The soft lullaby of the mana tree hummed overhead, its glowing leaves shimmering with a deeper hue now, thicker, fuller, as if it too had aged with the passing moons.
Time moved differently in Exiastgardsun, or rather, in the unnamed world Lucretia and Wildan still referred to as "this place" or "here." But the passage of time was evident in other ways: no longer were the twelve elf children babbling, crawling chaos bombs. They had grown. Not yet adults, but no longer infants either. Their bodies took on the appearance of six- or seven-year-old humans, though Lucretia suspected their mental maturity, much like Wildan's patience, lagged far behind.
The mana tree towered over their village now. Its branches stretched higher than before, casting wide shadows that danced across the freshly built cobblestone paths. Wildan had finally given up trying to track how fast it grew.
And beneath that colossal tree, life blossomed.
With Lucretia's guidance and mana, the village expanded. Dozens of new elves had been born from the tree's shimmering fruits. Unlike the original twelve, however, the new ones were quieter, gentler, and, Lucretia hated to admit it, far less chaotic. The spark of unpredictability, of mischief and brilliance, didn't blaze in their eyes. They were sweet, and they were hers, but... not quite the same.
Wildan, muttering curses under his breath, dashed past the main hall with three toddlers clinging to his cloak like limpets. One had a snot bubble. Another had sneezed magic glitter into Wildan's face.
"Lucreeeetiaaa," he groaned, dragging himself toward the pond. "Why do they multiply when I'm not looking?"
Lucretia peeked from her balcony, sipping dew tea from a shimmering cup. "Because you said you were lonely and needed more social interaction. You're welcome."
"I said I wanted less, not more!" He tugged at the fabric. "Also, one of them just bit me."
"A bite of affection! You're irresistible to toddlers, Wildan."
The twelve originals, as Lucretia began calling them in her head, had become quite distinct in personality and quirks. Kyle and Sinryo were a whirlwind of mischief, often engineering minor physical chaos. Jessica had grown confident and sharp, with a gaze that could freeze Kyle in mid-prank. Adiw was full of unstoppable energy and always jumping into action. Fuhiken played the role of big brother, responsible and meticulous, while Gaby was the ever-patient mediator. Yetsan refused to step outside without polishing his boots and brushing every speck of dust from his clothes. Gigih, the broody type, had once tried to leap from a tree using a cape and declared it an experiment in gravitational destiny.
Sakura and Orchid were a pair of contrasts: one kind and quiet, the other air-headed and perpetually tripping over her own thoughts. Fahleena? Pure chuunibyou sparkles. She declared herself "the Chosen Descendant of Fate" every other morning. Yuuna, ever the observer, said nothing but always wrote... something. Sketches. Notes. Equations. Occasionally, she mumbled about "low-level tech equivalents."
Lucretia cherished each of them. She couldn't imagine this world without their chaos. But the world still had no name.
One morning, as a golden breeze fluttered past, Wildan stood alone beneath the mana tree, looking toward the sky. For a brief moment, his gaze drifted to memories long sealed, of Asgard, his true home, with its floating sanctuaries and endless light. He wasn't homesick, not really. But something in his heart tugged.
"Lucretia," he called, staring upward, "what even is this planet called? We've been here for years, and it still doesn't have a name."
Before Lucretia could respond with a dramatic monologue about the spiritual weight of naming, a blur of blue hair zipped between them.
"EXIASTGARDSUN!" Kyle bellowed mid-leap, arms raised to the sky like he had just discovered the true name of the cosmos.
Yuuna, who had been reading quietly on a nearby rock, let out a long, despairing sigh and slapped her forehead. "That is just... random wordplay."
She muttered something about syllabic entropy and linguistic crimes against nature.
Lucretia blinked. "Wait. Is that... a combination of Exia, Asgard, and Sun?"
"Exactly!" Kyle beamed. "Sounds awesome, right? Like a legendary place where we battle fate with sparkles!"
Yuuna turned to him slowly. "Have you been spending too much time with Fahleena?"
Fahleena, not missing a beat, struck a pose from a nearby tree branch. "My influence grows stronger by the hour! Soon, all shall embrace the Path of the Glorious Radiant Flame of Eternal Brilliance!"
Wildan groaned. "We are doomed."
Exiastgardsun.
Lucretia opened her mouth, about to correct him. Then stopped. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't ancient. It didn't follow the elven naming customs or the sacred divine structures. But it had charm. It had chaos. It had Kyle.
"I dub thee Royal Namer of Planets," she said, placing a cookie on Kyle's head like a crown. "Long may your random syllables reign."
Wildan, from the hillside, yelled, "That's a mouthful!"
Lucretia called back, "You're just mad your name idea was 'Worldy McWorldface!'"
So it was that the world, her world, finally received its name.
Exiastgardsun.
The children celebrated in their own way. Fahleena designed a flag out of mana cloth, with far too many sparkles and her own self-portrait on it. Gigih attempted to burn a ceremonial sigil into the ground and accidentally set his sleeve on fire. Sakura baked sweet buns with the new name etched in frosting. Orchid saluted every squirrel she saw for a week, declaring them guardians of Exiastgardsun. Wildan sighed loudly and built himself a babysitter from the main cluster.
As weeks passed, more elf children were born from the mana tree's fruits. Yet, as their numbers grew into the hundreds and then thousands, Lucretia noticed the tree slowing its yield. The once-frequent glow of new life faded to a rare pulse. And then... stopped entirely.
The last fruit, a soft golden one, birthed a quiet baby who giggled at sunlight and cried only when hungry. Lucretia held her close, wondering if this was the tree's way of saying "enough."
She asked Wildan about it over dinner one night.
"Maybe the mana tree has a limit," he said, munching on slightly burnt mushroom stew. "Or maybe even it realized you have too many kids now."
Lucretia pouted. "You can never have too many children."
"Yes, you can. The limit is twelve. Maybe thirteen, if they're all shy."
"But they're all special."
Wildan raised a brow. "Says the woman who built five more houses last week because she ran out of bunk beds."
Lucretia sipped her tea, unbothered. "That's called long-term planning."
Despite his sarcasm, Wildan never truly left. He helped build homes, taught the children to float pebbles with basic wind magic, and even constructed a slide made of hardened air that the kids used to catapult themselves into the lake.
Yuuna wrote it all down, of course. She never said much, but Lucretia often found notes tucked into books, under her pillow, or pinned to the kitchen wall:
"Note: Exiastgardsun has limited tree-based elf production. Investigate energy drain cycle."
"Fahleena's power shout now registers as mild sound-based damage."
"Kyle tried to ignite cookies again. Deny him matches."
At night, the twelve slept in a large shared room in Lucretia's house. Peace, of a sort, settled over the house. The world continued to grow, the children with it, and Lucretia finally felt something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Home. Not a battlefield, not a throne, not a laboratory of creation. Just home.
And the name echoed, soft and strong, every time the children shouted it from rooftops, carved it into trees, or sang it in their made-up songs.
Exiastgardsun.
Not just a word. A wish, a dream, a beginning.
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