitched. His grip on the net faltered. The pounding of rain against his skin was no longer rain—it was the icy grip of the river that had swallowed them both whole.
"FA GIT! HOLD ON!"
His father's voice, so clear, echoed in his skull.
"DON'T LET GO! DON'T YOU LET GO!"
His eyes widened as the memory crashed over him like a wave, dragging him back ten years into the past.
He was five again.
The storm had come out of nowhere, swallowing the valley in a wrathful deluge. The boats rocked violently, some breaking apart like brittle twigs. The river, once their source of life, had turned into a raging maw, greedily devouring anything that touched its surface.
His father, Bit Chass, had been a pillar of strength, an immovable force even against nature's fury. He had tied a rope around his waist and dived into the waters without hesitation when Fa Git fell overboard, his strong arms cutting through the waves like a blade.
He had reached him.
Fa Git could still feel the calloused, reassuring grip around his tiny wrist.
But the river was cruel.
A monstrous current, stronger than anything either of them could fight, had surged between them, pulling them apart.
His father had roared in defiance, fighting against the water, pushing himself toward him, but the rope—the one thing tethering him to safety—had snapped.
Fa Git had barely registered what happened before the last thing he saw was his father's desperate eyes, his mouth opening as if to say something—before he was dragged down, swallowed whole by the river's abyss.
And then—nothing.
A child had been pulled to shore.
A father had not.
The memory hit Fa Git so violently, so viscerally, that he staggered backward, his vision spinning. His chest tightened. His breath came in short, ragged bursts.
It's not real. It's not real. It's just a storm—
The dock beneath his feet lurched.
A powerful gust of wind slammed into him, and suddenly—
The world tilted.
His footing slipped.
The last thing he saw was the blurred, storm-darkened sky before the river claimed him.
The cold struck him like a thousand needles. His lungs seized. Water rushed up his nose, his mouth—burning—stealing his breath, forcing itself inside him.
The river's current wrapped around him, ruthless and unyielding, dragging him down, down, down.
He thrashed, panic surging through his limbs, but it was useless. The river was too strong. The weight of his soaked clothes dragged him deeper.
He could hear it.
The eerie, muffled hum of the river. The distorted echo of the world above.
He opened his eyes—and for a split second, in the murky depths, he saw him.
A silhouette, familiar, arms reaching out—
His father.
No…
The water burned. His lungs screamed.
He needed to breathe.
No—!
BREATH BREATH BREATH
His body ignored him.
A sharp, searing pain filled his chest as water rushed in.
His vision darkened. His body went limp.
The river was taking him.
Just like it had taken his father.
And then—
Darkness.
Fa Git woke to the feeling of wet earth beneath his back, his body aching as if he had been trampled by a stampede of beasts. His lungs burned, raw from inhaling the river's cruel grasp, and every breath he took felt like swallowing shards of glass.
His vision was hazy, blurred by lingering panic and exhaustion, but as his senses gradually returned, the first thing he registered was the sound—the soft, eerie whisper of the river still flowing nearby, as if mocking him for surviving.
He was alive.
Barely.
With a sharp inhale, he forced his heavy limbs to move, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The world around him slowly came into focus—the twisted, gnarled trees of the valley stretching toward the sky, their dark leaves rustling in the whispering wind. Thick mist curled along the ground, damp and clinging to his skin like ghostly fingers.
He glanced upward, blinking through his dazed state. There was no sunlight—there was never sunlight in the dark elf valley—but the dense blackness above told him everything he needed to know.
It's night.
His stomach twisted.
He wasn't far from home—if his aching legs could carry him, he could probably walk back before dawn—but that wasn't the problem.
The problem was everything else in this damn valley.
The night was when the valley truly belonged to the creatures.
Giant serpents that slithered through the underbrush, their bodies long enough to wrap around a house and crush it in a heartbeat. Silent, winged horrors that stalked from above, their crimson eyes glowing like embers as they searched for prey.
And worst of all—the ones that walked.
He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the fear creeping up his spine. If he didn't move, he was as good as dead.
His fingers dug into the damp earth, forcing himself to his feet despite the way his legs trembled. His clothes were soaked through, clinging to his skin like a second layer of flesh, making every movement feel sluggish. The net he had carried was gone, likely stolen by the river, but that was the least of his worries.
He turned in the direction of his village, taking a shaky step forward.
Then another.
And another.
Each step sent jolts of pain through his battered body, but he moved. He had to.
The trees loomed around him, their twisting branches creaking as if whispering secrets to one another. The mist thickened with every step, curling between his legs, hiding what lurked beneath.
He wasn't alone.
He could feel it.
The village wasn't far. If he could just make it—
Suddenly, his long elven ears twitched.
Something.
No—someones.
Two humanoid figures. Close.
His body stiffened, instincts kicking in as he silently melted into the thick underbrush, pressing himself low against the damp earth. His breath slowed, his fingers carefully parting the foliage just enough to grant him a clear line of sight.
And then, he saw them.
The first—the one who stood out immediately.
A man.
Tall. Twice as tall as Fa Git.
Towering like one of the massive trees of the valley, his posture radiating an effortless, unshakable confidence.
His eyes.
Crimson.
Not just red—but the kind of red that made freshly spilled blood look dull in comparison. A deep, violent, almost otherworldly shade, glowing faintly even in the dim light of the valley.
And his hair.
Silver—no, pure platinum.
Short, wild, spiked back with an almost calculated carelessness, though a few strands rebelliously dangled down, softening the sharp symmetry of his face. It was the kind of hair that seemed to shimmer unnaturally, as if spun from something not of this world.
And oh, his face.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Flawless symmetry. A jawline sharp enough to cut through steel. Skin touched by the sun yet utterly unblemished. Features that somehow balanced youthful arrogance with something ancient—something Fa Git couldn't place, something that didn't belong to a mortal.
It was wrong.
No one should look like that.
No one should have eyes like that.
No one should have presence like that.
He was the kind of figure pulled straight out of myth—no, not even myth. He was the kind of figure sculpted in the desperate imagination of children whose parents whispered bedtime stories of revenge, of heroes, of warriors who rose from the ashes of oppression to slaughter imperial elves by the thousands.
He was that hero.
Or at least—he looked like one.
The second figure was less striking in comparison, but still notable. A girl. She was standing next to him, her posture rigid yet subtly relaxed, as if she belonged nowhere except right at his side.
Fa Git's heart pounded violently in his chest.
The second figure was less striking in comparison to the silver-haired titan beside her, but still—she was notable.
A girl.
Younger, much closer to his own age.
She stood beside him, her posture paradoxical—rigid yet subtly relaxed, as if her very existence was woven into his presence, as if she belonged nowhere except right there, at his side.
Fa Git's heart pounded violently in his chest, but this time, it wasn't just out of fear.
The girl.
She was an imperial elf.
There was no mistaking it.
Her hair—golden, the unmistakable mark of her kind, but something was wrong. It wasn't the flowing, arrogant mane he had always imagined imperial princesses possessing. It was—short. Jagged. Uneven. The rough, fresh-cut edges made it look as if someone had hacked it off in haste, without care, without precision.
And she was not happy about it.
He could see it in her face, the way her emerald eyes burned with barely contained fury, the way her fingers twitched as if itching to strangle someone.
Something about that made her even more dangerous.
A pissed-off imperial elf was bad. A humiliated one? That was something else entirely.
But even with her shorn locks, she was still ethereal.
Those emerald eyes still gleamed like untamed fire. That golden hair, though cut short, still shimmered in the dim light of the valley, its golden-brown ends brushing against her cheeks. Even stripped of the regal length of her hair, she held herself with an undeniable presence, as if she was royalty, whether or not the world acknowledged it.
She was a tormentor.
She was one of them.
The kind his mother had warned him about. The kind that had enslaved, killed, and spat upon his people for centuries.
And yet.
If this was the kind of torment imperial elves inflicted—if her very existence was an affliction upon his soul—
Then he would gladly suffer.
If she was his oppressor—
Then he would beg for her chains.
She was speaking.
The golden-haired imperial elf.
Her lips moved swiftly, her voice carrying a sharp intensity, her emerald eyes locked onto the silver-haired titan beside her.
Fa Git could hear the sound of her voice, but the words were nothing more than muffled noise from this distance. Yet, even without understanding, he could see it. The sheer weight of what she was saying.
Because the moment the words left her mouth—
The man beside her froze.
Not just a simple pause, not just hesitation—no, this was something else entirely.
His entire existence seemed to seize up for a fraction of a second, his crimson eyes widening ever so slightly, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but had momentarily forgotten how to speak.
It was brief. Just a flicker.
But Fa Git caught it.
The great silver-haired warrior—who looked like the kind of man who could topple mountains with a flick of his wrist—was bamboozled.
No.
He was more than that.
He was flabbergasted.
He was shocked.
The expression on his face was something Fa Git had never imagined he'd see on a man who looked that powerful.
What the hell had she just told him?
Had she declared war? Had she threatened his family? Had she told him some deep, world-altering truth that shattered his understanding of reality itself?
Or—
Had she simply said something so unbelievably stupid that even a man of his apparent stature and strength could not mentally process it?
Fa Git didn't know.
But whatever it was—
It had just shaken the silver-haired warrior to his core.
suddenly the guy punches the girl in the belly, as she fell to the ground, he said something with sigh, something something the fairy called him something back that confused him, it & ran out of the bush.
"I won't let you hurt that fairy, you big beast"
The night air was heavy with tension.
Fa Git's heart pounded in his chest. His breath was ragged, his blood roared in his ears, and yet, despite every rational instinct in his body telling him to run, to not involve himself in whatever the hell was happening between the towering silver-haired monster and the golden-haired fairy, he stepped forward.
No, he charged forward.
"I won't let you hurt that fairy, you big beast!"
Shotaro blinked.
For a brief moment, he just stood there, as if his brain refused to process the absolute absurdity of the situation.
The Dark Elf clenched his fists. His legs pumped as fast as they could. His small, wiry frame lunged toward the silver-haired man, his face twisted in sheer determination—determination born from sheer stupidity and an utter lack of self-preservation.
To Fa Git, this was his moment.
A moment of bravery. A moment of heroism. A moment where he, the son of Bit Chass, the boy who had survived a storm that claimed his father, would stand against overwhelming odds to protect the ethereal princess before him.
To Shotaro, however, this was just another headache.
Before he could even react, it happened.
WHAP!
Fa Git's fist collided with Shotaro's abdomen.
Or at least… that's what should have happened.
Instead—
A sickening, wet crunch echoed in the air.
The world froze.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Then, Fa Git's face contorted into sheer, unfiltered agony as the reality of what had just happened set in.
"AHHHHHHHHHH—"
The scream tore through the night like a banshee's wail.
He stumbled backward, clutching his right hand. His fingers—his poor, brittle, teenage fingers—were twisted at angles they definitely should not have been. Tears welled up in his eyes as he cradled his mangled appendage.
"FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK—AHHHH, MY HAND—WHY IS IT LIKE THIS?!"
Shotaro looked down at him.
No emotion. No reaction. Just staring.
His crimson eyes flickered from the sobbing Dark Elf to his own abs, which remained completely unscathed. Not even a smudge on his clothes.
Shotaro exhaled.
Loudly.
He sighed.
This kid. This fucking kid.
Shotaro ran a hand down his face, his exhaustion manifesting in every fiber of his being.
He hadn't even moved.
This idiot had just thrown his entire existence into a man who had casually sent mountain bandits into early retirement, and now he was acting surprised that his frail, untrained bones had betrayed him.
Is this real life? Shotaro wondered. Is this actually happening?
A dark shadow passed over his face.
And then—
A final sigh.
Tired. Weary. As if the world itself was just too much for him to deal with right now.
"Fuck them kids."
Before Fa Git could react—
BAM.
A palm. A casual palm.
It wasn't even a proper attack—just a lazy, effortless bitch-slap—and yet the sheer difference in mass, strength, and overall existence was so vast that the Dark Elf's body crumpled like a ragdoll.
The impact sent him straight into the dirt.
His head bounced off the ground with a dull thud before his body twitched once—just once—before going completely limp.
There was no dramatic resistance. No inner monologue of defiance.
Just unconsciousness.
The poor kid had blacked out before his body even fully hit the ground.
Shotaro lowered his hand, exhaling through his nose.
Shotaro exhaled.
The humid night air did nothing to soothe his growing exhaustion. His crimson eyes flickered downward, away from the unconscious dark elf sprawled out in the dirt, and back toward Paliv—the so-called fairy princess who, at this moment, looked anything but regal.
She was still lying on the ground, curled up slightly, her arms wrapped around her stomach as if cradling the very concept of pain itself.
A slow, wheezing breath escaped her lips.
Then another.
And another.
Like an old man who had just been forced to sprint up twenty flights of stairs, only to realize at the top that he had left his cane at the bottom.
Her golden-brown strands, still freshly cut, were a mess, sticking to her sweat-slick forehead. Her emerald eyes, usually sharp and filled with that signature bratty arrogance, were dull and glassy, barely able to stay open.
It was actually kind of pathetic.
Shotaro stared at her for a long, drawn-out moment, his face unreadable.
Paliv groaned softly. It was a sound of pure, defeated misery—the kind that only came from getting your soul metaphorically, and in her case physically, beaten out of your body.
Shotaro sighed.
Again.
Longer this time.
Louder.
The kind of sigh that carried the weight of a man who was so incredibly done with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"This," he muttered to himself, "is going to be a long night."
With another sigh, Shotaro turned his attention away from Paliv's groaning form and toward the unconscious dark elf kid. The boy was sprawled out in the dirt, limbs twitching slightly, still whimpering in his sleep like a dog that had just been punted by fate itself.
Shotaro approached him, crouched slightly, and then, with the barest amount of effort, nudged him in the stomach with the tip of his foot.
Not hard. Just enough pressure to wake him up.
The boy groaned. His eyelids fluttered. His face scrunched in discomfort. Then, with a weak cough, he cracked one eye open.
Shotaro sighed, already feeling the headache coming. "Okay, introduction first," he said, his voice flat. "Name's Mugiwara Shotaro."
The dark elf boy blinked blearily up at him, his brain clearly still trying to catch up to the situation. He smacked his dry lips, swallowed, and then rasped out:
"Fa... Fa Git..."
Shotaro immediately closed his eyes.
And sighed.
Shotaro stared at the dark elf kid for a long, long moment. His crimson eyes, sharp and piercing, flickered between the boy's face and the way he was still curled up on the ground, clutching his broken hand like it was some rare treasure.
Then, slowly—painfully slowly—Shotaro dragged a hand down his face.
He closed his eyes. He inhaled. Exhaled.
And then, with the weight of a man who had seen far too much bullshit in his fifteen years of life, he muttered under his breath:
"What is up with these dark elf names?"
A groggy groan came from the ground.
Paliv, still lying flat on her back, finally stirred, one hand weakly clutching her stomach where Shotaro had so rudely socked her earlier. She turned her head just enough to glare at him, her emerald eyes half-lidded with exhausted irritation.
"Again with the sass," she grumbled, voice raspy. "Can you go five minutes without running your mouth like a damn street performer?"
Shotaro didn't even look at her. He just exhaled long and slow, tilting his head toward the sky like he was asking the heavens for patience.
Paliv looked at Fa Git as he woke up, her inner racism acting on sight.
Paliv finally managed to push herself up, rubbing her sore stomach with a wince. She was barely back on her feet when her emerald eyes landed on the dark elf boy sitting nearby, still clutching his mangled hand like a wounded animal.
Her exhausted expression instantly contorted into disgust.
"Damn it… a soot skin!!!"
The sheer venom in her voice was enough to make the leaves tremble.
Fa Git blinked. Then blinked again. Then, much to Shotaro's utter horror, his battered face lit up like he'd just been complimented by a goddess herself.
"Oh my Creator, she noticed me."
Paliv scowled. "The hell is wrong with you?"
Fa Git clasped his unbroken hand over his heart, his dark cheeks warming as he absorbed the insult like it was the finest praise ever bestowed upon a mortal being. "She hates me specifically…" he whispered in awe.
Shotaro ran a hand down his face. "Oh, fantastic, he's into it."
Paliv recoiled, staring at Fa Git like he had personally offended her ancestors. "You—why are you smiling?"
"Your hatred burns brighter than the legendary forge-fires of my people," Fa Git said, his voice shaking with reverence. "Truly, to be despised by an imperial elf of your caliber—nay, your beauty—is an honor I shall cherish for eternity."
Shotaro gawked at him. "What."
Paliv looked physically ill. "What."
Fa Git, despite cradling his broken hand, looked like he had never been happier in his entire life. "To be reviled by a daughter of the empire itself—to be called soot skin to my very face!—I can hardly contain my joy!" He turned his shimmering amethyst gaze toward the sky. "Mother, Father, if you can hear me from beyond the veil… I have made it."
Paliv took a slow, deep breath. Then turned to Shotaro.
"…Kill him."
Shotaro gave her an are you serious look. "Girl, nobody's killing him. I already folded him once, I think he liked it."
Fa Git gasped, his bruised face lighting up with a mix of pure, unfiltered joy and something far more disturbing.
"You are my romantic rival!"
"NO, I AM NOT!" Shotaro and Paliv shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the dark valley.
Shotaro exhaled hard through his nose, rubbing his temples as he turned to the dark elf boy, who was still trembling—not from fear, but from sheer, overjoyed excitement. His lips were curled into a lovesick smile, his dark amethyst eyes practically glowing in the dim moonlight.
Shotaro squinted at him. "Damn it… This kid's a masochist."
Paliv took a slow step back, as if she had just realized she was standing too close to something contagious.
Shotaro sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, brat, real talk—do you possess self-respect? Or did it die along with your brain cells when I smacked you earlier?"
Fa Git barely even registered the insult. He was too busy gazing at Paliv like she was the goddess of his dreams made flesh.
"I don't know why my mother hates imperial elves like you," he mused aloud, his voice soft with curiosity as his wide eyes admired every detail of Paliv's disgusted expression.
Paliv curled her lip, absolutely repulsed by the way he was looking at her. "Tch. Filthy soot skin."
Then, with a sharp ptoo! she spat at him.
Shotaro barely had time to react.
Because Fa Git—this insane little freak—didn't move out of the way.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't dodge.
Instead, he leaned in.
His mouth opened.
And he caught the spit—
—directly on his tongue.
There was silence.
Horrible, suffocating, soul-crushing silence.
The breeze stopped. The insects in the night ceased their songs. Even the distant howls of beasts lurking in the dark elven valley fell quiet. It was as if the entire world itself had recoiled in abject horror at what had just transpired.
Paliv stood frozen in place, her emerald eyes locked on the dark elf before her, her brain unable to compute what she had just witnessed.
Shotaro, meanwhile, stared in absolute disbelief, his mouth slightly open, his hands limp at his sides.
Fa Git—this broken-handed, lovestruck dark elf—closed his mouth and swallowed.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Shotaro's scream tore through the valley, shattering the oppressive silence.
Paliv staggered backward, her hands trembling as if she had just touched something unclean.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Shotaro howled, grabbing the sides of his head.
Fa Git, however, was unfazed. His entire body was visibly trembling, his face a deep shade of red as he exhaled shakily, his breath hitching like a man who had just achieved spiritual enlightenment.
"…It tastes like divine oppresion."
Paliv gagged. Shotaro actually had to take a step away from him.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," Paliv croaked, clutching her stomach.
"I knew it," Shotaro muttered under his breath, eyes wide with horror. "I knew this kid was a freak. But this—this is a whole new level."
Fa Git wiped his mouth dramatically, looking up at Paliv like she had just granted him the highest honor known to dark elvenkind.
"My lady… I shall never wash my mouth again."
Paliv recoiled so hard she nearly fell over. "WASH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH."
Shotaro clutched his chest, feeling his soul physically leaving his body. "This is it. This is my breaking point. I can handle war. I can handle imperial politics. I can handle magic-powered lunatics trying to kill me every other week." His crimson eyes twitched as he pointed an accusatory finger at Fa Git. "But this? This shit?! I'm tapping out. I quit."
Fa Git tilted his head, confused. "Why are you both so shocked?"
Shotaro wheeled on him. "WHY ARE YOU SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS?!"
Fa Git, completely unfazed, turned back to Paliv. His expression softened, like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.
"Thank you, my beloved," he whispered.
Paliv's body convulsed.
Shotaro, watching her face cycle through seven different shades of nausea, couldn't help but grin. "Oh, now you see my pain?"
Paliv, utterly destroyed, could only wheeze, "Kill me."
Shotaro had seen a lot of shit in his life.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
Fa Git, with his broken hand and lovestruck expression, was still gazing at Paliv like she was the moon, the stars, and the entire damn cosmos all wrapped into one.
Meanwhile, Paliv looked like she was actively trying not to vomit. Her entire body was tense, her hands shaking slightly at her sides. The sheer level of secondhand embarrassment radiating off her could have incinerated a village.
Shotaro pinched the bridge of his nose. His patience was already running on fumes, and this… this was not helping.
Then, finally, he exhaled.
And with all the straightforward bluntness that made him who he was, he turned to Fa Git and stated,
"This is why your kind was enslaved for so many years."
The weight of Shotaro's words settled in the air like a guillotine suspended by a fraying rope.
Paliv blinked. Then, ever so slowly, the corners of her lips twitched downward into a frown.
And with all the deep-seated bigotry ingrained into her from birth, she turned toward Fa Git, looked him dead in the eyes, and said—
"This is why my mom told me to throw a slur when seeing a soot skin on sight."
The words cut through the night air like a blade of pure, concentrated malice.
Fa Git, however, did not react like a normal person would.
Instead of recoiling, instead of flinching in offense, instead of challenging her with indignation and pride—his breath hitched. His shoulders trembled. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
But not in anger.
No.
This was something far, far worse.
He took a deep, shaking inhale—like a devout believer receiving a blessing from the gods themselves.
"…I see," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, yet filled with something akin to reverence.
Shotaro's stomach churned. His soul, his very being, recoiled at the sight before him.
Paliv, however, was far too disgusted to even register the abomination she had just created. With a final sneer of contempt, she turned away from the dark elf and wiped her hands as if ridding herself of his mere existence.
Fa Git, despite having been racially obliterated, looked like a man who had just been kissed by destiny itself.
Shotaro, unwilling to let the moment linger for even a second longer, cleared his throat, shattering the suffocating silence.
"Alright. Enough of…whatever the hell this is."
Fa Git, still recovering from his bliss, blinked rapidly, seeming to remember that other people existed in the world. With an awkward cough, he straightened his posture and cleared his throat.
"Well, then… Why are you two here?" he asked, finally addressing the elephant in the room.
His eyes flickered between them, taking in Shotaro's imposing figure and Paliv's unimpressed scowl.
Shotaro met his gaze evenly, then exhaled through his nose.
"My name's Mugiwara Shotaro," he said, his tone level, his crimson eyes steady. "Adopted by Queen Mellirion."
At that, Fa Git stiffened. His eyes widened just a fraction, but he said nothing.
Shotaro tilted his head toward Paliv. "And this little brat—"
"I heard that."
"—is Paliv Ellarion. Heir to the throne."
Fa Git's expression froze.
The silence stretched for a beat.
Then another.
His gaze slowly, slowly drifted toward Paliv, as if seeing her in a completely different light.
An imperial elf.
A royal imperial elf.
A girl born into power, privilege, and prestige.
The heiress to the kingdom that had oppressed his people for generations.
And yet.
Yet.
His face turned red. His ears twitched. His hands trembled.
Paliv immediately took a step back, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What the hell is wrong with him now?"
Fa Git's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
A spark of something dangerous flickered in his gaze. Something deranged.
Shotaro felt a chill run down his spine.
"Don't—"
"I—"
"Don't you fucking dare—"
"I WOULD GLADLY BECOME A SLAVE TO ROYALTY—!!!"
Paliv gagged so hard she nearly threw up.
Shotaro felt his soul leave his body.
And in that moment, as Fa Git clasped his hands together, eyes burning with devotion, Shotaro came to a simple, singular conclusion.
This dark elf boy was, without a doubt, the single worst living being he had ever encountered in his entire life.
Shotaro pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply through clenched teeth.
He could feel it.
The migraine.
The throbbing, pulsating pain at the back of his skull, crawling its way forward like a venomous centipede of pure, unfiltered frustration.
This kid.
This fucking kid.
He exhaled through his nose, leveling Fa Git with a stare so blank, so hollow, so devoid of patience, that even Paliv—who had spent her entire life mastering the art of being unimpressed—looked mildly concerned.
"Do you not understand what diplomacy means?" Shotaro asked, his voice carrying the exasperation of a man who had been forced to tutor a goldfish in advanced mathematics.
Fa Git blinked. Then tilted his head.
"Umm…" He furrowed his brows, as if trying to recall the meaning of a word he had never even bothered to learn.
Then, finally, with all the confidence of a man stepping into battle unarmed, he answered—
"…No?"
Shotaro closed his eyes. His jaw tightened. His fists curled at his sides.
Paliv, on the other hand, had already given up on the conversation. She threw her hands in the air, exhaling sharply. "I told you these soot skins were dumb as bricks."
"HEY!" Fa Git protested, but it lacked any real anger—probably because the moment the slur left her lips, he looked like he had been blessed by the gods again.
Shotaro, unwilling to let this downward spiral continue, took a sharp step forward, looming over Fa Git's much smaller frame.
"Listen to me, and listen well," he said, voice low, tone dangerously flat.
Fa Git gulped.
Shotaro jabbed a finger against his forehead—not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.
"No one is enslaving anyone."
The dark elf frowned, confused. "Wait… what?"
Shotaro's eye twitched.
"I said, no one. Is. Enslaving.Anyone."
Fa Git blinked again, his brain seemingly buffering. "But… that's just what people do, isn't it?"
Paliv scoffed. "Your people, maybe."
"Oh, like your people are any better?" Fa Git shot back, crossing his arms.
Shotaro massaged his temples. "I hate both of you."
They ignored him.
"This is why we should go back to the old days," Fa Git continued, as if he hadn't just made the most batshit insane statement of the century. "Where someone has to be in charge, and someone has to be on the bottom. That's just how the world works."
Paliv smirked, flipping her hair—before realizing her hair was cut short and scowling again. "Finally, something you said that isn't entirely stupid."
Shotaro groaned.
Loudly.
"Dear god," he muttered. "I am surrounded by retards."
Fa Git looked up at him, still thoroughly confused. "So… if no one's being enslaved, what is diplomacy?"
Shotaro opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then sighed deeply, rubbing his face with both hands.
He had neither the time nor the mental energy to explain the fundamentals of political relations to a teenage dark elf with Stockholm Syndrome.
"Forget it," he muttered. "Just… forget it."
And with that, he turned on his heel and began walking away.
Fa Git, still completely lost, turned to Paliv for guidance. "So… what's diplomacy?"
Paliv sneered. "It means I tolerate your existence for the sake of not committing war crimes."
"…Oh."
A beat.
Then Fa Git brightened, his face lighting up with disturbing enthusiasm.
"So… there's a chance I could be enslaved someday?"
Shotaro did not turn around.
Did not acknowledge the sentence that had just been spoken into existence.
He simply continued walking, his pace steady, his aura dark.
Paliv, however, sneered, glancing at Fa Git with something close to amusement.
"Oh, don't worry, soot skin," she said, voice dripping with condescension. "With how pathetically eager you are, I'm sure someone, somewhere, will take pity on your masochistic ass."
Fa Git gasped. His hands clenched over his chest.
"My lady," he whispered, looking at her as if she were the goddess of his dreams.
Shotaro, upon hearing this exchange, deadass considered letting the forest beasts eat them both.
Shotaro stopped in his tracks, turned slightly, and fixed Fa Git with a look.
A look that said, You better have a damn good explanation for this nonsense.
"How did you even get here?" he asked, arms crossed. "So deep in the forest, so late at night?"
Fa Git, still rubbing his swollen cheek from Shotaro's earlier smack, straightened up and tried to appear dignified. Which was hard to do when you looked like a stray dog that had just been punted across a field.
"I fell into the river during a storm," he said, puffing his chest slightly, as if this were some grand feat. "And I washed up all the way here."
Silence.
Shotaro blinked once.
Paliv blinked twice.
Then, with visible confusion, she frowned and asked, "There was a storm?"
Her tone was skeptical, her emerald eyes narrowing. After all, if a storm had rolled through, she would have noticed it. Would have felt it. Yet, there had been nothing but the eerie quiet of the forest since she and Shotaro had arrived.
Shotaro, however, processed it a little differently. His brows furrowed as he crossed his arms, the gears in his head turning. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, "Must have appeared when we were still in that… dungeon fighting that bug."
Fa Git, however, was the first to break the quiet.
"So… uh…" he said, shifting awkwardly. "What kinda bug are we talking about here?"
Shotaro didn't even bother answering. He just exhaled sharply, turned away, and ignored Fa Git entirely, as if he were nothing more than background noise.
Fa Git blinked. "Uh… hello? I just asked a question?"
Shotaro kept walking.
"…Hey?" Fa Git tried again. "Are you just gonna ignore me?"
"Just take us to your tribe or something," Shotaro said, sounding like he had already decided this was happening, whether Fa Git liked it or not. "We were heading that way anyway."
Fa Git froze.
His first instinct was to say yes—because of course, guiding an ethereal imperial elf princess through the night like some kind of gallant escort was the kind of scenario he had only ever dreamed about. The idea of walking beside her, exchanging words, maybe even making her laugh—oh, the mere thought sent his heart into overdrive.
But then reality hit him like a brick to the face.
His mother.
His mother hated imperial elves.
Not in a mild dislike kind of way. No, no, no—this was pure, undiluted, generational fury. The kind of hatred that was passed down like a sacred family heirloom. The kind of hatred that fueled every story he had ever heard as a child, every whispered warning, every bedtime tale that ended in imperial elves being struck down in a blaze of justice.
And while he personally didn't share the same level of burning rage, he also wasn't exactly fond of them either.
Or at least…
That's what he had thought.
Until he saw her.
Paliv.
She was supposed to be his enemy. A descendant of oppressors. A privileged imperial elf who had never known suffering.
And yet…
The golden-brown locks, freshly cut, jagged at the ends, evidence of some recent humiliation. The emerald eyes, gleaming in the dim light, defiant yet carrying a weight he couldn't quite place.
Could someone this radiant truly be his enemy?
His mother's voice echoed in his head. "Imperial elves are heartless monsters, bred only to oppress and destroy."
But looking at her now, sprawled on the ground, cursing at the big silver-haired guy like an angry house cat—Fa Git wasn't so sure.
He gulped.
"Uh…" He hesitated. "Listen, about that… My mom—she's, uh, not exactly fond of, you know…"
Shotaro raised an eyebrow. "Spit it out."
Fa Git coughed. "She's kind of… a radical extremist who writes… um… books about the downfall of your entire bloodline."
Silence.
Paliv blinked. "...The fuck did you just say?"
"I-I mean, she's never actually murdered an imperial elf before—at least, not that I know of—"
"That is not reassuring," Shotaro deadpanned.
"Probably not murdered," Fa Git corrected quickly.
Shotaro sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Okay, okay, look," Fa Git tried to salvage the situation. "If I take you guys there, you just have to promise not to say anything that might set her off!"
"Set her off?" Paliv scoffed. "You make it sound like we're trying not to spook a wild animal."
"That's… actually a great way to describe my mom," Fa Git admitted.
Paliv groaned. "This is a mistake."
Shotaro exhaled sharply. "Look, we were going there anyway. If things go south, I'll handle it."
Paliv gave him a flat look. "Handle it? You mean you'll just beat up his mom?"
"If I have to," Shotaro said with a shrug.
Fa Git winced. "Yeah, uh… Please don't do that. She's, like, very respected. If you beat her up, it might start a war."
Shotaro tilted his head. "Might?"
Fa Git cleared his throat. "Okay, definitely will start a war."
"Noted," Shotaro muttered.
Paliv, arms crossed, looked more irritated than ever. "I hate everything about this."
"Join the club," Shotaro said.
With that, Fa Git sighed and gestured for them to follow.
"Alright… Just… try not to get us all killed," he grumbled.
And so, against every ounce of common sense, Fa Git led them toward the very last place an imperial elf should ever set foot.