Gunmage
Chapter 168: The whisper window

Chapter 168: Chapter 168: The whisper window

At the same time, in the Von Heim Library, Sylvera was reaching the end of the newspaper segment:

If Lugh is allowed to mature... the future of Ophris is anyone’s guess.

"RIVAL VOICES" QUOTE BOX

— Reactions from the Less Formal Corners of Society —

"A bastard priest who can fight like a demon? Sounds like the start of a very interesting religion."

— Tarrin Moss, Fence of Goods, and Occasionally Morals

"Seventeen beastkin? In a ballroom? Clearly, security wasn’t on the guest list."

— Phina Sly, Notorious Cat Burglar and Social Commentator

"I’ve seen church sermons with less divine interventions—and fewer flying tables."

— Lord Elmsworth, Professional Gossip and Unreliable Narrator.

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THE WHISPER WINDOW

Your semi-reliable source for inconvenient truths, unfiltered rumors, dubious facts & theories we swear we didn’t make up.

LUGH VON HEIM: PRODIGY, PRIEST... PARANORMAL?

Eyewitnesses claim he moved like lightning, shattered reinforced banisters, and called out to someone named Vaelith mid-chaos. Coincidence? We don’t know. We just write headlines.

CLONE? CURSE? CRISIS?

One Lugh was bad enough. Then there were two. Are we witnessing a rare spell? A case of arcane resonance? Or something darker? Experts disagree. One hedge wizard has locked himself up.

THE BALLROOM INCIDENT: WHO INVITED THE MENAGERIE?

Before the unhinged slaughter, multiple beastkin were seen "dancing" with guests. Security insists all beasts were "invited." No one believes them.

ROYAL ALLIANCE BREWING?

The Queen’s unprecedented appearance and her... forceful dance with the High Cardinal have sparked intense speculation. What could it mean? Is the Royal Family preparing to officially adopt chaos? Or are they just courting it?

VAELITH: MORE THAN JUST A GUARD?

Lugh’s immediate cry of "Vaelith!" and the guard’s swift, protective response have tongues wagging. Is this a budding alliance? A sudden infatuation? Or something far more complex? Our sources within the Royal Guard are surprisingly tight-lipped...

FASHION FAUX PAS OF THE NIGHT

Lady Selaphiel’s excessive sparkle was certainly a choice. Though it allegedly caused three minor seizures, the real fashion disaster was undoubtedly the various states of dishevelment sported by guests fleeing rampaging beastkin. Bloodstains are so last season.

"I meant to wear ripped clothes, I swear!"

— Brother Mathis, Officially Retired Cleric, Unofficial Drunk

NEXT WEEK: EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH THE LEGLESS BEASTKIN (If He Feels Like Talking)

Sylvera snapped the papers shut with a crisp flick, her expression blank. The surrounding Von heim youths wore a mix of bewilderment and barely restrained laughter.

Sela had to give her credit—for getting through that entire segment without so much as twitching.

Enji was the first to break the silence.

"Why aren’t these papers distributed outside of Pyrellis?"

The answer came, sharp and immediate:

"Security reasons."

...

Back in the Cross Manor...

"...And that’s why I believe she’s gotten her hands on a fertility spell."

"What in the..."

Lyra was speechless.

What the elf had just laid out before them wasn’t just disturbing—it was methodical.

A parchment-covered table was now entirely dominated by a detailed genealogical chart that mapped Lady Selaphiel’s estrus cycle, estimated gestation periods, and suspected miscarriages, all labeled with near-clinical precision.

Colored threads connected names and dates like a conspiracy theorist’s dream board. Symbols denoted moon phases, magical interference, even mood indicators of partners during conception.

She’d factored in seasonal temperature shifts, emotional compatibility, and partner species-related fertility odds, building what could only be called a breeding profile.

Such obsession might be passable—if not acceptable—for an eccentric academic. But this spanned centuries. It was beyond research. This was crown-level stalking.

Lyra finally asked,

"Uhm, why do you know so much about Selaphiel?"

The elf paused, the pen in her hand hovering above yet another set of calculated offspring outcomes.

"Knowing your enemy is the first step to success."

"Yeah but... why do you need to ’know’ her this much? What did she do to you?"

"That,"

The elf replied,

"is not your business. My grudges don’t belong to you."

Then she continued, voice returning to its usual rhythm.

"Pay attention. With all I’ve detailed about the narcissistic, stupidly selfish elf that goes by the name Selaphiel, you should now have a basic understanding of her."

"Basic?"

Sofia looked faint. Her skin was visibly paler.

"Yes. Anyways,"

Madame Cross pressed on.

"She still likes to hypocritically hold onto some semblance of morals. So why would a person like Selaphiel suddenly change her stance—and begin directly marrying her grandsons?"

"Ugh, I don’t know?"

"It’s because the benefits outweigh the costs,"

She snapped.

"Benefits," in this case, meaning more children. More chances of producing elves.

"And lo and behold,"

She declared.

"That marriage produced two whole children! A significant increase from the usual zero or one."

Xhi raised a brow, unimpressed.

Noticing the expression, the elf leaned forward, eyes alight.

"Before you say it was coincidence, guess how many children her union with the next—Cedric—produced?"

"Uh... three?"

"Five!"

Lyra nearly sat up straight.

"Unbelievable, right? An elf producing five children in less than a hundred years. It’s inconceivable. Her partner Cedric is even still alive!

Her daughter-in-law, Isolde, produced four in less than seven years. While technically possible for humans, the timing is too perfect."

"If Lucas hadn’t gone and died, there definitely would’ve been more children. At least until a male was born."

"I can see where you’re coming from,"

Xhi said at last,

"but what does it matter if she does have a fertility spell? How does that affect anything?"

Madame Cross let out a slow, exhausted sigh.

"Something as rare as a fertility spell could spark an all-out war between countries—not human ones, mind you. I’m talking long-lived, low-fertility races."

"Elves, Sanguines, Fae, Naga. Even dragons."

"Are you being serious right now?"

"Yes. If an agreement can’t be reached, the entire continent could go up in flames. And an agreement definitely won’t be reached."

She began ticking off points on her fingers.

"For one, the beastkin—who don’t need such a thing—would never give up their advantage in numbers."

"Similarly, other races would refuse to let the elves get it. Even within the elves: Wood Elves wouldn’t want Dark Elves to find it. Dark Elves wouldn’t want High Elves to obtain it. And vice versa."

She turned grim.

"And no race would want the dragons to get it."

"Those creatures are absurdly powerful as is. Add numbers to that—and the future of the continent is..."