Elysia
Chapter 4: A Renegotiation and a Casual Inquiry

The silence left by Elysia's request felt sharper and colder than the ice of Hell itself. Her calm words hung in the air, a verdict that forced them to choose between two impossibilities. They had come prepared to sacrifice wealth and artifacts; they were never prepared to sacrifice one of their own.

King Theron was the first to find his voice, his protectiveness over his wife overpowering his fear. "Ruler Elysia," he said, his voice firm yet respectful, "you ask a price we cannot pay. Queen Lyra is the heart of our kingdom. Saintess Annelise is a guiding light for millions of the faithful. Their lives are not ours to trade."

Saintess Annelise bowed her head for a moment, her hands clutching her holy symbol. A great theological turmoil raged within her. To serve the 'Ruler of Hell' was a violation of everything she believed in. And yet, to sacrifice oneself for the salvation of the world was a Saintess's highest calling. With trembling courage, she raised her head. "If my sacrifice can save the world..." she began, ready to offer herself.

"No!" Queen Lyra cut in, her hand restraining the Saintess's arm. Her usually gentle eyes were now fixed on Elysia with the gaze of a cornered, master negotiator. As a pragmatist, she tried to grasp the logic behind this illogical demand. "Ruler Elysia, please clarify. Why one of us? Do you require a political hostage? Or our power? Surely, there must be another way."

Archmage Gideon, who had been analyzing the situation with his cold intellect, chimed in. "Her Majesty the Queen is correct," he said. "Your request is inefficient, O Ruler. Taking a leader would cause instability, which could, in turn, disturb the very peace you seek. Is there truly nothing else we can offer? Forbidden knowledge about the origins of the universe? A fertile territory to call your own? A life is too complicated a price, even for the world's salvation."

They all tried. The King with his defense, the Saintess with her sacrifice, the Queen with her logic, and the Archmage with his analysis. They offered everything they could, trying to find a loophole in the absolute demand.

Elysia observed their interaction with a detached curiosity. She saw the panic in the King's eyes, the sacrifice in the Saintess's, and the quick calculation in the Queen's. Their bonds, their care for one another, felt... quaint. Something whose essence she had long forgotten after millennia of solitary survival. Her request was not meant to be cruel; it was purely a practical solution to a problem she had just realized she would have: she did not want to be bothered.

"You misunderstand," Elysia finally said, her calm voice easily cutting through their panicked arguments. "I did not demand a queen or a saint. I merely pointed to the female candidates present. My request is not for a political hostage. I have no interest in your mortal power games. I simply require an attendant. Someone to handle trivial matters."

She paused, allowing them to process her explanation. She saw that taking one of them would lead to complications. And complications were the enemy of tranquility.

"Your bonds with one another... are strong," she continued, as if commenting on a peculiar piece of art. "It would be inefficient for me to break them. Very well. The terms can be amended."

A flicker of hope ignited in the delegation's eyes.

"I do not need a person of power. In fact, that would be more trouble than it's worth," she said, as if thinking aloud. "In that case... bring me a child."

The new request struck them with the same, if not greater, force as the first. Sacrificing a leader was a political crisis. Sacrificing a child was a moral one.

Elysia continued, indifferent to their horrified silence. "An orphan," she specified with a cold placidity. "A female child with no family to miss her, no political ties to complicate my peace. Her past will be a blank slate, and her future will be in my service. That way, no one will feel a sense of loss."

From her perspective of having lived for nine millennia, this was a logical, perhaps even merciful, solution. She would be taking someone with nothing and giving them a place by her side. But to the leaders of the mortal world, it sounded utterly monstrous.

"Her race is of no concern," Elysia added, as if choosing an item at a market. "An Elf, a Human, or one of the fox-kin. Their lifespans are... acceptable. Bring me such a child, and the Crystal Amber is yours."

The final offer now lay on the table between them, heavier than any mountain of gold. A choice between sacrificing an innocent child or letting their world face its apocalypse.

While the delegation reeled from this new and terrible moral dilemma, Elysia felt her business was concluded. She leaned back slightly in her unseen seat, her posture more relaxed. Now that the 'business' was over, a long-dormant curiosity surfaced. She was genuinely intrigued. What could possibly make these powerful beings so desperate?

"One last thing intrigues me," she said, her tone shifting from negotiation to one of elegant, mature curiosity. The light in her blue eyes seemed to deepen, as if weighing the worth of their entire world.

"You risk everything, you offer your civilizations, and you are now willing to trade a life... all of this, for a few yellow stones."

She looked directly at King Theron, her gaze so sharp the King felt as if his kingdom's entire history was being read like an open book.

"Tell me," Elysia's voice was as soft as silk, yet it carried the weight of eons within it. "What manner of Demon Lord is set to rise, that his mere name can make the rulers of the world tremble like dry leaves in autumn?"

The question was not that of an ally or an enemy. It was the question of a scholar of power, an ancient entity curious about another major player on a board she thought she had already won long ago. The question hung in the air, laden with terrifying implications. The unspoken subtext was clear: Whoever this Demon Lord is, could he possibly be a threat to me?

The delegation felt that unspoken question, and a new layer of terror enveloped them.

King Theron opened his mouth to answer. He wanted to explain the prophecies, the destructive power, the coming darkness. But no words came out.

How could he possibly describe his world's greatest fear to someone who was, in herself, the embodiment of a greater, more incomprehensible fear? How does one describe a storm to the ocean itself?