Shotaro blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly, as he processed Halasar's words. There was something profoundly wrong about the way the old elf spoke—an unsettling calmness in his tone, a glint in his eyes that suggested he knew exactly what kind of chaos his words were about to unleash. The weight of history hung in the air, suffocating, thick with the scent of ancient deals and divine machinations. The realm of gods, it seemed, was no simple matter of logic.
He straightened, shoulders tensing with a mix of irritation and confusion. "Ok, so…" he began, his voice laced with the patience of someone who had been dragged into yet another mess that had nothing to do with his personal ambitions. "Where can I find one?"
Halasar's eyes twinkled with a touch of mischief—an odd thing for an elf who had lived through so many ages. "Try, Urvashi," he said, his voice low, almost as though sharing a forbidden secret.
Shotaro's face froze. His mind immediately went into overdrive, processing the name like a punch to the gut. Urvashi?
"I beg your fucking pardon?" Shotaro repeated, his tone now a mix of disbelief and genuine alarm.
Fa Git's face twitched, his mind racing to remember if he'd ever heard that name before—he hadn't. But the tension building in the room, like the electric charge before a storm, made it clear that whatever Urvashi was, Shotaro was not going to like it.
Halasar seemed to enjoy Shotaro's reaction far too much, his lips curling into a sly grin. "Urvashi," he repeated, drawing the name out like a forbidden incantation, "is one of the most renowned Apsaras in the Aetherian domains. She is… quite effective when it comes to negotiating with those who have a stubborn sense of pride."
Shotaro's hand went instinctively to his forehead, as if to prevent his brain from melting under the weight of this revelation. "You're telling me I have to… negotiate with an Apsara?" he muttered to himself, trying to contain the visceral reaction that came with the realization that his diplomatic efforts would now be bound to the whims of someone who likely existed in the realms of dreams and divine politics. "What am I supposed to do, make some kind of offering?"
"Oh, no," Halasar chuckled softly, the sound more like the rasp of a thousand-year-old relic being unearthed. "You don't offer her anything, boy. She'll make the offer. You just have to decide if you're willing to accept the terms."
Shotaro's gaze locked with Halasar's, his mind running wild. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Halasar simply raised an eyebrow. "It means she will do whatever it takes to get the deal done. And if she decides the best way to close the deal is through… unconventional means…" He shrugged, the motion impossibly casual for someone who had lived through the rise and fall of countless empires. "Well, you'll need to be prepared for that."
Fa Git glanced nervously between Shotaro and Halasar, still trying to understand the gravity of the conversation. "So… what? You're telling me Urvashi's… methods are…?" He trailed off, unsure how to phrase it without sounding like he'd gone mad.
"Let's just say, she's known for her charm," Halasar replied, his voice dripping with an odd amusement. "And her persuasive abilities can work on nearly anyone—whether they like it or not." His grin stretched, revealing far too many sharp teeth for comfort.
Shotaro's mind was a whirlwind. He had barely survived the political chaos of the Imperial Elves, survived warlords and assassins, faced down divine beasts—but now, now he was being told that he had to deal with an Apsara. A creature of seduction, influence, and manipulation who had the power to sway the very hearts of gods themselves.
He sighed deeply, sinking into a chair and massaging his temples. "This is going to be a nightmare."
"Oh, but think of it, my boy," Halasar said, his tone syrupy sweet, "Urvashi's… methods could very well make or break your diplomacy. I dare say the fate of kingdoms might hinge on her… charming ways."
Shotaro closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process the insanity of what was being asked of him. Negotiate with an Apsara, he thought. And then what? Pray she doesn't break my will, or worse, my sanity.
Paliv, now more concerned than ever, leaned in and spoke up, her voice tight with growing concern. "And you want me to… what? Was it you who seduced him into diplomacy? Let her do the talking?"
Shotaro shrugged, still rubbing his temples. "I guess... if that's what it takes."
"I swear," Fa Git muttered under his breath, "I can't decide which one of you is crazier."
"But be warned" Halsar said "about Urvashi.
Shotaro's mind raced, processing Halasar's words as his chest tightened with every syllable. The mention of Urvashi seemed to linger in the air like a cursed sigil, dark and foreboding. Shotaro could already feel his sense of control slipping, his grip on the situation unraveling in ways he could never have predicted.
"I beg your fucking pardon?" he repeated, now entirely aware that his diplomatic life had just taken a terrifying, unpredictable turn.
Fa Git flinched at the tension rising in the room, his instincts screaming that this was a conversation he should not be in. He opened his mouth, but the words died on his lips. No one in this room could possibly be prepared for what was coming.
Halasar leaned back with an eerie calmness, his voice dipping lower, and a shadow of seriousness crossed his ageless features. "Urvashi," he began, as though the name itself needed to be handled with reverence, "is not a diplomat you want to take lightly." His fingers ran thoughtfully through his impossibly long beard, and his eyes darkened in a way that made the room feel even more oppressive. "She has a temper—a very short one, and it's extremely volatile."
Shotaro stiffened. "What are you saying?" he asked, though the warning was already starting to seep into his bones.
Halasar's tone grew heavier, and his gaze hardened. "What I'm saying, my boy, is that Urvashi is no mere flirt or seductress. She's a weapon—a weapon of diplomacy, yes, but one forged in the fires of chaos, violence, and destruction. You think you've seen rage? You haven't seen anything until you've seen her lose her patience."
Fa Git shifted uncomfortably, casting a glance at Shotaro. "What are you talking about? Is she—"
"Her fuse is razor thin," Halasar interrupted, his voice now a low, gravelly warning. "It takes nothing—absolutely nothing—for her to snap. I've seen gods quiver before her wrath. A simple insult, a misstep in tone, even a glance can set her off." His eyes locked with Shotaro's, his gaze piercing through him. "And when she snaps, it's… catastrophic. If you approach her wrong, you will regret it, in ways you cannot possibly understand. I've seen entire kingdoms undone by one wrong word."
The air around them grew suffocating, the weight of Halasar's words pressing on Shotaro's chest like a boulder. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "So, what—avoid pissing her off is the plan?"
Halasar nodded slowly, his eyes dark with grim understanding. "Exactly. You need to tread very carefully. She's got the wisdom of gods, the beauty of a thousand sunsets, and the temper of a star on the verge of collapse. One wrong step, and she won't hesitate to reduce your best-laid plans to ashes." He paused, letting the gravity of the situation settle into the air. "And trust me, boy, you do not want to see that side of her. Ever."
Shotaro took a deep breath, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his hands into fists. He had dealt with plenty of dangerous situations, from the imperial elves to cosmic threats, but this? This felt different. "How do I approach her, then?"
Halasar's lips curled into a knowing grin, but there was no humor in it—only the cold, calculated assurance of someone who had seen the worst of what the world had to offer. "You approach her with humility, and a great deal of respect. Don't assume you know anything about her, or about the power she wields. Speak only when spoken to. And for the love of whatever gods you believe in, never challenge her. If she decides you are useful, she may deign to help you. But if she decides you're nothing more than a fly in her web... well, there are far worse fates."
Shotaro felt the weight of Halasar's words settle in his gut. He was no stranger to high-stakes diplomacy or dealing with powerful figures—but Urvashi was a different beast entirely. He could practically feel the intensity of her presence even now, a looming shadow on the edge of his perception.
"Alright, then," Shotaro said, his voice steady despite the storm brewing in his mind. "Where can I find her?"
Halasar's smile was tinged with something dark, something ancient, as he leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "She is often found where the gods walk—between the mortal world and the divine. Somewhere in the twisting paths of the Aetherian realms. But beware, Shotaro. If you do find her, it will not be on your terms. You will never have the upper hand with Urvashi. She will give you a choice, and she will make it her choice. There are no negotiations. There is only her will, and your survival."
Shotaro's jaw clenched. The stakes were higher than he had anticipated, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He couldn't exactly ignore Halasar's advice, and dealing with the panchayat required diplomacy from a higher plane.
Fa Git's hand went to his face as he let out a low groan, his forehead creasing in disbelief. "I can't believe this," he muttered, shaking his head slowly. "I was worried about the elves and their politics, but now we have to deal with this… Urvashi? Gods help us." He glanced at Shotaro, who stood in front of him, looking eerily composed despite the chaos that had unfolded around them. Fa Git wasn't sure if Shotaro was a genius or completely out of his mind.
Paliv, however, was eerily silent, her sharp, calculating eyes narrowing as she processed the gravity of Halasar's warning. Her posture was immaculate—her slender frame exuding the quiet power of someone well aware of their own abilities. She stood still, only the faintest shift of her gaze betraying the tension she was feeling. She wasn't easily rattled by much, but even she understood the sheer magnitude of the situation.
Her crimson robes, trimmed with silver thread, clung to her form, elegant yet undeniably intimidating. The fabric flowed around her like liquid fire, the dark red and silver interplay capturing the light of the surroundings, as though she were a living embodiment of imperial grace. Her amethyst eyes flickered with something darker now—a hint of unease, barely perceptible to anyone else, but enough for those who knew her well to notice.
"Are you sure this is the only way?" she asked, her voice quiet, carrying with it an unsettling weight. There was no arrogance in her tone, no haughty dismissal, just a solemnity that cut through the air like a blade. She could feel the tension, the unspoken threat that loomed in the air, as if the very fabric of reality held its breath, waiting for what was to come.
Shotaro, ever the calm and collected one, turned to face her, his expression a curious blend of determination and resignation. There was no arrogance, no swagger in his stance, just an unwavering resolve that hinted at the struggles that lay ahead. His gaze locked with Paliv's, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold still. He could feel the weight of her concern, the sharpness in her eyes that was always present but now tinged with something deeper—something rare for her.
"Looks like it's the only game in town," Shotaro said, his voice steady, but underneath it, there was a quiet acknowledgment of the dangers that lay ahead. The gods had played their part in this, and now, so would he.
The air hung thick with the weight of Halasar's words, their impact sinking deeper into Shotaro's chest with every passing second. The quiet hum of the world around them seemed to fade into the background as the full force of what Halasar had said settled over them. Shotaro felt the tension in his chest grow, his heart beating faster. This is only the beginning, he thought. A storm is coming, and it's going to change everything.
Halasar, his presence now even more imposing, leaned forward, his ancient eyes glinting with a knowing, almost predatory gleam. He held their attention effortlessly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he continued to unravel the mystery of the Apsaras. "Valkyries are warriors of renown," he began, his deep voice carrying the weight of history. "They fight not for themselves but for the cause of the gods. Bards are protected by the laws of the world itself, their songs carrying the will of the divine, untouchable by mortal harm." He paused for effect, letting the words linger in the air like the last breath of a dying storm.
Shotaro, Paliv, and Fa Git listened intently, but it was clear from the tension in their postures that they were all bracing for the revelation that followed. Halasar's eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice tinged with an ancient, knowing sorrow. "But Apsaras… they are different. They carry with them a power unlike any other. They wield curses, terrible curses that are capable of bringing even the mightiest gods to their knees."
Shotaro's brow furrowed, the implications of Halasar's words sinking in. "Curses," he muttered, the word itself heavy with its dark meaning. "What kind of curses are we talking about here?"
Halasar's lips curled into a grim smile, one that spoke of old battles fought and lost, of cosmic forces bent on twisting the fate of gods and mortals alike. "Apsaras don't just curse their enemies—they break them. They have the authority over the very threads of fate. Their curses unravel the world, altering the course of events itself. Even gods are not immune. They can break a man's will, twist his heart, destroy his soul with but a whisper. They're a force of nature, as dangerous as they are elusive."
Fa Git shivered, and even Paliv's stoic composure seemed to falter for a fraction of a second. Apsaras were gods in their own right, wielding a power that even the most divine of beings feared.
Shotaro stared at Halasar, his mind racing. "So, if we're going to approach Urvashi… we'll need to be careful," he said, his voice trailing off as the full weight of what he was about to do came crashing down on him.
Halasar's expression softened, though the edge of caution never left his words. "You must understand, Shotaro, Urvashi doesn't negotiate like the others. She doesn't deal in promises or favors. She deals in consequences—dire ones. If she feels wronged or threatened, even in the slightest, she will not hesitate to unleash a curse that will have ripples throughout the fabric of reality itself."
The words hung in the air, thick with a palpable sense of dread. Paliv's emerald eyes glowed faintly in the dim light as she absorbed the depth of Halasar's warning. "So we walk into the jaws of a goddess with a curse in her mouth," she said, her voice deceptively calm but with an undercurrent of trepidation. "Great."
Fa Git let out a long sigh, scratching the back of his head. "I think I'd rather go back to dealing with those elves at this point." He gave Shotaro a sideways glance. "At least they don't have the power to literally destroy you with a curse."
Shotaro, ever the calm strategist, took a deep breath and looked at the group. "Alright," he said, a flicker of determination crossing his face. "We'll approach her carefully. No mistakes. And if we do everything right, maybe we'll walk out of this with a little less chaos than expected."
Fa Git's snort was the only sound that broke the tense silence that had settled over the group. He couldn't help it—he'd seen Shotaro handle near-impossible situation with little with the penetrator more than a cocky grin and a miracle waiting to happen, but this? This was different. Shotaro might have had the luck of the gods on his side, but even Fa Git knew there were forces in the world that couldn't be swayed by sheer willpower or charm.
"Yeah, right. It's Shotaro we're talking about," Fa Git muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, his gaze flickering toward Shotaro, who stood there, resolute as ever, his expression locked in a stoic mask. Paliv, too, remained eerily silent, though her posture had become even more rigid, as if bracing for something that was far beyond their control.
Shotaro didn't respond to Fa Git's remark, his eyes focused on Halasar. The ancient elf had been speaking with a quiet intensity, weaving tales of gods, curses, and ancient forces. There was a palpable weight to every word he uttered, as if he was recounting something much more than mere history—something alive and dangerous.
Fa Git shifted again, uncomfortable with the way the conversation had taken such a dark turn. "So, uh..." he began, clearing his throat. "How angry are we talking about here?" His voice was a little too light, too casual, in an attempt to mask his own growing unease.
Halasar turned to him, his ancient, weathered face unchanging, the light from the flickering flames casting shadows that seemed to deepen the lines etched into his skin. His piercing eyes, a shade of pale green that reminded one of the distant sea, locked onto Fa Git with a knowing intensity. "You have no idea, young one," he said, his voice a low, rumbling murmur that seemed to vibrate in the very air around them.
Halasar's lips curved upward slightly, though it wasn't a smile. It was a grim, sorrowful twist of the mouth, a sad recognition of the tragedy that was about to unfold. "Urvashi," he began, his tone dropping lower, "is not one to be angered lightly. She is a being of immense beauty and power, one who commands the winds, the seas, and the very stars themselves when she is so inclined." His voice wavered slightly, as though the weight of what he was about to reveal had even him momentarily lost for words.
Fa Git raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah. Big deal. Power, beauty, whatever. But how angry are we talking about here? Are we talking 'throwing a tantrum and breaking dishes' level, or—?"
Halasar's piercing gaze snapped to Fa Git, cutting off his words mid-sentence. For a brief moment, the old elf seemed to peer into Fa Git's very soul, as if searching for some hidden truth buried deep within him. "You do not understand," Halasar said, his voice suddenly sharp, the weight of centuries behind it. "Urvashi does not simply throw tantrums. When she is wronged—when her wrath is called upon—she can tear apart the very fabric of reality. The fabric of existence itself."
The air around them grew still, the weight of his words pressing down on the group. Paliv, ever the poised princess, remained motionless, though her sharp eyes betrayed the flicker of alarm that passed through her. Fa Git opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat, the sheer gravity of Halasar's statement silencing him.
"Imagine," Halasar continued, his voice now a whisper, almost reverent in its solemnity, "a storm that wipes away entire civilizations, where the very ground beneath you quakes with the fury of the heavens themselves. The oceans rise up as mountains, swallowing cities whole. Lightning crackles in the sky like a thousand thousand dragons, each strike a divine judgment. Her wrath is not something you survive—it is something you endure, if you are lucky enough to live through it."
Fa Git gulped, his usual bravado faltering in the face of the ancient elf's words. Shotaro, ever the one to maintain his composure, took a deep breath, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on his chest. This was no longer just about diplomacy—it was about survival.
"Urvashi is a creature of ancient power," Halasar said softly, his eyes distant as he stared into some far-off memory, the image of a time long past playing out before his eyes. "She was born from the very essence of the cosmos itself, a being forged from the stars and the winds, with the power to bend the world to her will. But that power comes at a cost. She has suffered, and in that suffering, she has become... volatile."
Paliv's gaze hardened, her sharp intellect working through the implications of what Halasar was saying. "So if we anger her…?"
Halasar's expression darkened. "If you anger her," he said, his voice low and grim, "the consequences will be far beyond anything you can imagine. She does not simply lash out—she destroys. And she does it with a cruelty that is… almost divine in its precision." He paused, his gaze shifting to the distant horizon as if seeking some kind of reassurance from the vast unknown. "No one, mortal or god, is immune to the wrath of an Apsara once it has been unleashed."
Fa Git felt a chill run down his spine. "So we're basically walking into the mouth of a god with a temper problem," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Shotaro nodded slowly, his face unreadable, but his jaw clenched in determination. "Looks like it," he said, his tone steady, though a flicker of uncertainty danced in his eyes. "But it's the only way forward."
Halasar turned his gaze back to them, his ancient eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "Just remember, Shotaro," he said quietly, "you can't outwit the gods. Not when they've already made their decision."
Shotaro looked at him with a grin, "Then you don't know me yet".
And with that, the air grew still once more, the weight of their next steps settling like an oppressive cloud over the group. The storm was coming, and they were standing right in its path.
There was a long, tense silence as Shotaro processed the absurdity of Halasar's instructions. Paliv looked like she was about to break something. Fa Git, meanwhile, had his arms crossed, muttering darkly under his breath about how every single plan involving Shotaro somehow felt like a fever dream.
"Play an instrument in the middle of the woods, and a wrathful divine Apsara will appear. That's what we're going with?" Shotaro asked, rubbing his temples. "That's the grand, ancient, cosmic method?"
Halasar nodded sagely. "Yes."
Fa Git sighed, exasperated. "Okay, but does anyone here actually know how to play a Venaa?"
A thick, suffocating silence settled over the group. Shotaro glanced at Paliv. Paliv glared at Shotaro. Halasar merely smiled as though this was all very amusing to him.
Then, Fa Git did something fatal—he muttered under his breath, "Well, I know a guy."
Shotaro and Paliv's heads snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle they didn't snap their necks.
Shotaro narrowed his eyes. "Who?"
Fa Git's face paled. "Wait. No. Forget I said that—"
"WHO?" Paliv demanded, stepping closer, her golden eyes burning into him.
Fa Git groaned, pressing his hands over his face like a man realizing he had just doomed himself. "Ugh. Fine. His name's Wim Py."
Shotaro blinked. "...Wim Py?"
"Yes. Wim Py."
"You're telling me," Shotaro said, "that the one person in this entire village who can help us right now is some little dark elf called Wim Py?"
Fa Git sighed, looking like he was deeply regretting his entire existence. "Yes."
Paliv's expression twisted with disgust. "Soot-skins have the worst names," she muttered.
Fa Git ignored her and continued. "Wim Py lives nearby. With his parents."
Shotaro blinked. "You're telling me our fate—our entire mission—rests in the hands of some mama's boy dark elf named Wim Py?"
"Yes," Fa Git said, his voice hollow, his soul long departed.
A long silence followed, thick with existential dread.
Then, with the enthusiasm of a man who had long since accepted the stupidity of the world, Shotaro clapped his hands together. "Alright. Let's go meet this legendary musician."
Fa Git groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I hate my life."
Paliv, ever the voice of reason (except when she wasn't), folded her arms and frowned. "How are we supposed to get him?"
"How we're supposed to get him away from his mom's tits is the real question," Fa Git muttered bitterly.
Shotaro squinted. "Damn, is he that big of a mama's boy?"
Fa Git exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "I mean it literally."
There was a pause.
Shotaro stared. "The fuck do you mean?"
Paliv slowly turned to face him, as if dreading the answer.
"The actual fuck do you mean?"
Fa Git, now a man who had given up all hope, looked up at the sky as if pleading with the gods to take him away. But the gods, cruel as they were, only left him with the burden of truth.
"He still breastfeeds."
The silence that followed was so deafening it felt like reality itself was contemplating a full reboot.
Paliv's expression contorted into something between nausea and existential despair. "By the ancestors—"
Shotaro's brain momentarily shut down. He had fought monsters, survived cataclysms, and broken through the limits of human understanding. But this? This was beyond his comprehension.
"You're telling me," he said slowly, "that Wim Py—this fully grown dark elf—is still suckling on his mother's tit?"
Fa Git, now a husk of a man, nodded. "Yes."
"How old is he?" Paliv asked, horrified.
"Eleven [some decades in elvan years]."
Paliv visibly recoiled. "ELEVEN?!"
"Bro, that's old enough to be a fucking squire!" Shotaro exclaimed.
"That's old enough to hunt!" Paliv shouted, disgusted. "That's old enough to—" She shuddered. "No. No, I refuse to acknowledge this."
Fa Git threw up his arms. "Do you see why I didn't want to bring him up?! I was just going to let this whole thing slide and pretend we never had to resort to this!"
Shotaro groaned, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."
Paliv, still traumatized, muttered under her breath. "Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting."
Fa Git sighed. "If we die today, I want you both to know I told you so."
Got it! I'll dial it down while keeping it funny and detailed.
The scene cut with quiet finality, shifting to the dimly lit interior of a cozy, if slightly overstuffed, home. And at the heart of it all, seated on a plush, embroidered couch with an air of absolute contentment, was Wim Py—nestled comfortably against his mother, Biig Kant.
She was an elegant dark elf, her long violet hair cascading in thick waves down her back, a few stray strands framing her soft yet striking face. Her amethyst eyes, sharp yet full of warmth, held an undeniable pride as she cradled her son against her ash-grey arms. Draped in flowing silken robes, embroidered with intricate golden patterns, she exuded an almost regal presence, the kind of woman whose very existence demanded things be done her way.
And at that moment, her way involved coddling her eleven-year-old son as if he were still a toddler.
Wim Py, for his part, looked far too comfortable with the arrangement. His eyes were half-lidded, his small frame nestled perfectly against his mother's chest, his expression one of complete and utter peace. If there was ever a child who had mastered the art of never growing up, it was him.
"Ohhh, my little moon blossom," Biig Kant cooed, stroking his hair with delicate fingers. "Did you sleep well, my sweet child?"
Wim Py hummed in agreement, giving a slow, sleepy nod.
At that moment, the door creaked open.
Standing in the doorway was Pa Py.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered dark elf, his ash-grey skin slightly weathered, his silver-streaked hair combed back with the air of a man who had given up arguing about certain things a long time ago. His amethyst eyes, once filled with youthful ambition, now carried a quiet, tired acceptance.
He saw his wife.
He saw his son.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled in what could only be described as the sigh of a man who had lost this battle years ago.
"…Kant."
Biig Kant didn't look up. "Yes, my love?"
Pa Py rubbed his temple. "He is eleven."
Biig Kant smiled, continuing to stroke Wim Py's hair. "And?"
Pa Py took another deep breath.
"And maybe he should start acting like it."
There was a pause.
Then, Biig Kant gasped.
Theatrically.
Dramatically.
As if her husband had just suggested leaving their child in the wilderness to fend for himself.
"Are you saying," she whispered, eyes shimmering with unspoken betrayal, "that I should cast aside my baby? That I should abandon my precious little boy when the world is so cruel?"
Pa Py's eye twitched.
"Abandon?!" he repeated, voice rising. "He can walk, talk, count money, and—" He gestured wildly. "He's playing an instrument good enough to summon a legendary Apsara!"
Biig Kant simply shook her head, turning back to Wim Py. "You hear that, my love?" she murmured, cradling him closer. "Your father just doesn't understand our special bond."
Wim Py, still comfortably tucked in his mother's embrace, turned his head slightly and regarded his father with a flat, unimpressed stare.
And then—
He shrugged.
Pa Py rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I should've been a monk."
Just as Pa Py was contemplating his life choices and Biig Kant was cooing over her "sweet little moon blossom," a sudden gust of wind swept through the hut as the door slammed open with all the subtlety of a declaration of war.
Standing in the doorway, framed like two harbingers of doom, were Shotaro and Fa Git.
Shotaro, clad in his usual travel-worn attire, stood tall with the unbothered confidence of a man who had long since stopped questioning the absurdity of his life. His silver hair caught the dim light, making him look far too majestic for the crime he was about to commit. Beside him, Fa Git, shorter but equally dead inside, had the exasperated expression of a man who had already mentally resigned himself to what was about to happen.
Both of them stood still for a moment, their eyes locking onto their target.
Wim Py.
The little shit was still nestled comfortably against his mother, blinking up at them like a child who had just woken up from a dream about candy and soft pillows—completely unaware that reality had come knocking with an eviction notice.
A single second passed.
Then—
Shotaro and Fa Git moved.
Before Biig Kant could even process the attack on her motherly empire, Shotaro grabbed Wim Py by the back of his shirt, lifting him like a misbehaving kitten, while Fa Git expertly grabbed his legs.
It was a perfectly synchronized, no-hesitation extraction mission.
"Wha—" Biig Kant gasped, her arms still outstretched where her son had been mere moments ago.
Pa Py, who had just been mid-sigh, froze in place, eyes widening.
And Wim Py?
Wim Py just blinked.
It took him approximately five seconds to process that he was now being carried out of his home against his will.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two—
"MOM?!" he finally shrieked, his arms flailing as he was hauled toward the exit.
Biig Kant, finally snapping out of her shock-induced paralysis, lunged forward, reaching out as if trying to snatch her precious baby from the jaws of fate.
But Shotaro and Fa Git were already out the door.
Pa Py, still standing there, arms crossed, watched the entire thing unfold with the face of a man who had been waiting for this day for years.
Then, after a long pause, he exhaled slowly.
Finally.
Peace.
"My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, they took my boy!!"
Biig Kant collapsed to her knees, clutching at the empty space where her beloved son had once been, as if her sheer willpower could force reality to undo itself. Her ash-grey skin trembled, violet hair falling over her face as her amethyst eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Pa Py, without so much as a blink, placed a firm hand on her shoulder. His face, blank with the acceptance of a man who had known only suffering, softened slightly.
"Don't worry…" he said, his voice low, steady, almost soothing.
Biig Kant looked up at him, eyes full of desperate hope.
"I will make you a new one," he said.
Then, with the speed and grace of a seasoned warrior, he grabbed her, tossed her onto the bed, and pounced.
—
The following scenes are deemed too graphic for the medium. Instead, please enjoy a completely unrelated scene of Infant Shotaro getting jumped by penguins on a beach.
—
The sun shone brightly over the golden sands of the shore, waves lapping gently at the edges, a picture-perfect moment of peace and serenity.
Until it wasn't.
"gwah!!!"
A tiny, silver-haired baby flailed helplessly as a small horde of penguins descended upon him like tiny, tuxedo-clad executioners. Their beady black eyes showed no remorse. No hesitation. No mercy.
One particularly bold penguin smacked Babytaro upside the head with its flipper, knocking him clean onto his back. Another one waddled over and immediately began pecking at his tiny, squishy cheeks.
Shotaro, in his infantile wisdom, decided the best way to handle the situation was to retaliate with a ferocious battle cry.
"bah!!!" he bellowed, which in baby language translated roughly to, you dare challenge me, foul beasts?!
The penguins, completely unfazed, continued their relentless assault.
One jumped onto his stomach. Another started nibbling on his tiny hand. One of them, the true menace of the group, began aggressively honking directly in his face, flapping its wings as if to assert dominance.
From a distance, a few tourists looked on.
"Aww, look at that baby playing with the penguins," one woman cooed.
"He's getting jumped," her friend pointed out.
"It's cute, though."
And thus, as Baby Shotaro was thoroughly outmaneuvered by a squadron of determined aquatic birds, the scene faded into the distance, forever lost to time… but never forgotten.
----
Wim Py sat on the old wooden chair, his small, frail dark elven frame practically vibrating with terror. His ash-grey skin was pale—paler than it should be—as he clutched the sides of the chair like it was the last stable thing in his world. His violet hair stuck to his forehead with cold sweat, and his amethyst eyes darted back and forth between the three figures surrounding him like cornered prey.
Shotaro leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. His silver hair caught the faint glow of the lanterns, making him look every bit like the devil Wim Py was sure had come to collect his soul.
Paliv stood beside him, the picture of noble elegance—if noble elegance could manifest as the gaze of a pissed-off cat ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness. Her golden brown hair framed her sharp features, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared down at Wim Py like he had personally offended her entire bloodline.
And then there was Fa Git. Hands on hips. Looking absolutely done with existence.
"He's gonna piss himself," Fa Git muttered.
"I'm not gonna piss myself!" Wim Py squeaked, voice cracking like dry twigs in a storm.
"You sure?" Shotaro tilted his head. "Because you look like you're about five seconds away from it."
"I—I—listen, I don't know what you want, but if it's money, I don't have any! My mom—she handles all of that! I just—I'm just a simple veena player! I have nothing of value!" Wim Py babbled, clutching at whatever sliver of life he still had left.
"Oh, we know you're a veena player," Paliv said, voice smooth like silk-wrapped steel.
"That's exactly why we're here," Shotaro added.
Wim Py swallowed so hard it was audible.
Fa Git sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, man. It's simple. We need you to play the veena in the middle of the forest."
"In the what?"
"The forest," Paliv repeated.
"Alone," Shotaro clarified.
Wim Py blinked. "Why?"
Fa Git scratched the back of his head. "Because we need to summon Urvashi, and apparently, she likes veena music."
Silence.
Wim Py's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Then he just shook his head, as if trying to physically reset his brain.
"You… you want me to sit alone in a haunted-ass forest, in the middle of the night, playing my veena… so some legendary, possibly murderous celestial woman can find me?"
"Yep," Shotaro nodded.
"Uh-huh," Paliv crossed her arms.
"Sounds about right," Fa Git sighed.
Wim Py slowly leaned forward, his trembling hands gripping the edge of the chair as if it were the last stable thing in his rapidly crumbling world. His amethyst eyes darted wildly between the three figures towering over him, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Do I… do I look like a main character to you people?!" he croaked, his voice barely above a squeak.
Shotaro, still leaning against the wall with all the patience of a man contemplating whether this was worth his time, merely shrugged. "We're making you one."
For precisely half a second, the room was silent.
Then Wim Py exploded into ugly, snot-filled wails. "WAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! MOM!!!! MOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!" His little legs kicked uselessly as he flailed in sheer despair, his body writhing like an overgrown toddler throwing the tantrum of the century. "I WANT MY MOM!!!! I CAN'T DO THIS!!!! I'M NOT BUILT FOR THIS KIND OF STORY ARC!!!"
Shotaro sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "Don't do fuck, you dickhead."
That should have been the end of it.
But it wasn't.
Because Fa Git, who had been holding back his patience like a dam ready to burst, took one step forward and—SMACK!
He slapped the absolute dogshit out of Wim Py.
"Motherfucker."
The force of the slap nearly sent Wim Py airborne. The sound rang through the room like a divine thunderclap, echoing off the walls with biblical authority. For a brief moment, all that remained was the stunned silence of three witnesses to a crime against decency—and one dark elf who had just gone through every stage of grief at the speed of light.
Wim Py, now hunched over with his hand clutching his cheek, let out a strangled noise somewhere between a whimper and a broken fax machine.
Paliv blinked. "Damn."
Shotaro let out a slow whistle. "You killed him."
Fa Git flexed his hand, shaking off the residual sting. "Motherfucker," he repeated, like a priest delivering the final rites.
And just like that, Wim Py's veena-playing career had turned into a hostage situation.
Shotaro squinted at Wim Py, arms crossed as he leaned slightly forward, studying the trembling dark elf like he had just discovered a new species. "Alright. Let's settle this. Why are you still breastfeeding at your age?"
Wim Py flinched. His already pale face somehow got even paler, like he had just been hit with a soul-crushing existential crisis.
Shotaro continued, completely serious. "You're, what? The elven equivalent of a fresh teen in puberty, right? Shouldn't you have… grown out of that?
Wim Py's lips wobbled. His hands fidgeted in his lap. His whole body was screaming "Please stop talking about this."
Paliv made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, barely managing to keep a straight face. Fa Git, meanwhile, was rubbing his temples with both hands like he was trying to massage the shame out of his bloodline.
Wim Py's ears twitched violently as he flinched, his back pressing against the chair like he was trying to sink into another dimension. His hands gripped the edges of his seat so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"I-It's not that simple!" he finally blurted out, his voice cracking so hard it nearly split reality in half. "Dark elves have… different customs!"
Fa Git didn't even blink. His expression was so deadpan, so drained of patience, that it could have been carved onto his tombstone.
"My guy," Fa Git said, slow and deliberate, like he was explaining basic math to a particularly dumb rock, "I am a dark elf." He tilted his head. "That. Is. Not. A. Custom."
Wim Py recoiled as if those words had physically struck him. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like a fish gasping for air, except instead of water, he was drowning in pure, undiluted shame.
"I-It's… it's a tradition!" he tried, desperation latching onto his words like a man clinging to a sinking raft. "A sacred family bond—"
Fa Git cut him off without missing a beat. "You are literally the only dark elf doing this." His voice was flat, merciless. "I have been a dark elf my entire life, and I do not do that shit."
Wim Py's pupils shrank. His brain was malfunctioning at a level that should be studied by scientists. "I… uh… I just…" He gulped, eyes darting between the judgmental stares drilling into him from every angle.
Paliv, who had been sitting in eerie silence, suddenly let out the softest, barely contained snort.
That was it. The moment the sound reached his ears, Wim Py's soul visibly left his body. His entire existence compressed into a singularity of embarrassment so powerful that it could have collapsed the universe into itself.
"W-Well, y'know," he stammered, trying to scramble for dignity, "I—I can quit whenever I want…"
Shotaro, who had been letting Fa Git handle the situation, finally lifted his head and stared at Wim Py like he had just heard the dumbest sentence in existence. "My guy," he said, his voice drenched in exhaustion, "you sound like a damn addict."
Wim Py immediately went into full-blown panic mode. "NO, NO, NO, IT'S NOT LIKE THAT, I SWEAR!" He started waving his hands around frantically, as if somehow warding off their judgment with interpretive dance. "IT'S NOT ADDICTION—IT'S JUST—IT'S JUST COMFORTING, OKAY?! IT HELPS ME SLEEP!!!"
Paliv turned fully around, shoulders violently shaking, desperately suppressing laughter.
Shotaro exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. "Right. Y'know what? Forget I asked." He reached forward, patted Wim Py's head once like he was congratulating a particularly disappointing dog, and muttered, "Congrats, man. You have officially won the 'Shit I Didn't Need to Know Today' award."
"I WANT MOM!!!!" Wim Py sobbed, his wails so loud they might as well have been a distress signal to the gods. He was practically convulsing in his chair, kicking his little dark elf feet like a toddler denied his favorite toy.
Paliv sighed, rubbing her temples before deadpanning, "Fuck suicide encouragement." She cracked her knuckles. "Let's kill this motherfucker ourselves."
Fa Git, standing beside her, nodded solemnly. "Yeah. If he wants to go so bad, we might as well speedrun the process." He flexed his fingers, stretching them like he was about to perform surgery—the illegal kind.
"Stop!" Shotaro barked, throwing his arms out between the two executioners before they could turn this dark elf into an obituary. "We need him—well, his skill—alive!"
Paliv, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "Do we, though?"
Shotaro gestured toward Wim Py, who was currently hiccuping between sobs, looking like a grown-ass man trapped in the emotional state of an abandoned infant. "Yeah," he said with a straight face. "Unfortunately."
Fa Git clicked his tongue. "Damn. This is why I hate being on the side of logic."
Wim Py, still trembling, peeked up at Shotaro with wide, watery eyes, sniffling pitifully. "Y-You really need me…?"
"Not you, specifically," Shotaro corrected bluntly. "Just the veena playing. If I could separate the talent from the baggage, I would. Trust me."
Fa Git groaned. "Great. So we're stuck with him."
Paliv rolled her eyes. "Well, someone better carry him, because I am not going to be responsible for dragging a full-grown dark elf man-child through the forest."
Fa Git immediately stepped away. "Don't look at me. He's my people, but he ain't my problem."
Shotaro exhaled heavily. He looked down at Wim Py, who was still sniffling but now blinking up at them with a tragic little pout, lower lip trembling like a puppy left in the rain.
"Alright," Shotaro muttered under his breath. "Come on, you little shit."
And with a groan of deep, soul-crushing regret, he hoisted Wim Py up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of particularly undesirable potatoes.