The night had settled softly over the elevated dry platform, a large slab of land nestled above the endless swamp waters that shimmered under starlight. Crickets chirped from somewhere below, and a soft, cool breeze rustled the few trees that had somehow taken root on the rock. The twelve elf children had made camp again, wounded, weary, but alive.
Fuhiken stood over the magic stove, flipping pieces of fried bread on a pan with the same seriousness one might apply to defusing a mana bomb. "This batch… shall not burn," he whispered to himself, sweat gleaming on his noble brow. The stove hissed in protest, clearly suspicious of Orchid's previous cooking history.
Not far away, Sakura reached into her magic bag and yanked out a loaf of bread as big as her torso. Her pink hair bounced as she plopped down and took a massive chomp.
Fuhiken blinked, "…Did that come out of her bag?"
"Of course," Gabyola answered from behind a tree, polishing her bow. "Bag One: daily stuff. Bag Two: edible chaos."
Sakura happily munched away, cheeks stuffed, not even hearing them.
"She stress-eating?" Fuhiken muttered.
"Nope," Yuuna answered, flipping a page of her book without looking up. "She's just hungry. Like always."
"I worry about her stomach lining," Fuhiken mumbled.
"You should worry about the floor vanishing if she eats too much and falls through it," Kyle added as he passed by.
"Don't tempt fate," Yuuna said, still not looking up.
Orchid, meanwhile, lay spread out on a blanket with chocolate crumbs near her lips, her sword abandoned beside her like a forgotten umbrella. "I was going to cook tonight… but… too tired… no chocolate fire pizza…"
"Thank the stars," Gaby whispered. Her hands reflexively reached for her anti-toxin vial, just in case.
At the edge of the camp, Gigih sat alone on a flat stone slab, his spellbook open but untouched. He wasn't sulking exactly, more like festering internally. His dark robes still carried the singed scent of earlier combustion. The crocodile had done a number on him… repeatedly.
Kyle spotted him and tilted his head. "That one looks like he got rejected by his own spell."
He strolled over, plopped beside Gigih, and kicked his legs out dramatically. "Yo."
Gigih looked up with an exhausted stare. "What?"
"You okay?"
"Fine."
"You don't look fine."
Gigih shrugged. "Just annoyed. Every time I tried to cast, I got tail-whipped. Repeatedly. I should rename my spellbook to '101 Ways to Get Interrupted'."
Kyle nodded sympathetically, then grinned. "Wanna hear how I used to die every day?"
Gigih blinked. "…Why would I?"
"Because it's funny," Kyle declared proudly. "When we were younger, like tiny-younger, I used to steal Jessica's pudding. Every. Single. Day."
"You're suicidal."
"I was innovative," Kyle corrected. "She stabbed me with a spoon once. Another time she just, poof, vanished, and I thought I was safe, and then BAM! Katana to the knee."
Gigih blinked again. "…I'm not sure if you're comforting me or auditioning for a comedy play."
Kyle smirked. "Also, I once died from Orchid's cooking. She shoved a meatball in my mouth. I think it had chocolate. And soap."
Gigih narrowed his eyes. "I remember that. Sakura revived you."
Kyle nodded solemnly. "Oh was it Sakura? I think I should thank her."
"Wait…" Gigih frowned. "Are you saying Sakura knew you'd die and used you for revive training?"
Kyle gasped. "She wouldn't, would she?" He looked genuinely alarmed. Then thoughtful. "Huh. That explains a lot…"
"You're insane," Gigih muttered, but a small smirk tugged at his lips. Not that Kyle noticed, he was already stretching.
"Well, anyway," Kyle said, standing up. "Moral of the story is: don't be afraid of death. Just be friends with the healers."
"That's not a moral. That's a loophole," Gigih said, but Kyle had already skipped off.
Kyle headed to the opposite side of the camp, where Yetsan sat hunched beneath a crooked, half-leaning tree that looked like it had given up standing proud centuries ago. The tree creaked with every breeze, its twisted limbs resembling tired arms. Beneath its shadow, Yetsan sat on a rock like a grumpy gargoyle, muttering to himself while furiously scrubbing his gauntlets with a rag that looked more like a swamp relic than a cleaning cloth.
"Filthy… cursed humidity… grime of despair," he grumbled, inspecting the armor piece under moonlight, then attacking it again with newfound vengeance. "Dirt inside the joints… the joints!"
Nearby, a smear of swamp mud on his helmet stared back at him like an insult from the ecosystem itself.
Kyle watched in amused silence for a few seconds, then approached casually, hands behind his head. "Y'know, to the untrained ear, it sounds like you're trying to exorcise your armor."
Yetsan didn't look up. "I think I am. There's something evil growing in here. Maybe a fungus. Or guilt. Or worse, moldy guilt."
"Wow. That bad, huh?"
Yetsan paused, turned slightly, and gave Kyle a long, hollow stare through the slit in his helmet. "Do you know what it's like to feel mud inside your boots… and also inside your soul?"
Kyle scratched his head. "No, but I imagine it squishes."
"Exactly!" Yetsan said with a desperate flare. "It squishes with emotion! I need ten baths and a ritual."
Kyle plopped down next to him. "Can't help with rituals, but I can offer emotional support. That counts for something, right?"
Yetsan sighed, louder than necessary. "Only if your support comes with disinfectant."
Kyle tapped his chin. "Does sarcasm count as an antiseptic?"
Yetsan's gauntlet twitched.
Kyle sat beside him and patted his helmet like a counselor. "It's okay. Dirt is just nature's glitter."
Yetsan turned slowly. "Kyle. If you don't leave, I will test how well your teeth bounce off my armor."
Kyle stood. "Message received!"
He turned and skipped away again.
Nearby, Jessica sat quietly with her legs crossed in perfect, meditative symmetry, the flickering firelight glinting off the polished surface of her katana, which rested unsheathed at her side like a silent guardian. She dipped a tiny silver spoon into a delicate porcelain cup of pudding with the precision of a blade master, savoring each bite as if it were a hard-earned prize claimed from the battlefield. Her expression was serene but unreadable, betraying nothing, neither satisfaction nor fatigue, only the disciplined calm of someone who treated dessert as seriously as a duel. Each motion was deliberate, ritualistic, as if consuming pudding was part of her warrior code. Kyle crept into the periphery, his approach slowed not by hesitation but by a creeping sense of self-preservation, fully aware that the distance between him and the pudding warrior might also be the distance between life and death.
"Hey Jess, listen, I, "
The moment she turned her head, her eyes glowed slightly. Her katana was out in less than a heartbeat. Bloodlust flared like a firecracker.
Kyle went stiff, every muscle in his body locking up as if he'd been hit by a paralysis spell. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before rolling back dramatically, and with the theatrical grace of someone far too familiar with fainting, he toppled backward in slow motion. His arms flailed just enough to catch the attention of absolutely no one, and then he hit the ground with a soft thud, limbs sprawled out like a deflated balloon tossed aside after a party. Even the wind seemed to pause in respect for the overdone performance.
Jessica blinked. "Huh. That was fast."
She shrugged and went back to her pudding.
The others glanced over.
"Did he faint?" Fuhiken asked.
"Probably just fell asleep again," Yuuna replied.
"His sleep schedule is tragic," Gaby sighed.
The camp quieted. A few more conversations murmured. A few stars blinked overhead.
Sakura stretched out next to her empty bread bag. "Mmm… I could go for round two…"
"Do not," Fuhiken warned preemptively.
Gigih finally closed his spellbook and wandered back to the fire.
He glanced at Kyle, still collapsed under a tree.
"I take it back," Gigih said flatly. "I am feeling better. At least I'm not him."
A sudden grumble came from Orchid's direction.
She sat up like a zombie and whispered, "Next time… chocolate curry…"
"Sleep!" Gaby yelled.
---
The stars shone brighter that night, like they were peeking in to see if this chaotic troupe of elf children would somehow survive another day.
Fuhiken leaned back, gazing at the sky. "They're all insane," he muttered.
"But they're our insane," Gaby said with a soft chuckle.
"Why do I feel like that's not a comfort?"
The breeze rolled on, full of swamp mist, starlight, and the rustling of pudding spoons and holy knight dreams. Tomorrow, they'd face another journey. Tonight, they had each other. And no poisonous chocolate.
Victory.