[Leif’s POV—Afternoon, ThorenVald Estate—Office]

ROLLLLL—

The massive parchment unfurled across the table like someone was preparing to summon a demon with geometry.

"This," Daren announced proudly, beard flaring with confidence, "is the design for new housing in Raventon—and the barren lands beyond."

Alvar stood with arms crossed. Father leaned over the blueprint, brows furrowed.

Thalion and Eryndor—our two recently returned elves—stared with identical deadpan expressions.

...And me?

I squinted so hard my eyes almost inverted.

The blueprint looked like this: a migraine written in ancient chicken scratch on caffeine in the dark.

Daren puffed his chest. "Impressive, isn’t it?"

I inhaled slowly. "...Daren."

"Yes, Leif?"

"I don’t understand a single thing on this paper. It looks like a doctor’s prescription having a panic attack."

Father smothered a snort behind his hand.

Daren deflated. "B-But I tried my best! Look—look here!" He jabbed a stubby finger at a cluster of chaotic lines. "This is a house! Down here we put shops, and above it—a family can live! Efficient, yes?"

Father tilted his head sideways, trying to see it differently. "...It looks like a chicken coop stacked on top of a fried bakery."

Eryndor spoke dryly, his voice smooth as cold silver. "...Did you draw this with your foot?"

Thalion added, "A drunk foot?"

Daren went pale. "W-What?! Absolutely not! This is state-of-the-art dwarven drafting!"

I leaned in again. It still looked like if you sneezed, the house would spiritually collapse.

Alvar cleared his throat. "The concept is...not terrible. However—"

He tapped the parchment.

"We do not have enough land to build single homes for single families there. Raventon’s outskirts are mostly forest—and we cannot touch that forest."

Thalion nodded. "Spirits reside there. We cannot cut the trees for humans."

Daren gulped.

Alvar continued, voice solemn. "And the small patches of cleared land we did have were taken by this year’s flood. We cannot ask our people to...live in water."

Daren stammered, pointing at the blueprint. "But—! But look here! I added a drainage system!"

Everyone stared at the chaotic scribbles. It looked less like drainage and more like a cursed labyrinth designed by a soggy toddler under duress

Thalion tilted his head. "...I believe your drainage system drains...upward."

Eryndor squinted. "...Into someone’s living room."

Father dragged a hand down his face. "That is how disasters get written into history books, Daren."

Daren dramatically slapped the parchment. "Creativity requires risk!"

"It also," I muttered, "requires the ability to tell the difference between doors and windows."

He pointed indignantly. "THAT IS a window!"

I pointed at the same symbol elsewhere. "And that?"

"...Door," he mumbled.

"Why is the door floating two meters above ground?" Alvar deadpanned.

Daren sniffed. "Artistic elevation."

Father sighed. "People would need ladders."

Thalion nodded solemnly. "...Stairs are generally preferred."

Eryndor added helpfully, "Or gravity resistance magic. But that’s expensive."

Daren wailed softly.

Like...softly.Like a kettle losing hope.

I patted his shoulder. "It’s not hopeless. You have passion. Just... maybe less passion in the lines. More... logic in the lines."

Daren slumped. "So... we have to come up with another plan..."

The man sounded like someone just asked him to run a marathon while holding emotional baggage.

I winced.

... Yeah. I knew that pain.

Flashback: Me, in my old life, cursing my manager at 2 A.M. "Rewrite the whole draft again, Renji." Sure. Why don’t I just rewrite the universe while I’m at it?

But we couldn’t risk people drowning. Not here. Not when this world bleeds when it breaks.

I wish we had such ideas, Just like those floating villages from my era.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Wait.

Wait.

My brain clicked like someone flipped the upgrade button.

Floating. Villages. On water.

Thalion blinked, sensing my neurons suddenly combusting.

Alvar leaned closer. "...You just made the face. The dangerous thinking face."

"I did not," I lied.

"You absolutely did," Father muttered.

I slammed my hands onto the table.

"Water homes."

Everyone stared.

. . .

. . .

"...What?" Daren croaked.

"FLOATING housing districts," I said, eyes widening as the idea grew claws. "We build structures designed to rise and fall with the water. Not ON land—ON water."

Thalion’s brows lifted imperceptibly. "...Like anchored platforms?"

Eryndor’s eyes gleamed. "...Runic buoyancy arrays..."

Father blinked at me. "...Floating?"

Daren’s beard twitched violently. "Homes... that FLOAT?!"

"Yes!" I pointed at him. "They’re flood-proof. Flexible. Environmentally friendly. And—AND—tourists will love it."

Thalion tapped his chin. "A lakeside village... accessible by bridges and boats."

Eryndor snapped his fingers. "We can anchor using spirit-approved posts. The forest will not be offended."

Father’s eyes widened, interest sparking. "We can move people out of flood zones without cutting trees..."

"And," I added, voice gaining momentum, "it becomes a market hub for fishermen. Water trade routes. Festivals. Boats. Lantern nights. It’ll look gorgeous. Money will fall from the sky."

Daren was vibrating. "And dwarven metalworks can reinforce the flotation joints!"

Thalion leaned over the table, suddenly animated. "We can design layered platforms—With anti-sink runes—And flexible wave absorption—"

Father stared in wonder. "An entire district... on the lake."

Alvar looked at me like I’d handed him a second sun.

"You genius," he breathed, voice soft.

I shrugged. "I’m just recycling Earth’s disasters into your fantasy problems."

"...What?" he blinked.

"Nothing...I am saying, we need someone to draft a proper blueprint."

Eryndor’s ears perked. A sharp glint lit his green eyes. "Leif... elves excel at architectural drafting." He placed a hand over his chest, graceful even in bragging. "If you allow, I shall summon artists from my clan."

I exhaled in relief. "Perfect. Yes. Please. Before Daren redraws a goose as a staircase."

Daren gasped defensively in the background.

Eryndor bowed slightly. "I’ll send a messenger hawk immediately." He swept from the room with the elegance of someone auditioning for a painting.

Just like that—a plan existed.

Daren slapped his chart with renewed enthusiasm, rolling it up with dramatic vigor. "I cannot wait to build this," he grinned. "Once we receive the blueprint, Leif—we’ll begin construction at once!"

That energy... I liked it.

"Thank you, Daren," I smiled.

He puffed proudly. "Of course!"

Then his eyes narrowed. "...Right, you wanted to see me for something else. What was it?"

Oh. Right.

My brain ghosted to the sword tucked away at home like a cursed USB drive.

I glanced at Father. I could not tell him about The Holy Glowing Talkative Cosmic Weapon. He would panic. The nobles would panic. The floorboards

would panic.

So I cleared my throat. "I... have a sword that needs minor repairs."

Daren blinked. "That’s it?"

"Yes," I nodded aggressively. "Just a normal sword. With completely normal metal."

Alvar choked once in the background.

Daren shrugged. "Alright then. Send it to my warehouse. I shall reinforce the fracture and return it as soon as possible!"

Luminael hissed indignantly in my skull. "...I AM NOT FRACTURED. I AM EVOLVING."

Silence, toaster.

Father clapped both hands together, cheerful as an emperor inspecting a particularly obedient cabbage. "Excellent work, everyone. I’ll go inspect the greenhouse."

He turned to leave, pausing just long enough to pat my shoulder. "Proud of you, Leif."

Proud...?

That word hit harder than anything.

"Thank you, Father," I murmured, softer than I intended.

He nodded and strode out, cape swishing like authority incarnate.

Daren bowed deeply, beard nearly brushing the floor. "I’ll go prepare the forge," he grinned, and scampered after Father.

The door clicked shut. Leaving only me, Alvar, and a rolled-up blueprint of dreams.

Alvar leaned back against the edge of the table, arms crossed, eyes warm. "...Floating villages. Solving famine. Dragon. Economy. Crimson Packs."

"Mm?"

Then suddenly—arms wrapped around me. Warm. Solid. Absolving.

"Now," he murmured against my ear, "what’s left... is our wedding ."

My brain blue-screened.

"...Huh?"

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at me, eyes gleaming with mischief and sincerity tied in one knot. "So... shall we begin preparations, my love?"

My mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

Somewhere deep inside my skull, a tiny version of me was running in circles screaming into a pillow.

"W—Well... it’s not like I... mind," I managed, heat crawling up my ears.

Not mind?

Not mind?!

I was blushing like a boiled shrimp left in divine sunlight.

Alvar’s smile softened, warmth blooming across his whole face, brighter than any blessing.

"Good," he whispered, pressing his forehead gently to mine. "Since our families are gathered... let’s be married here. Surrounded by people who truly love and bless us."

Something in my chest squeezed.

Hard.

I swallowed, nodding before my voice could betray the moment. "...Okay."

His arms tightened once, like sealing a promise with a heartbeat.

A marriage.

Mine.

Ours.

Grandma’s voice echoed faintly in the back of my head:

Congratulations on your marriage, my child.

And I didn’t realize it until that exact second—

Our wedding was no longer a distant idea floating in hypothetical fantasy. It was real. It was close.

It was happening.