[Location: Empire State Building, New York]

Ezravia pinched her nose.

"Of course. The Wet Dog's Elderly… Barkimedes."

Ravvy whispered, "D-Does he… um… smell nice…?"

"No," the alpha snapped. "He does not. He smells like wisdom and wet fur."

Valeria laughed harder. "OH NO, THAT'S WORSE."

Valeria was curled on the ground, kicking her legs, laughing like she'd been personally blessed by the comedy gods.

Ezravia, meanwhile, looked like she had aged twelve years in twelve seconds.

Ravvy shyly raised her hand again."U-Um… does Barkimedes… brush his fur…?"

The alpha wolf's eye twitched. "Of course he does! Elder Barkimedes is a paragon of werewolf discipline!"

Valeria wheezed. "Then why does he sound like he lives in the discounted aisle of Petco?"

"ENOUGH!" the alpha howled.

Every nearby window vibrated.

Valeria blinked. "Oh. He's serious."

Ezravia folded her arms. "Alpha. Summoning your Elder will not change the treaty laws, our jurisdictional immunity, or your pack's extreme incompetence."

"We are NOT incompetent!"

"Your tail crushed my milkshake…" Ravvy whispered sadly.

The entire pack flinched.

The alpha pointed a shaking claw. "L-Look. Elder Barkimedes has ordered us to... 'escort' you all to him, so that this matter could be resolved in accordance with Pack Law and interspecies courtesy," the alpha finished, voice cracking halfway through the sentence like a teenage boy discovering falsetto.

Ezravia blinked slowly.

"That sounded rehearsed."

"It was not rehearsed."

Valeria nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, no, that definitely sounded like you practised it in the mirror."

"I DID NOT PRACTICE—"

Ravvy gently tapped her fingertips together."Um… maybe once…?"

Half the pack looked away guiltily.

Ezravia exhaled. "We don't have time for this. Lead us to the Elder before Valeria dies from laughter, and I die from secondhand embarrassment."

"Hey—" Valeria began, then snorted. "Okay, fair."

The alpha straightened his spine, puffed his chest, and attempted to regain dignity."Follow me. Elder Barkimedes is currently at—"

He froze.

Everyone froze.

Because the elevator behind them dinged.

And out stepped…

A single old werewolf.

Not large.

Not imposing.

Just incredibly, impossibly… fluffy.

Grey fur, perfectly brushed, with a long, flowing beard that shimmered like silver silk in the morning sun. His robe was a navy-blue bathrobe tied with a rope that looked suspiciously like it had once been used to walk a dog.

He carried a steaming mug.

The mug read: #1 Grandpaw.

Valeria made a choking noise.

Ravvy gasped softly. "H-He's… adorable…"

Ezravia stared, eyes blank."That… is the Elder?"

The old werewolf took a long sip from his mug.

Then he nodded wisely.

"Yes."

His voice was deep, resonant, ancient… and incredibly tired.

"I am Elder Barkimedes. Keeper of Pack Lore. Guardian of Ancestral Howls. Master of the Eternal Kennel. And—"

He sniffed.

His golden eyes sharpened.

"—I smell mischief."

Ezravia gestured at Valeria immediately."It's her."

Valeria shouted, "TRAITOR!"

Ezravia stepped forward and asked something that had been on her mind, "So I have noticed... You all stay transformed into your wolf form all the time, or is it just to intimidate us?"

Elder Barkimedes blinked slowly… then blinked again, as if the question required ancient, cosmic contemplation.

Finally, he spoke.

"We remain in our wolf forms," Barkimedes rumbled, "because age has taught us a sacred truth."

Ezravia raised a brow.

Valeria leaned in.

Ravvy clasped her hands, sparkling with curiosity.

The entire pack held their breath.

The Elder lifted one clawed finger.

"...pants," he said gravely, "are overrated."

The alpha nodded vigorously. "YES. Elder speaks the TRUTH."

Valeria sputtered. "So—you're telling me—you stay in full werewolf mode because you don't want to wear pants!?"

Barkimedes sipped from his #1 Grandpaw mug without breaking eye contact.

"The world is cruel," he said. "Weather fluctuates. Laundry piles up. Elastic grows weak. And chafing…" His eyes darkened, as if recalling a battlefield trauma. "Chafing is the enemy of peace."

Ezravia pressed her fingers to her temples. "I regret asking."

Ravvy tilted her head, genuinely sympathetic. "I-I understand… chafing must be scary…"

The alpha pointed at her with a trembling paw. "YES. Finally, someone who understands our struggle."

Valeria folded over, laughing again. "You—YOU PEOPLE RUN AN EMPIRE-SIZED PACK—based on AVOIDING PANTS—?!"

The Elder's ancient gaze narrowed.

"I do not expect you, bearer of mischief, to understand the freedom of the wind."

"What wind—?!" Valeria wheezed.

"And we don't run an empire-sized pack; that's our king's problem," the Elder finished, waving a lazy paw as if brushing off the weight of geopolitics like lint from his robe.

The alpha bowed his head reverently. "Long howls to King Fenris the Unclothed."

Valeria froze mid-laugh.

Ezravia blinked.

Ravvy's eyes sparkled with innocent horror.

"…I'm sorry," Ezravia said flatly. "Your king is called WHAT?"

The Elder nodded solemnly, beard flowing with divine gravitas."Fenris the Unclothed. High Lord of the Moonlit Meadows. Slayer of the Denim Doom. Breaker of Belts."

Valeria's soul left her body.

"No—no way—THAT CANNOT BE REAL—"

"It is," Barkimedes said, sipping his tea with the serenity of a man who had long accepted the idiocy of his people. "His majesty abandoned pants three hundred years ago. A visionary. A rebel. A pioneer of breezy thighs."

Ravvy whispered, "S-So brave…"

Ezravia rubbed her forehead. "This… explains far too much about your culture."

The Elder set his mug down with eternal slowness, looking at the girls with the patient disappointment of a teacher forced to explain algebra to a brick.

His golden eyes glowed faintly—as if the previous grandpa persona was an illusion.

A faint growl left his throat as—

"Now then, on a serious note, I would like to know your purpose of entering—"

The Elder stopped mid-sentence.

Mostly because Valeria raised her hand.

Like a student.

In a kindergarten class.

While a literal ancient werewolf elder was talking.

Barkimedes stared at her.

"…Yes, bearer of mischief?"

Valeria cleared her throat."Before we continue, I just need to confirm something for my sanity. Your king—your actual political leader—is really named Fenris the Unclothed."

The Elder shook his head in denial, "I was joking earlier, as for his majesty's true name, it is Volkan Fenrir — The One Blessed by The Beast of Ragnarok."

Valeria stared at him.

Ezravia stared at him.

Ravvy's brain rebooted like a Windows XP loading screen.

The entire pack collectively sighed with the shame of a species whose sense of humour had just detonated an international conversation.

"…You were joking," Ezravia repeated slowly, her eye twitching."You—an Elder—ancient guardian of lore—holder of wisdom—decided to joke about your king being called Fenris the Unclothed."

Barkimedes shrugged, beard swaying with grandfatherly nonchalance."It is healthy to maintain levity. Especially when dealing with outsiders."

Valeria pointed at him with both hands."YOU NEARLY KILLED ME WITH THAT!"

"A test," Barkimedes said sagely.

"A WHAT?!" she shrieked.

"A test," he repeated. "To gauge your spirits. A warrior's mettle is most honestly revealed during the chaos of absurdity."

Ezravia blinked. "…That is not a real saying."

"It is now," he answered, sipping loudly from his mug.

Ravvy tilted her head, whispering, "S-So… your king isn't… naked…?"

"No," Barkimedes replied. "His majesty is clothed. Usually. Unless the moon is full. Or the weather is good. Or he feels spiritually constricted."

Ezravia covered her face."Why did I ask?"

Barkimedes raised both paws, calling the room to order.

"Now then—your presence here is an irregularity under Pack Law. State your purpose, daughters of demonkind and… whatever the small cheerful one is."

Ravvy waved nervously. "C-Cute…?"

"Correct," the Elder said without hesitation.

Valeria grinned. "She wins."

Ezravia stepped forward, regaining composure.

"We are not obliged to explain anything to you," Ezravia finished coolly. "This is neutral ground, bound by the Tri-Species Compacts. You have no jurisdiction over demon nobility—especially over us."

Barkimedes stared at her.

Not offended.

Not angry.

Just…

…deeply, cosmically, grandpa-level tired.

"Young one," he rumbled, stroking his silky beard as if contemplating the frailty of youth, "I have lived long enough to see empires rise, fall, and then argue about parking validation. I am not asking out of authority." His eyes narrowed. "I am asking because your mere presence made three of our scouts pass out from mana-induced terror."

Ravvy flinched. "W-We did??"

Valeria brightened. "HA! We're THAT scary?"

Ezravia elbowed her. "It's you, released too much Lust mana during transit."

"And I already said, I was excited, okay?"

Barkimedes exhaled through his nose.

Not angrily.

Not impatiently.

Just with the eternal exhaustion of someone who had personally witnessed the fall of Rome, the invention of jeans, and the rise of TikTok.

"…Excitement," he repeated."Of course."

Valeria flipped her hair proudly. "I can't help it. I'm naturally radiant."

"You are naturally leaking," Ezravia corrected.

Ravvy nodded softly. "S-She glows… like a dangerous lantern…"

Valeria placed a hand over her heart."I'll take that as a compliment."

Ezravia pinched the bridge of her nose."It wasn't."

"Alright, I will grant you permission to roam the unrestricted areas of the city. Go now. Leave. Shoo—"

Barkimedes flicked his paw.

Ezravia's eye twitched.

Valeria opened her mouth in offence.

Ravvy made a soft "mwehh?" noise.

"Did… did he just shoo us?" Valeria whispered.

The Elder continued shooing.

Like they were pigeons.

At a park.

Ezravia's voice became dangerously calm. "Elder. With all due respect—"

"No respect needed," Barkimedes said gently. "Just leave. I am old. I am tired. I have tea. And every minute I spend with you three increases my lifespan in stress-years."

Valeria scoffed. "We're delightful."

"All three of you," Barkimedes said, pointing with his mug, "radiate the exact energy of children left unattended in a fireworks store."

Ravvy gasped. "F-Fireworks…?"

Ezravia groaned. "Do not encourage him."

"Sparkly explosions," Barkimedes nodded. "Deadly. Pretty. Chaotic. Much like you."

Valeria leaned forward. "Wait—do you think I'm the sparkiest? Be honest."

"Lustling," Barkimedes said, "you are the reason our mana dampeners shut down for a full thirty seconds."

Ezravia choked. "THIRTY?!"

The Elder nodded solemnly."Three newborn cubs began howling in synchronised rhythm. One elder fainted backwards into a decorative pond. The koi have not recovered."

Valeria grinned, smug and powerful. "So what you're saying is… I've still got it."

Ezravia slapped her forehead. "You've never lost it."

Ravvy whispered, "K-koi-san… I'm sorry…"

Barkimedes cleared his throat, regaining a shred of gravitas.

"You may roam," he repeated. "But avoid the following locations:—The Moonlit Archive.—The Howling Courts.—The Taco Truck on 7th. For your own safety."

Ezravia blinked. "Why the taco truck?"

The Elder's face darkened.

"Spicy Werewolf Tuesdays."

Silence.

Valeria snorted. "Oh gods—"

"No jokes," Barkimedes warned. "That is a sacred day. A dangerous day. A day of catastrophic digestive imbalance."

Ravvy covered her mouth in horror.

Ezravia wisely did not pursue further.

"And lastly," Barkimedes continued, raising a paw with ancient elegance, "you are forbidden from entering the restricted zone atop the Empire State Building."

Valeria perked up instantly.

Ezravia's expression sharpened.

Ravvy silently shook her head, sensing doom.

"Oh?" Valeria said, eyes bright. "And why can't we go up there?"

The Elder's gaze became stormy—quiet, grim, filled with old memories.

"Because," he said, "that is where one of the entrances to the Olympus lies."

"Okay, now shoo!"

Ezravia stumbled as the Elder physically herded them toward the exit with one giant, fluffy paw.

"H-HEY—!" Valeria yelped. "STOP SHOVING—THIS IS RACIAL DISCRIMINATION AGAINST HOT PEOPLE!"

Ravvy squeaked as she was gently but firmly scooted forward like a confused plush toy."A-Ah—! S-So fluffy—! I-I mean—! W-We'll go! We'll go!"

Ezravia dug her heels in, but Barkimedes did not care.

"OUT," he ordered, voice carrying the weight of ten thousand tired grandfathers."And DO NOT touch any glowing doors, glowing stones, glowing wolves, glowing sigils, glowing fountains—"

Valeria snorted. "Why is everything glowing?!"

"Because," Barkimedes said patiently, "we are magical creatures, young Lustling. Things glow. We glow. The moon glows. My arthritis glows."

Ezravia blinked. "…your arthritis glows?"

"Yes," the Elder replied. "With pain."

He gave them one last push.

And the trio were forcibly evicted from the Elder's presence.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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