It started with a single step. Elsie's pale hand rested lightly on my arm, her other fingers gently gripping the cane Kael had carved for her—smooth as river stone, enchanted with a subtle mana pulse to help her navigate uneven terrain. She wore a soft white cloak stitched by Aunt Marla and her daughters and new boots from the leatherworker's stall.
"I can hear everything," she whispered as we passed through the open gate of the manor garden. "Birds, water... so many people."
I smiled. "Welcome to Robinson Town."
The streets buzzed with activity—carts rolled past, kids darted between stalls, and the scent of grilled meats, sweet pastries, and dried herbs hung thick in the air. Townsfolk bustled about, but the moment they saw us, a slow ripple passed through the crowd.
"Elvie told me you were quiet," Elsie said softly. "You didn't mention people would stare."
"I didn't say they wouldn't," I muttered under my breath.
A moment later—
"Well, well, what do we have here?" piped a familiar voice.
I turned to find Aunt Marla grinning ear to ear, hands on her hips, flour dusting her apron. "Is this the mystery elf girl I've been hearing about?"
Elsie smiled politely, bowing her head. "Hello."
"Oh, she's got manners too," Marla chuckled, then gave me a look. "And here I thought our Lord Dirk had no time for romance. What's this, a morning stroll arm-in-arm, hm?"
"Marla..." I sighed, but the damage was done.
Kael strolled by with Karl and Felix right behind him. Kael arched an eyebrow. "My lord, you didn't take her to see the forge first, did you? That's hardly romantic."
"It's not a date," I said firmly.
Felix whistled low. "Sure, sure. And I'm a fairy prince. C'mon, Lord Dirk, even Igor's blushing back there."
I turned just in time to see Igor awkwardly turning away with a sudden cough. Betrayal.
Elsie leaned closer and whispered, "Are you always this popular?"
"No. Normally they just harass me less," I muttered.
But she laughed—really laughed—and the sound made people pause. A bright, melodic laugh that seemed to make the flowers in the planters bloom wider and the air warmer. Even Divina, watering her herbs nearby, turned with a small smile.
"Who's this lovely young lady?" she asked.
"Elsie," I introduced. "The elf we found in the mines. She's just starting to walk again."
Divina approached, taking her hand gently. "Welcome, dear. You'll find we may be odd, but we're good people."
Elsie nodded. "It already feels… safe here."
We walked past the main square next, and I pointed out different shops. "Over there's the bakery—best mamons in the realm. That's the smithy where Kael makes tools. The cotton candy machine is probably still spinning if you want a taste later."
"Cotton candy?" she asked, tilting her head. "Sounds strange."
"I'll get you some," I promised.
The townsfolk kept sneaking glances at us. A few whispered. Children waved. One bold little girl marched right up to me and tugged my tunic.
"Is she your girlfriend?"
Elsie blinked. "What does that mean?"
I covered my face. "It means children shouldn't ask dangerous questions."
The girl grinned. "I like her. She smiles nice."
Elsie crouched slightly, gently patting the girl's hair. "You're very kind."
I turned back toward the manor path. "Alright, let's go before they start planning a wedding."
"Too late!" someone shouted from the bakery.
Elsie giggled, holding tighter to my arm. "You live among very cheerful people."
"Cheerful?" I echoed. "No, they're menaces."
But even as I complained, I couldn't stop smiling.
As the sun climbed higher and the town buzzed around us, I couldn't help but feel that something new was beginning—something light and fragile and maybe a little beautiful.
And maybe, just maybe... I didn't mind being teased for it.
The Divine Garden was unusually quiet that morning.
Birdsong had softened, and even the wind held its breath as the first rays of sunlight pierced the glass ceiling above. I stepped inside, holding the door open for Elsie, who walked slowly beside me, her bare feet barely making a sound on the cobbled path.
She looked… calmer today. Still weak, but stronger than when I first found her deep in the mines—naked, half-frozen, lost.
We didn't speak at first. The garden had that effect—words felt out of place here.
At the centre of the garden stood the heart of this sanctuary: the twin statues of the Divine Trees, carved by hand, each holding the magic of our town. One glowed softly green, the other golden. And between them, the real tree—the living Divine Tree I planted months ago. Its silver-blue leaves shimmered as though responding to Elsie's presence.
And beside it, my bonsai.
I'd taken it from the system and tended to it carefully here, placing it on a raised stone pedestal as both memory and anchor. My old man used to sit for hours shaping branches with his rough, wrinkled fingers, muttering that patience was the soul of a tree.
Divina was already here, hands folded over her robes. She gave me a small nod and turned toward Elsie.
Elsie slowed as we neared the center, her fingers brushing over the tall grasses and flowering shrubs. I watched her stop completely when we reached the Divine Tree. Her brows furrowed. Her breathing hitched.
She tilted her face upward, eyes unseeing, but full of something I couldn't name.
"…I've felt this before," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Divina stepped forward gently. "What do you mean, child?"
Elsie raised her hand, hovering just over the tree's leaves. Her fingertips trembled.
"This… this magic. It's old. Kind. But it's painful, too." She lowered her hand slowly, as though afraid to touch it. "I don't remember why. Or where. But it feels like home—and loss."
That ache in her voice pulled something out of me.
Divina, ever gentle, led her to the bonsai next. "This little tree is not from this realm," she said. "It comes from Dirk's homeland. A tradition of peace, patience, and remembrance. The magic it carries is subtle—but enduring."
Elsie crouched down. Her hand found the edge of the bonsai's pot. She traced the rough bark, the twisted trunk, and the roots that curled like old fingers into the stone basin.
"I don't know who I am," she whispered. "Just my name. Elsie. That I'm an elf. But… the rest? It's like a fog."
She pressed her hand over her chest, her face tight. "Why can't I remember? Why does it hurt?"
I stepped forward then, crouching beside her, careful not to get too close. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a cloth—embroidered with a stitched bird. One of the manor kids had made it for me after I taught them how to sew.
"Here," I said softly, offering it to her.
She accepted it without speaking at first, then whispered, "Thank you… Dirk."
That voice. That single moment, saying my name like I was someone who mattered—it carved straight through the walls I didn't even realise I'd built.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, "You don't need all the answers right now. We'll figure it out together. You're safe here. With us."
The garden responded, almost like it agreed with me. Leaves rustled faintly. A single glowing petal drifted down from the Divine Tree and landed in her lap.
She didn't flinch. Just placed her hand over it. Like she'd done it before. Like her heart remembered what her mind had forgotten.
Divina sat beside her without a word. And I just stayed there on the stones, watching them, while the quiet magic of the garden pulsed gently around us.
And in that moment, I knew—no matter who she used to be, no matter where she came from—Elsie was part of this place now. Just like me.
Over the next few days, I found myself gravitating more and more toward Elsie.
There was something about her—gentle yet haunting. A sadness in her smile that drew me in like a moth to a quiet flame. She still didn't remember anything beyond her name, but each time we spoke, I saw flickers—tiny moments where her gaze lingered on something too familiar or her fingers traced symbols unconsciously.
One afternoon, I invited her to the outdoor kitchen near the garden. The divine trees stood tall behind us, swaying as though they were listening. The sunlight broke through the foliage in golden shafts. Elsie sat on a bench, the breeze dancing through her silver hair.
"You've never had curry?" I asked as I stirred the pot over the open flame.
She tilted her head, confused. "Curry? I've never heard that word… but it smells… warm."
I chuckled. "That's a start."
I served her a bowl—steamed rice, slow-cooked chicken curry, and some pickled vegetables on the side. She took a cautious bite, her nose scrunching in confusion before her expression softened.
"…It's spicy. But it's good."
I smiled, watching her take a few more careful bites. "There's a soft bun we eat with this too. I'll introduce it next."
"You're always feeding me," she murmured. "Are you trying to make me fat, Dirk?"
"No," I laughed. "I just want to see you get strong again."
She paused, looking at me with those cloudy silver eyes. "You… really care."
"I do."
Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she dropped her gaze to her food.
Behind me, I heard a very deliberate cough. Elvie stood near the garden archway, arms crossed. Ella was with her, pretending to inspect the flowers a little too intensely.
I turned. "Something wrong?"
Elvie raised a brow. "Nothing. Just didn't know our Lord also plays house with beautiful elves now."
Ella added, "Must be nice, getting custom meals from the great Lord Dirk. I only got hard biscuits last week."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "It's not like that…"
Elsie looked between us, then leaned in, whispering to me, "Are they always this sharp?"
"They're just protective," I said. "Don't mind them. They've been with me a long time."
But I knew what this was. Elvie and Ella weren't angry—they never truly were. Just a little… left out. I made a mental note to cook them something special tomorrow. Maybe that pineapple-glazed pork they liked.
Later that evening, Elsie and I sat beneath the divine garden's canopy, near the miniature bonsai I had brought from Earth. The warm lantern light gave her hair a soft glow.
She reached out, brushing her fingers along the edge of the bonsai leaves.
"This… feels familiar," she said softly.
"The bonsai?" I asked.
She nodded. "It's like… something from my dreams. Something sacred. This whole garden—it feels like home, and yet… I know it's not."
I watched her closely. "Take your time, Elsie. Your memories… they'll return when you're ready."
She smiled at me—this soft, unsure thing full of trust. "As long as you're here, I think I'll be okay."
At that moment, I didn't feel like a transmigrated soul, a merchant-warrior, or the lord of a growing town.
I just felt like a man, falling quietly, deeply for the mysterious woman beside him.