[Dwarven Village—Leif’s POV—Continuation]

The moment the dwarves bowed, I nearly choked on my own oxygen.

"No—no, no kneeling!" I flailed, trying to yank Grendur back up. "I only know human diseases and very questionable first aid! I am not saint material!"

Grendur didn’t even twitch. A literal mountain would move first. Beside me, Alvar covered his mouth. His shoulders shook. Was he... laughing at my misery? Traitor.

"Saint Leif, please stand tall," another dwarf declared, forehead flat against cold stone. "Your holy shadow must not touch the dirt."

"I’m five-foot-nine!" I cried. "My shadow is guaranteed to touch dirt!"

Before I could threaten them with hand sanitizer and logic, they all looked up... With eyes full of desperate hope. The kind of look that guilt-trips you straight into responsibility.

My soul died a little.

"A-Alright... I accept you all," I muttered, trembling like a soggy leaf in the wind.

. . .

"HOORAY!!! YAAAY!!! LONG LIVE SAINT LEIF!!!"

My ears were ringing. Great. Now my tinnitus also thinks I’m holy. Grendur stepped forward eagerly. "Please give us your first divine order, Saint Leif! Where should we live now?"

I stared blankly.

"Uh... Order? Right. Yes. Orders." Brain, do something smart... For once.

"You can... come live with us. In Frojnholm," I said, praying I didn’t just adopt 300 bearded toddlers. "We can expand the territory together."

The dwarves nodded vigorously.

"We shall build homes for you! And powerful war machines and equipment!" Grendur declared. "We will contribute proudly to our new land!"

War machines? ...That actually sounded useful.

A grin crept onto my face like an ambitious raccoon. Dwarves meant engineering. Engineering meant profit. Profit meant...

A kingdom.

If a territory gains five villages under its banner, it becomes a small kingdom. We already had three now.

"We dwarves will give everything we can, Sain—"

"Just Leif," I interrupted quickly. "And I’m honored to have you all join us."

Grendur smiled like a proud dad.

"So... shall we return the Heart of the Tree before the Tree of Life decides it’s done with living?" I said.

"Yes," Alvar nodded. "Before it becomes the Tree of Death."

And so—elves, dwarves, and one panicked modern brain in medieval cosplay—began our march back to the elven village.

To save a sacred tree. To unite two races. To, apparently, become a saint-ruler-CEO of a kingdom in progress.

A casual Tuesday in my life.

***

[Elf Village—Later]

The Tree of Life looked worse than I remembered. Its once-brilliant leaves drooped like overcooked noodles. Branches cracked with the sound of a stressed old man’s spine. Even the glowing heartbeat at its core had dimmed...like a phone battery at 1% with no charger in sight.

Elves stood circling the tree, their faces tight with fear. When they saw the dwarves behind me—With crossbows strapped, armor clanking, and grins sharp— a ripple of panic rushed through the crowd.

I raised both hands. "Peace! They’re not here to steal anything—"

Zephyr hissed quietly. " Because they already stole something. "

"NOT HELPING," I whispered back.

Grendur stepped forward and held out the Heart of Life. It shimmered faintly—pale, weak, desperate.

Eryndor inhaled shakily. "If this does not work... the Tree will wither completely."

Alvar’s hand found mine, grounding me. "Don’t worry, everything will be fine," he murmured.

Okay. No pressure. Just thousands of years of history and every elf soul on the line.

The air tightened as Grendur lifted the heart up—dwarven hands that once took are now carefully returning. The moment the heart neared the hollow at the trunk—Light exploded.

SHIMMER!!!

A soft hum became a roar—magic rushing like a river breaking free. Leaves burst with emerald glow—blossoms spiraling outward like stars.

The Tree of Life breathed , color rushing back into its veins. Beauty. Salvation. Hope. Elves gasped. Dwarves stared in awe. Even Zephyy paused his sarcastic breathing.

"It’s working," I whispered.

And then—

A root shot upward. Then another. And another.

"What...the..." I mumbled.

The tree screamed—like a dragon waking up cranky from a millennium-long nap. Roots tangled around us—hugging, then tightening.

SQUEEZE!!

"WHY DOES MAGIC ALWAYS TRY TO KILL US?!" I yelled.

"Maybe it’s welcoming you?" Alvar wheezed as he struggled.

"THIS IS NOT A WELCOME; THIS IS A STRANGULATION HUG!"

Eryndor slashed at vines. Dwarves hacked with axes. Zephyy grew into his larger form and bit a root in half. The glowing heart pulsed violently— A shockwave blasted out—sending every single one of us flying.

I hit the ground.

Ow. Stars. Oof. I think I lost my two ribs atleast.

When the world finally stopped spinning— The Tree stood taller. Healthier. Magnificent.

The elves stared. The dwarves panted. I lay face-down in dirt. A single leaf drifted down...and smacked me in the nose.

Alvar rushed over. "Leif! Are you alive?!"

I groaned into the soil.

"If I die," I mumbled, "tell them to remove the ’Saint’ from my job title."

Zephyy snorted smoke. "No promises."

The elves and dwarves both erupted in cheers—praise and worship echoing around me.

Me?

I just lay there, mud in my mouth, thinking: This horrifying squeezing side of nature I hate.

But...

The world was safe. For now and I guess that’s all it needed.

Alvar slid an arm beneath my shoulders and lifted me gently.

"We should head back," he murmured, voice soft as starlight. "You’ve done more than enough today."

I leaned into him with a tired grin. "Done enough? Alvar... I literally wrestled a sentient tree. I deserve a nap and a beer."

"You’re getting the nap," he replied flatly.

I gasped in horror. "Why not the beer?!"

"Because you’re becoming unhealthy," he said, completely serious. "And I refuse to let my love develop a beer belly."

Before I could reply, The head of elf approached—calm, composed... though his eyes were definitely shiny with relief.

"Leif," he said, placing a hand over his chest. "You saved us. Saved the world’s life. We owe you a debt no elf could ever repay."

I blinked and before I could reply them...Thalion burst out, unable to hold his tongue any longer:

"I TOLD YOU! I TOLD EVERYONE HE’D FIX IT!" He threw an arm around me dramatically, nearly knocking me over again. "Our Saint! Our Saviour! Leif the Leaf-Whisperer!"

"NO," I snapped instantly. "We are NOT calling me that."

But the head elf only smiled warmly.

"He is right about one thing—your presence has changed everything, Leif. You brought elves and dwarves together in peace again. You erased the plague and saved the dwarves. That alone is a miracle."

My chest tightened—not in pain this time. Something warmer.

"I just... didn’t want anyone to die," I mumbled.

Alvar squeezed my hand. "And that," he whispered, "is why everyone believes in you."

Behind us, dwarves and elves were awkwardly shaking hands—some muttering soft threats like ’if you insult my beard, I’ll braid your ears’ —others already plotting a drinking competition that would leave legends.

But it was still a new beginning. I turned to the head elf. "If you ever need help again—and if I’m actually willing—I’ll be there."

He smiled like he knew I’d never actually refuse.

Then I faced Grendur. "Well... see you soon. In Frojnholm. Your new home."

Grendur slapped his chest proudly. "We will arrive once our sick fully recover, Saint. And we will bring our knowledge, skill, and ale."

"...Please bring less ale," I whispered.

Zephyy crouched low in his large form, wings stretching wide. Alvar helped me climb up as I waved back to the crowd—Elves bowing respectfully, dwarves yelling, "TAKE CARE! SEE YOU SOON!!!"

Comforting.

With a powerful beat of wings, Zephyy lifted us into the sky. The wind roared past, the village shrinking beneath us.

Home.Back to Frojnholm. Back to whatever madness awaited there next.

At least... we saved the world a little today. And maybe—just maybe—tomorrow would be quiet.

(Which, knowing my life... meant tomorrow was doomed.)