"Enough."
Lady Goldleaf's voice carried like a command as she stepped onto the platform.
"You have made your point, Lord von Hohenheim."
Zeke turned his head, meeting her gaze with a calm, unreadable look. He didn't answer at once.
It was obvious why she had chosen this moment to intervene. He had proven his strength, validating her choice in backing him. But if he pressed further, the scene would turn from a display of power into outright humiliation for the elves—and by extension, for her.
That was not a stain she would willingly bear.
Zeke found himself at a crossroads.
He had wanted to push further. The arrogance of the elves gave him more than enough excuse to do so, and it would further cement his image as a domineering force. But now that Lady Goldleaf had already spoken, doing so would come at her expense.
That left him little real choice.
He would not risk his alliance with an Exarch for the sake of ego. Still, some theatrics were necessary. She needed to understand that his compliance was not owed to any power she held over him.
This was a favor, and he intended for her to know it.
Their gazes locked.
Her confusion was plain—why was he taking so long to yield? The ego of an elven Matriarch was truly a daunting thing. But then, after a heartbeat, Lady Goldleaf seemed to recall that Zeke was not one of her own.
It must have been a rare experience, realizing that someone might not instinctively bow and scrape to meet her demands. The faintest shift in her expression gave it away. But just as quickly, it was gone again.
Impressive composure.
Whatever softness dulled the elves as a whole, an Exarch was still an Exarch. No one could rise to that level while remaining a fool.
And… there it was. The faintest, almost imperceptible nod. An acknowledgment of what he was doing.
It was enough.
Zeke turned fully, inclining his head.
"If the Matriarch declares it, then I will naturally obey."
His words were excessively humble—and entirely intentional.
By first presenting himself as a bloodthirsty fiend, only to be restrained by a single word from their Matriarch, he strengthened her standing in everyone's mind. In this way, he used his newly gained infamy to further elevate the reputation of his patron.
The faint smile that curved her lips made it clear that this detail hadn't escaped her notice. Good. It was always easier to work with someone sharp enough to catch these subtle gestures. Otherwise, he would be forced into the awkward position of having to explain his merits if he wanted credit.
This was much simpler.
"This demonstration has served its purpose," she declared. "Lord von Hohenheim has shown himself worthy of the trust I extend. Wouldn't you all agree?"
Caelum remained on his knees, trembling. The golden light had restored his body, but the mind took longer to mend.
Two attendants stepped forward to help him rise, but he shoved them away with a snarl. Pride, even fractured, demanded he stand on his own. His legs shook as he forced himself upright.
His hand drifted toward his hip, then stopped—the weapon was gone, lost or destroyed in the duel. His fingers curled into a fist. Without a word, he turned and left the platform.
At some point during the confrontation, Maya had risen from her seat, though Zeke hadn't noticed when. Her knuckles were white around the wooden railing, and only now did she release it, flexing her fingers to bring back circulation.
Their eyes met across the distance. She gave him the smallest shake of her head—not outright disapproval, but something else. Worry, perhaps. Or shock that he had resorted to such brutality.
She still didn't understand. Of course, she wouldn't. Even he hadn't grasped such truths at her age. But in this world, where kindness was so often mistaken for weakness, it was safer to be feared than underestimated.
Lady Goldleaf lifted a hand, and the still staining the platform simply vanished. Not cleaned, not absorbed: gone, as though it had never been spilled. The effortless display of power was its own message. She might require human allies, but she remained an Exarch.
"We proceed with the ceremony as planned," she declared.
The elves shifted uneasily. Whispers rippled through the seats. They had come expecting to see a human humbled and a Matriarch disgraced. Instead, they had witnessed something far worse—a reminder of their shame at the hands of the Empire's Exarch.
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It confirmed what many had long feared: the elves could not match a human mage of equal rank in a real fight.
The political consequences would echo through their courts for months.
Matriach Goldleaf stepped to the center of the platform. The air shimmered, and her garments changed in an instant—robes of deep green streaked with veins of living gold that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Ceremonial attire, no doubt.
"Bear witness," she called, her voice carrying to every corner of the amphitheater. "I, Selvanna of the Fourth House, Matriarch of the Golden Leaf, Member of the High Court, do declare my intent upon Yggdrasil—"
The titles meant little to Zeke, but the reaction of the crowd spoke volumes. Several elves rose in respect. Others remained seated but leaned forward, eyes fixed on her.
Then the tree shuddered.
Not just the platform. Not just the amphitheater. The entire tree—from roots buried in the world's core to leaves brushing the heavens. A groan resonated through the wood itself, ancient and immense.
At first, Zeke thought it part of the ritual, but the shock on every face quickly told him otherwise.
Another token of respect Yggdrasil deemed necessary when dealing with a descendant of the Dragon King, perhaps? If so, Zeke certainly wasn't going to object.
Lady Goldleaf faltered, her composure cracking for the briefest heartbeat. When she spoke again, her voice carried a weight it hadn't before.
"I swear that Maya von Hohenheim shall be protected as one of our own. No harm shall come to her while she dwells among us. Should she transgress, exile shall be the harshest punishment. This I bind to my blood, my house, and my name."
The tree shuddered again—longer this time. The golden light holding the amphitheater together flickered.
Every elf present had gone pale.
"She listens," someone whispered. "The Great Mother bears witness."
Roots erupted through the platform beneath Lady Goldleaf. They coiled around her ankles—not to restrain, but to connect. For a moment, her eyes burned with the same golden light that had restored the fallen.
Zeke's brows furrowed. Standing this close, he could feel it—a familiar pull. This… felt suspiciously like Soul Magic. Was a contract being forged? That would explain why elves treated their Oaths with such reverence.
The punishment for breaking a Soul Oath could range from unbearable pain to death. And somehow, Zeke doubted a being as ancient as the Tree of Life would show mercy to anyone swearing falsely in its name.
A moment later, the glow was gone. The roots sank back into the wood. But something had changed. He could feel it in the air, in the timber, in the reverent way every elf now looked upon their Matriarch.
"The Oath is sealed," Lady Goldleaf said softly. "Yggdrasil itself will enforce it."
Her gaze met Zeke's across the scarred platform. "Your sister is safe here. Likely safer than anywhere else in this world."
Zeke inclined his head in acknowledgment. The Oath had proven far more than he could have hoped for. Now, even if he were to fall in battle, his sister would remain protected.
Here, in the heart of elven lands, not even the Emperor's greedy hands could reach easily. Hidden Experts or not, Augustus still remained far from capable of contending with a dozen elven Exarchs—especially if they could revive endlessly under the Tree's protection.
Only Sheol, the Exarch of Death himself, might threaten this place. Yet Zeke suspected even he would struggle against a being as ancient and vast as the World Tree.
As for Lady Goldleaf…
They now bore a bond deeper than politics or promise. The Tree itself would hold her to her Oath, watching through the roots that nourished the elven realm. That made her more than an ally in name. By swearing to protect Maya as though she were her own blood, she had become one of Zeke's greatest benefactors.
He doubted she had meant to bind herself so tightly, but the fact that she had gone through with the Oath spoke volumes about her intentions. Whatever her schemes might be, her promise to keep Maya safe was sincere—of that, at least, he was certain.
The look Zeke gave the Matriarch carried as much of his newfound appreciation as words ever could.
It seemed to work.
With a weary yet satisfied smile, Selvanna Goldleaf turned her back to the audience and left the stage through one of the many exits.
A short step through Space brought Zeke back to his seat. His expression was radiant. The ceremony had held both expected and unexpected surprises, but he was more than content with how it had ended.
"Shall we?" he asked, glancing toward Lyriel.
She nodded quickly—quicker than usual. Something in her demeanor had shifted. In truth, something had changed in the way the elves looked at him altogether, though he couldn't yet say whether it would be for better or worse.
"Where are we going next?" Maya asked hesitantly once they were back atop their mount.
Zeke looked at her closely. His sister seemed unsettled. Perhaps the brutal way he had handled his opponent had shaken her more than he'd realized. In any other setting, what he had done would have been considered murder—twice over.
Even so, he would neither apologize nor justify his actions. If she thought less of him because of it, then so be it. Still, he doubted Maya would draw such a shallow conclusion. His sister was no fool, and she could see the larger picture when it mattered.
When he remained silent, Lyriel answered in his stead.
"We are going to meet your new mentor."
It was as if a spell had been lifted—the gloom vanished from Maya's face. Or perhaps she was simply putting on a brave front. Either way, it spoke well of her mental resilience.
Instead of heading toward one of the nearby mansions, the crow set its course for the trunk of the great tree. At first, it seemed close, but that was only an illusion born from Yggdrasil's sheer size.
Only after a long flight did they finally reach the tree's mass. From here, the wooden wall stretched from horizon to horizon, dominating their view entirely. Yggdrasil's trunk was—put simply—utterly colossal.
It could have housed cities like Tradespire and Magusburg several times over. It was hard to believe that any living thing could grow to such a size.
Before Zeke could ponder further, the crow banked sharply and glided toward what appeared to be a crack in the bark. On an ordinary tree, such a hollow might have sheltered a bird's nest. On Yggdrasil, Zeke couldn't begin to imagine what sort of creature could have carved out something so vast.
He didn't have to wonder for long, as the natural opening soon gave way to a perfectly shaped corridor that led into a vast courtyard.
Before them stood another mansion—smaller than the Matriarchs' estates outside, though Zeke suspected that was by choice rather than necessity. Whoever lived here was no ordinary elf. Of that, he was certain.
"You'll have to go in on your own," Lyriel said once he and Maya had dismounted, sliding down one of the crow's wings.
Zeke glanced from the elf to the mansion's doors, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "You're not allowed inside, are you?"
Lyriel nodded without hesitation, showing no shame in admitting it. "A word of caution," she said quietly. "Be respectful and don't try to play your games here. The one within is not someone easily provoked."
Zeke grinned at her. "I'll try."