Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop

In the opulent palace chamber, the elite leaders of the elven tribes congregated under the watchful eye of their monarch, the Queen.

The High Elf chief stood tall with a regal air, pretending not to notice the envious glances of the other chiefs. The Wood Elf leader, adorned with leaves and flowers, seemed torn between reverence for nature and the allure of courtly extravagance.

Sneaky glances were exchanged between the Dark Elf chief, shrouded in mystery, and the Moon Elf leader, whose ethereal beauty masked a shrewd mind. Meanwhile, the Sun Elf chief, basking in an imaginary halo of sunlight, projected an aura of superiority that bordered on blinding.

Amidst the ethereal beauty that filled the chamber, none could rival the mesmerizing presence emanating from the central figure of the wooden table—Morgan Le Fay. Her allure outshone even the most resplendent of elves gathered in that opulent hall.

"Verily, 'tis a wondrous happenstance that my second daughter doth make her return this day, and anon shall grace us with her presence. Dost thou deign to tarry a while, Your Holiness, and revel in her imminent arrival?" the queen asked.

“I’m here to yell at her after all, of course I’ll wait,” Morgan declared, her words carrying a nonchalant air.

The tribal chieftains, engaged in jovial discourse, swiftly lapsed into a silence profound. A shiver coursed through their beings, draining hues from their countenances. Never before had they borne witness to the illustrious saint adopting such a casual mien.

She lost the imperial accent!

‘She’s serious angry, yeah?’

‘Seems our guest is in quite the mood, wouldn't thee say?’ The High Elf Chief blinked at the Sun Elf Chief, who broke a serious sweat. 

‘Indeed, completely so.’

Moon Elf Chief slooooooowly shifted, intruding High Elf Chief’s peripheral view and blinked at him too, ‘Pray tell, what revelry is this? What if our fate meets an untimely end this very day?’

The Wood Elf Chief, aggressively entered their view, blinking furiously, ‘Cease thy sun-soaking and moon-gazing, and tend to the youths lest peril befalls us all!’

Suddenly, the Dark Elf Chief tilted his head, his previously mysterious expression vanished, turning completely innocent-stupid and asked with a blink, ‘Art thou suggesting it concerns the younglings, dear kin?’

They were actually a band of wholesome uncles.

“Hm?” Morgan raised her eyebrows. But then, she frowned suspiciously, “She’s here… with a human.”

***

Ah, behold Nahwu, or as her friends fondly dubbed her, Naha—the elf whose beauty could make even unicorns jealous. 

Now, there was also Shorof, the older sis sharing the same gene pool of allure, but she was too busy hoarding wisdom like a dragon guards its gold.

With a smile as rare as a sunny day in the Underworld, Shorof embraced her inner recluse, giving off those "I'm too busy contemplating the universe to bother with pleasantries" vibes. 

While Shorof delved into the realms of nature study, Naha pranced about radiating sunshine and rainbows, cementing her status as the dazzling gem of the family tree. 

But our radiant elf maiden Nahwu wasn't all sunshine and sparkles—it wasn’t like she had no interest in academics at all, she did grace the halls of academia, albeit in the realm of humans.

The sisters forged a pact to trade notes on their respective intellectual pursuits during their visits… until tragedy struck. Shorof's once formidable condition took a nosedive, casting a shadow over their scholarly ambitions.

Something was wrong. Shorof, a stalwart figure among the elves, possessed a prowess that rivaled even Nahwu's own considerable talents. Despite Nahwu's dominance in the realm of Force art, Shorof's expertise in Vision art delved into profound realms, teetering on the brink of enlightenment within her specialty.

Their dynamic was a delicate balance of power and skill. While Nahwu reigned supreme in the manipulation of forces, she harbored no doubt that in a showdown, Shorof would emerge victorious. 

Riddled with her sister’s predicament, Nahwu often visited her back in the Great Forest, a routine followed today as well, with an uninvited guest tagging along—the first prince.

“What's got you so on edge? You mentioned yourself that your sister is as strong as an ox. Elves practically live forever, so to us mere mortals, she might just have a case of the sniffles, no?” the prince remarked carelessly.

“What would a human like you know?! If even elves like us are worried about her predicament, how dare you say my sister is only catching a cold?!” Nahwu yelled back.

Prince Locan Inkor stumbled upon Nahwu during a shared class, where their interactions mostly consisted of heated debates rather than heartfelt conversations due to their vastly differing perspectives.

Nevertheless, despite his occasional rudeness, Locan exhibited a genuinely kind nature, as evidenced by his small unexpected gesture.

Nahwu, struggling with the heavy load of luggage she had brought, required the assistance of several other elves to manage it. Observing this, Locan glanced at the excessive baggage and then back at Nahwu, who was visibly exasperated.

Feeling pity mixed with exasperation, Locan grabbed one of the oversized boxes brought by the elves and hoisted it up himself, prompting Nahwu to shoot him a disapproving look.

"You really shouldn't have," she reproached lightly.

Locan, in an uncharacteristically helpful move, retorted, "Well, it's your fault for packing the entire city! Where on earth does your sister plan to stash all these treasures, anyway?"

It became increasingly apparent that all the items in tow were intended as gifts for Shorof, Nahwu's ailing sister.

As Nahwu struggled with the mountain of gifts, two elves with high-ranking elven official garments suddenly darted towards her like startled rabbits, their urgent voices cutting through the air.

"Princess Nahwu! Her Majesty the Queen summons you to the great meeting hall! The Original Saint has graced us with a visit!" one of them exclaimed.

Nahwu's eyes widened in disbelief. "U-Uncle Yukre? Granduncle Rekre? W-wait! Th-the who?!" she stammered, clearly taken aback by the news.

Locan, completely clueless, chimed in, "Who?"

Ignoring his question, Nahwu quickly gathered her thoughts. "A-anyway, I've got to go!" she exclaimed urgently, ready to dash off to the meeting.

But before she could make her escape, Rekre turned his attention to the first prince with a polite nod.

"You are also invited, Sir Inkor."