I'm an Extra, so What?

The elf palace was quieter than expected.

Despite its towering crystal halls and soft glowing sconces that pulsed like captured starlight, it felt still. Not tense — not quite — but watchful.

Like the whole structure had ears. Or perhaps, more accurately, eyes.

Specifically, the eyes of the Elf King, who had been glaring at Luka for the past twenty minutes.

Luka had counted.

Twenty minutes. No blinking.

Serene sat beside him, composed and radiant as always, her expression calm and unreadable — though Luka had caught her glancing at the king's furrowed brow with growing amusement.

Across the dinner table, Nuvian was delicately slicing through a piece of glimmering moonfish, utterly unbothered by her father's increasingly furrowed scowl.

She was in one of her rare good moods, evidenced by the fact she had both complimented Luka's hair and insulted Arthur in the same breath within the first five minutes of the meal.

"I still cannot believe," the Elf King said at last, voice low and refined, "that the final point came from your… seeker."

Luka raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"His name is Luka," Nuvian said with a polite smile. "And yes, Father. He was the only competent one."

"I know his name… Also, I was present," the Elf King replied through clenched teeth. "I saw. The boy dove from a canopy. That is not seeking. That is suicidal gymnastics."

"It was efficient," Luka offered blandly.

"Inelegant."

"Also effective," Nuvian added.

Serene sipped her wine, eyes flicking from elf to elf with the grace of a cat at the center of a political chessboard.

Luka, for his part, leaned slightly back in his seat and picked at the vine-wrapped vegetables before him.

"I cannot imagine," the Elf King went on, "why your younger sister invited him here. And his… assistant."

Serene's eyebrow twitched by the smallest fraction.

Luka, to his credit, held in a sigh.

"She's not my assistant," Luka said. "She's my maid."

Serene calmly set down her glass. "Technically, I outrank most of your staff in terms of battlefield etiquette, foreign customs, culinary arts, hand-to-hand—"

"She's also a close friend," Luka added.

Serene smiled.

The Elf King grunted. "Our customs do not typically include inviting rival champions into the heart of our sanctum after competition."

"And yet here we are," Nuvian said sweetly, "eating gold-root salad and sparkling nectar under starlight. Maybe it's time to break a few customs."

Luka was beginning to regret sitting directly across from the king.

The Elf King narrowed his eyes. "Breaking customs leads to… complications."

"You're being dramatic."

"I am being cautious, daughter. A human who wins one competition and suddenly finds himself at our royal table—"

"He won two," Nuvian corrected.

"…Two. Whatever the count," the king hissed, "does not make him a friend of the realm."

"I never claimed to be," Luka said, lifting his cup to his lips.

"Oh, bold and impudent," the king muttered. "A fine pair."

Serene cleared her throat delicately. "Your Majesty, might I offer some perspective?"

"No."

"Very well," she replied serenely, sipping again.

There was a beat of awkward silence.

Then Nuvian spoke again, pointedly conversational. "Luka, tell my father how you trained for the ranger challenge."

Luka blinked. "You want me to explain forest crawling and animal mimicry to a man who probably thinks a tracking print is an abstract art piece?"

The Elf King stared. "I was hunting wyverns before your father learned how to string shoes."

"I don't wear shoes," Luka said.

"Exactly!"

Another pause.

Serene reached for the bread plate and whispered, "This is delightful."

Nuvian, as if adding fuel to a fire she had been waiting years to light, rested her chin in her palm and smiled at Luka.

"Tell me again how you noticed my aura in the trees during the hide-and-seek round. I'm still impressed."

"It wasn't your aura," Luka said mildly. "It was your perfume."

The Elf King twitched.

"I—what perfume?" Nuvian asked, surprised.

"That pale white flower your servants pluck from the high cliffs. Subtle. But not windproof."

Nuvian blinked. Then, delighted, she laughed. "You're very dangerous."

"He is very irritating," the Elf King barked.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Father."

"I am not jealous of a human twig with shoulders!"

Luka coughed, glancing to Serene. "Was that a compliment?"

"I believe it was an anatomical insult," she replied, deadpan.

The king stood abruptly. "I need wine."

"You have wine," Nuvian gestured to the decanter beside him.

"I need stronger wine."

As the king left the room, muttering about 'disgraces of diplomacy' and 'cursed human cheekbones,' Nuvian turned to Luka with a triumphant smile.

"I like you."

"Should I be worried?"

"Absolutely."

Serene leaned in. "He is still royalty, Princess. You may want to soften the provocation."

"Serene," Nuvian said, mock-sweet, "you and I both know I'm only allowed to flirt with someone if it causes minor political tension."

Luka coughed again.

"Also," Nuvian added, "you have very nice shoulders."

"Can we not circle back to my shoulders?" Luka muttered.

"You do wear that clothing well," Serene said innocently.

Luka glared at her. "Don't you start."

She blinked innocently. "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

From the hallway, the king's voice boomed, "If she marries him, I'm burning down the treaty parchment!"

"Oh look," Nuvian said cheerfully. "He's warming up to you."

Just as the laughter died down and Luka finally managed to stab a piece of moonfish without someone making a joke about his posture or shoulders, a loud slurp cut through the room.

Everyone froze.

From beneath the massive oak dining table — a tiny figure popped up with a beaming grin, orange juice on her lips and sparkles in her wide green eyes.

"Heeheehee!"

"Ahshala," Nuvian said slowly, setting down her fork. "Is this where you were hiding?"

Ahshala got out from under and stood on her chair like a pirate who had just discovered treasure.

"I've been here the whole time!" she chirped proudly, holding up her now-empty juice goblet like a trophy:

"Y'all talk so loud. I didn't even need to eavesdrop. You were performing."

Luka blinked. "How long have you been under the table?"

"Since the fish came out!" she said proudly. "I had snacks! And juice! And drama!"

Serene looked to Luka. "I respect her immensely."

"I'm going to pretend this is normal," Luka said.

"Oh, it is," Nuvian sighed. "She lives for gossip and shiny things."

"Also," Ahshala continued, bouncing on her heels and pointing an accusing finger at her older sister, "you're not allowed to marry him!"

Nuvian blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're mean! He's too good for you!"

"I'm not mean!"

"You're always mean! You boss around guards and you use your 'icy princess' voice on everyone and you—"

"I do not have an icy princess voice!"

"You're doing it right now!"

"I am not—"

"See!"

Serene coughed delicately into her napkin.

Luka slowly lowered his head to the table, resting his forehead against the cool wood.

"Oh no," he murmured. "Two of them is too much to handle."

"You should marry me instead," Ahshala declared, placing her tiny fists on her hips.

"You're a child," Nuvian snapped.

"So?!"

"That's not how it works!"

Luka raised a finger weakly. "Please don't propose to me during dinner."

Ahshala grinned, completely ignoring him. "I would share my cookies. And I wouldn't call your shoulders names!"

"You don't even know what marriage is," Nuvian muttered.

"I do too!" Ahshala insisted. "It's when you decide who gets the last pancake and you do sword dances together!"

"That's… disturbingly accurate," Serene admitted.

The door creaked open behind them, and the Elf King re-entered, bottle in hand. "What in the stars is going on in—why is she standing on the chair?!"

"Papa!" Ahshala beamed. "Sister's trying to marry the human!"

"I am not!"

"She totally is!"

The Elf King froze mid-step, narrowed his eyes at Luka (again), and turned back toward the hallway.

"I've changed my mind," he muttered. "I need a stronger drink."

He left.

Again.

Ahshala stuck out her tongue at her sister. "Told you he wouldn't approve!"

Nuvian growled under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Luka. Tell her she's being ridiculous."

Luka raised his head just high enough to give them both a flat look.

"Why would I risk offending either of you? One of you commands an army, the other drinks six cups of juice in silence under a table."

"I'm mature," Ahshala corrected proudly.

Serene rested her chin on her palm, watching the chaos unfold like it was the best theater in the realm. "Dinner has never been this delightful."

"I'm retiring," Luka muttered.

"To where?" Nuvian challenged.

"I don't know. A cave. A mountain. Somewhere with no royalty."

"Can I come?" Ahshala asked brightly.

"Absolutely not," Nuvian said.

"See?! Mean!"

As the sisters continued their spirited bickering — one proud and regal, the other chaotic and juice-powered —

Luka slumped back in his chair and let the weight of absurdity wash over him.

'I can't wait to return home...'