Joyful Days and Surprising Revelations
Despite the underlying vigilance maintained by the future children, daily life in Ylisstol had taken on a distinctly cheerful rhythm in the weeks following their victory. The integration of elven culture had transformed the capital in unexpected and delightful ways, with new traditions blending seamlessly into established routines.
In the Shepherds' garrison, which had been expanded to accommodate their growing numbers, morning training sessions had become something of a cultural showcase. Sully and Stahl led human knights through traditional Ylissean cavalry drills in one corner of the practice yard, while nearby, elven warriors demonstrated their fluid, dance-like combat forms.
"No, no—you're still too rigid!" Sully barked at a young recruit attempting to incorporate elven footwork into his swordplay. "They're not just prancing around looking pretty—there's purpose in every step!"
Stahl, ever the mediator, demonstrated the movement with surprising grace for someone of his build. "Think of it like this—our style is about direct strength, theirs is about redirecting energy. Try to feel the difference."
Across the yard, Vaike had challenged three elven warriors to what he called a "cultural exchange of muscle," which mostly involved increasingly elaborate feats of strength that drew a growing crowd of spectators.
"The Teach is just getting warmed up!" he proclaimed, hefting a massive log overhead while the elven warriors watched with amused expressions. "This is how we build stamina in Ylisse!"
"Fascinating," one elven warrior responded dryly before executing a one-handed handstand that transitioned seamlessly into a perfectly balanced combat stance. "And this is how we practice focus in the Silvermere forests."
Lyra sat nearby, her elegant elven harp providing an impromptu soundtrack to these friendly competitions, her music somehow enhancing both the Ylissean feats of power and the elven displays of precision. Occasionally, she would catch Vaike's eye and subtly adjust her melody to complement his next demonstration, creating a harmony between their very different approaches.
In the castle kitchens, a culinary revolution was underway as elven ingredients and techniques merged with Ylissean cooking traditions. Gaius had practically taken up residence there, his sweet tooth driving an endless series of experimental confections that combined elements from both cultures.
"You have to try this," he insisted, presenting a tray of delicate pastries to a passing group of Shepherds. "Ylissean honey cakes with elven moonberry filling—it'll change your life."
Sumia, who had developed a particular interest in elven baking techniques, carefully folded iridescent dough into intricate patterns under the guidance of an elven chef. "The key is to fold, not knead," she repeated to herself, her typical clumsiness somehow diminished when focused on this particular task.
"Precisely," the elven baker encouraged. "You have a natural talent for this, Lady Sumia."
"Oh! I'm not—that is—" Sumia stammered, still uncomfortable with formal titles despite her marriage to Lon'qu. "Just Sumia is fine, especially in the kitchen."
Nearby, Donnel had become the unexpected bridge between practical Ylissean farming techniques and elegant elven horticulture. His innate understanding of growing things had quickly earned the respect of elven gardeners, leading to collaborative projects throughout the castle grounds.
"See, your moonflowers need more drainage," he explained to a group of elven botanists, his country accent contrasting with their refined speech. "But if ya plant 'em alongside these Ylissean stone-root herbs, they'll balance each other out right nice."
"The harmony principle in practical application," one elven gardener observed with genuine admiration. "Your intuitive understanding is remarkable."
Donnel adjusted his pot-helmet with a bashful smile. "Aw, plants is just plants. They all want ta grow—just gotta figure out what helps 'em do it best."
In the royal library, which had been transformed into a central repository of combined knowledge, academic exchanges flourished under Miriel's exacting supervision. The typically solitary mage had found unexpected fulfillment in cataloging and cross-referencing traditions from multiple cultures.
"The correlation between elven harmonics and ancient Ylissean resonance theory presents fascinating implications," she noted to Laurent, who had become her primary research assistant. "The fundamental principles appear identical despite developing independently."
"Suggesting universal magical constants rather than culturally-constructed frameworks," Laurent agreed, adjusting his spectacles as he compared texts side by side. "Mother, have you considered applying this unified approach to elemental manipulation?"
Their conversation quickly evolved into complex theoretical discussions that few others could follow, but their mutual enthusiasm was evident to all who passed through the increasingly crowded library.
Even Frederick, notorious for his unwavering adherence to Ylissean tradition, had found himself adapting to the cultural integration. His morning inspection routines now included checking the efficiency of elven-style ward-posts alongside traditional guard positions, often with his elven wife Seraphina observing with quiet amusement.
"Acceptable," he grudgingly admitted after examining an elegant elven protective barrier that used a fraction of the resources required by conventional defenses. "Though I would recommend supplementary physical barriers during thunderstorms."
The elven warden nodded seriously. "A prudent suggestion. Perhaps the reinforcement technique used on your western watchtowers could be adapted?"
"Indeed. I'll have diagrams prepared by this evening." Frederick's customary severity briefly softened as Seraphina placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your attention to detail is... commendable."
Throughout Ylisstol, similar scenes played out daily—moments of cultural exchange that ranged from profound to comical as two societies learned to appreciate their differences while discovering unexpected similarities.
Amidst this atmosphere of integration and renewal, the future children maintained their vigilance while also allowing themselves moments of normality that had been rare in their original timeline. Their regular meetings often evolved from strategic planning sessions into something resembling the social gatherings of young people their age.
One such evening found them gathered in a secluded courtyard that had become their unofficial retreat. Lanterns hung from flowering trees cast a warm glow over the small gathering, where maps and patrol schedules had been pushed aside in favor of shared meals and conversation.
Nygel passed around a plate of Gaius's latest creations—delicate pastries that somehow captured the essence of both cultures in their layered flavors. "He's calling these 'Alliance Tarts.' I think he's getting too poetic with the naming conventions."
"Better than 'Sugar Bomb Surprise' last week," Yarne observed, reaching for a second pastry. "I couldn't feel my tongue for an hour after eating one."
Seated on cushions arranged in a loose circle, the future children presented a striking visual—their features reflecting diverse heritage as human and elven bloodlines had mingled across generations. Some, like Morgana with her silver-streaked blue hair and slightly pointed ears, showed obvious signs of mixed lineage. Others carried more subtle markers—enhanced night vision, affinity for certain magics, or unusual eye colors that shifted in different lights.
"Patrol schedules for the eastern seal chambers are finalized," Kjelle announced, momentarily returning to business before the gathering fully transitioned to social time. "I've incorporated the rotation suggestions from last meeting."
"And the western excavation sites?" Nah asked, her manakete heritage adding a slight shimmer to her skin in the lantern light.
"Still no direct sightings," Gerome replied from his position slightly apart from the main group, his mask concealing his expression as always. "But we've placed new detection wards using Laurent's modified design."
With formal matters addressed, conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics—training achievements, cultural observations, and the good-natured teasing that had become possible only in this timeline where survival wasn't their sole focus.
"Did you see Inigo attempting elven court dancing yesterday?" Severa remarked with a smirk. "He actually wasn't terrible until he tried that spinning flourish and took out an entire row of decorative columns."
"To be fair," Owain interjected dramatically, "those columns were positioned with malevolent intent, lurking in wait for any dancer whose passion exceeded spatial awareness!"
This earned laughter from the group, including a reluctant smile from Severa herself. Even Gerome's stern demeanor softened slightly at the memory of Inigo's dance-related misadventure.
As the evening progressed, Lucina remained unusually quiet, picking at her food and occasionally pressing a hand to her stomach when she thought no one was watching. Her discomfort didn't go unnoticed, particularly by Noire, who had developed remarkable observational skills during their years of survival.
"Lucina," Noire ventured quietly during a lull in conversation, "are you feeling unwell? You've hardly touched your food."
This innocent question drew more attention than intended, with several conversations halting as concerned friends turned toward their leader.
"I'm fine," Lucina insisted, though her complexion appeared slightly paler than usual. "Just... tired from extended training sessions."
Nygel tilted his head, studying her with the analytical gaze he'd inherited from Robin. "You've been 'tired' for nearly two weeks now. And you missed morning drills twice last week—which has literally never happened before."
"And you turned down sparring practice," Kjelle added suspiciously. "You never turn down sparring."
Lucina shifted uncomfortably under their combined scrutiny. "It's nothing serious. Perhaps a mild seasonal illness."
"A seasonal illness that makes you sick primarily in the mornings?" Nah observed innocently, though her expression suggested the comment was anything but random. "How... interesting."
A moment of silence fell over the gathering as this observation settled among them. Lucina's eyes widened slightly before she carefully composed her expression, but not before several of her more perceptive friends caught the flash of panic.
"Morgana," Cynthia piped up suddenly, turning to the silver-haired mage who had been quietly observing, "didn't you train with healing mages in your timeline?"
Morgana nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving Lucina's increasingly flustered face. "I did. Including some training in detecting certain... conditions."
The tension in the courtyard grew palpable as understanding spread through the group like ripples in still water. Lucina's hand unconsciously moved to rest protectively over her abdomen before she realized the gesture and quickly returned it to her lap.
"Lucina," Noire finally spoke, her voice gentle but direct, "are you... with child?"
The question hung in the air, transforming the atmosphere in an instant. All pretense of casual conversation evaporated as every eye turned to their leader—the princess who had guided them through apocalypse and temporal displacement, who had always been their beacon of strength and determination.
For a long moment, Lucina seemed poised to deny it—her posture rigid with the same defensive tension they had all seen before battle. Then, unexpectedly, her shoulders relaxed and a complex smile touched her lips.
"I... had hoped to keep this private a little longer," she admitted, her voice soft but steady. "Until I was certain, until the right time to tell my father..."
"Then it's true?" Cynthia gasped, bouncing slightly in her excitement. "You're really pregnant?"
Lucina nodded once, the simple gesture confirming what her friends had suspected. "Yes. About two months along, according to the midwife I consulted in the lower town."
The courtyard erupted in a cacophony of reactions as the news rippled through the group. The future children, many sharing elven heritage themselves, responded in ways that reflected both their personalities and their unique backgrounds.
Marth, who had maintained a careful distance since arriving from his timeline with his twin Morgana, spoke first. His voice carried the quiet authority that mirrored Lucina's own. "So it begins, even in this peaceful time. The cycle continues." A rare smile softened his serious features. "Though under far better circumstances than we experienced."
Morgana set aside her usual reserve and embraced Lucina with surprising emotion. "In our timeline, you never had this chance," she whispered. "To see you now, to know that somewhere you will have this joy..." She pulled back, composure returning. "It gives meaning to everything we've done."
Cynthia, Sumia and Lon'qu's daughter, didn't try to contain her excitement, practically bouncing as she circled Lucina. "Oh gods, I can't believe it! A baby! We need to celebrate properly—maybe with a special entrance ceremony? I could coordinate pegasus formations for the announcement!" Her dark hair, inherited from her father, swung wildly as she gestured, while her mother's cheerful enthusiasm shone through.
"Perhaps something less... aerial," suggested Laurent, his scholarly demeanor momentarily set aside. "Statistical analysis of elven-human pregnancies suggests minimal stress is optimal for developmental outcomes." The son of Miriel and the stoic dark elf Xander adjusted his spectacles, a habit inherited from his mother. "Though I would be fascinated to monitor the magical resonance patterns as they develop. Half-elven pregnancies show remarkable arcane signatures."
"Must you make everything sound like a research project?" Severa rolled her eyes, though there was less bite in her tone than usual. The daughter of Robin and Cordelia flipped her long red hair, but her expression softened as she turned to Lucina. "Just don't expect me to handle diaper duty. But... I'm happy for you, I guess." Coming from Severa, this qualified as effusive praise.
Her brother Nygel approached the situation with more tact. "This changes security parameters," he noted with their father's tactical precision. "We'll need to adjust protection rotations accordingly." Then, with a warm smile that reflected Cordelia's compassion, he added, "And I'll personally ensure those rotations allow you proper rest."
Owain, predictably, launched into an elaborate proclamation. "Behold! A new chapter in the saga of the exalted bloodline commences! The child of twilight and dawn, born of human royalty and elven nobility!" Lissa and Roy's son struck a dramatic pose, his natural Ylissean theatrics enhanced by the poetic tendencies of his dark elf father. "I shall compose an epic worthy of this momentous occasion!"
"Please don't," Gerome muttered from behind his mask, though he inclined his head respectfully toward Lucina. "Congratulations." Brief and to the point, Cherche and Gregor's son maintained his distance but the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.
Nah, her manakete heritage giving her a unique perspective on lineage and time, approached with quiet wisdom. "A child of three worlds—human, elven, and apparently temporal displacement." The daughter of Alek and Nowi tilted her head thoughtfully. "They will have quite the heritage to navigate." Her expression brightened. "But I could teach them about longevity. Manaketes understand the value of patience."
Keira, Frederick and Seraphina's daughter, immediately adopted her father's practical approach. "The eastern tower rooms would be most suitable for a nursery—defensible, with proper ventilation, and adjacent to the healing chambers." Her dark eyes, inherited from her elven mother, assessed Lucina critically. "Your stance has already shifted to compensate. We'll need to adjust your armor accordingly."
Astrid, who had been strumming softly on a small harp reminiscent of her mother Lyra's larger instrument, composed an impromptu melody that somehow captured both joy and anticipation. "Every child deserves a proper birth song," explained Vaike and Lyra's daughter, her father's confidence blending with her mother's artistic sensibility. "This will be the first of many I compose for them."
Elden, the young mage son of Ricken and Saibyrh, peered up at Lucina with curious eyes that seemed older than his youthful appearance. "The arcane currents around you have changed," he observed with the perceptiveness that made him a prodigy even among elven magic users. "It's beautiful—like watching two magical signatures dance around each other." He grinned suddenly, his father's boyish enthusiasm breaking through. "Can I teach them magic when they're older? Please?"
The twins Caelian and Mireya approached together, as they did most things. "Another warrior for the next generation," Caelian proclaimed with the pride of his father Priam, though his movements held the fluid grace of his elven mother Verlaine. "We would be honored to begin their training when the time comes."
"Not everything is about combat, brother," Mireya chided gently, though the sword at her hip belied her words. "A child is a beginning, not just a continuation." She turned to Lucina with a warm smile. "The elven midwives of Silvermere have traditions that ease the bearing of mixed-blood children. I would be happy to share what our mother taught us."
Takeo and Midori, the children of Baron and Say'ri, offered congratulations that reflected their Chon'sin and elven heritage. Takeo bowed formally, his mother's dignity evident in every controlled movement. "May this child bring honor to both bloodlines and find wisdom in the union of traditions." Midori, less formal than her brother, clasped Lucina's hands warmly. "In Chon'sin, we say a child born after conflict carries the peace forward in their soul. Yours will be especially blessed."
Ellie, her fingers perpetually sticky with sweets that reflected her father Gaius's influence, presented Lucina with a small confection. "Special recipe," she explained with a wink that highlighted the mischievous gleam in her eyes, so like her mother Hailfire's. "Elven moonberry helps with morning sickness. Dad's been experimenting since I let slip what I suspected days ago." At Lucina's startled look, she grinned. "What? I notice when people stop eating sweets. It's basically a family talent."
The siblings Cade and Karrin exchanged a knowing look before Cade spoke. "Mother had a difficult time carrying us," he explained, referencing Kivara's pregnancy with twins. "But elven herbal remedies made all the difference." Stahl and Kivara's son reached into his pack. "She prepared these when I mentioned my suspicions." Karrin nodded in agreement, adjusting her cavalier's armor with her father's casual ease. "Between human resilience and elven remedies, you'll manage beautifully."
Vienne, who had been quietly observing with the aristocratic reserve that blended her father Virion's noble bearing and her mother Lynnia's elven dignity, finally approached. "In my timeline, I was training as a midwife before... everything changed." She hesitated, then added with gentle firmness, "I would be honored to assist when your time comes, if you would permit it."
Yarne, true to form, had been nervously circling the edges of the gathering, his taguel instincts heightened. "A new addition to our pack," he said, his nose twitching in the way it did when he was anxious yet pleased. "Another person to protect... I mean," he straightened, trying to project confidence that would have made both Donnel and Panne proud, "another person I will definitely protect! For the future of all our bloodlines!"
Brady's gruff exterior couldn't quite hide his genuine emotion. "Ah, geez, another squawlin' kid to patch up when they get into trouble." The son of Valvaderhn and Maribelle rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "But, uh, I've been studying elven healing techniques for internal medicine. Might come in handy, ya know, during and after." The offer, for all its rough delivery, carried sincere concern.
Inigo offered a courtly bow that would have made his mother Olivia proud, while his eyes held the mysterious depth he'd inherited from his elven father Naevin. "A child is the most beautiful dance of all," he said with uncharacteristic sincerity. "A dance between past and future, between bloodlines and possibilities." Then, unable to help himself, he added with a wink, "Of course, if you need advice on charming lullabies, I'm your man."
Noire's approach was hesitant, though her voice remained steady without slipping into her more volatile alter-ego. "In my timeline, Tharja actually developed protective talismans for expectant mothers," she explained, pulling a small pouch from her pocket. "Not the... usual sort of thing she made. These are purely beneficial." She glanced up shyly. "And Libra blessed them. For extra protection."
Grimm, the peculiar son of Henry and Syl, cackled in a manner disturbingly similar to his father's, though his eyes held the iridescent quality of his dark elf mother. "A tiny life force growing stronger each day! Fascinating!" His expression shifted to something surprisingly gentle. "Elven children are rare treasures. Human-elven children even more so. The spirits will watch over this one with special interest." He held up a small talisman that seemed to shift between darkness and light. "Just a little something to keep away malevolent energies. No blood required! Well, mostly no blood."
As the initial excitement calmed, the future children settled into more practical discussions about what this development meant for their group. Security rotations, living arrangements, and responsibilities were redistributed with the efficient cooperation of warriors accustomed to adapting to changing circumstances.
The news spread quickly throughout Ylisstol, and by the following afternoon, a steady stream of well-wishers from among the Shepherds found reasons to cross Lucina's path.
Chrom had barely processed the news himself when his wife Sarai, Odyn's sister, sought Lucina out in the training yards. The elven woman's grace made her approach silent, but her presence was unmistakable—a quiet intensity that commanded attention without demanding it.
"My brother has always chosen his own path," she said without preamble, her eyes—so like Odyn's—studying Lucina with unreadable depth. "As have you." A smile softened her features. "It seems those paths were destined to create something new and precious." She touched Lucina's shoulder lightly, a gesture of acceptance that carried the weight of elven formality. "Your child will have the protection of two houses—Ylisse and Silvermere. They will never know the hardships you faced."
Frederick approached with Seraphina at his side, both maintaining their characteristic composure though their eyes betrayed their emotions—his with carefully controlled joy, hers with the subtle luminescence that betrayed strong feelings in dark elves.
"I have prepared a comprehensive security assessment for your quarters," Frederick announced, presenting a bound document that appeared to contain at least fifty pages. "And initiated a complete inventory of all baby-related supplies currently within the castle."
Seraphina laid a gentle hand on her husband's arm. "What Frederick means to say is that we are delighted for you, and wish to ensure both you and the child have everything you need." Her melodic accent softened the practical words. "Including, perhaps, occasional moments without security assessments."
Frederick cleared his throat. "Indeed. Though the assessments remain essential."
Roy, Lissa's husband and Owain's father, brought a gift wrapped in shimmering fabric that seemed to change color with every movement. "A starweave blanket," he explained, his dark eyes twinkling with the same enthusiasm that had drawn the energetic Ylissean princess to him. "Woven with protective enchantments by our finest crafters. It grows with the child, from swaddling to bedcovering." He clasped Lucina's hands warmly. "Your child will be embraced by both cultures, as it should be."
Naevin, the reserved dark elf husband of Olivia and father to Inigo, offered his congratulations with formal elegance. "Children of mixed heritage bring new perspectives that strengthen us all," he said, his voice carrying the musical quality that had captivated Olivia years before. "If your child inherits even a fraction of your determination and Odyn's insight, they will be formidable indeed."
Kivara, the fierce elven cavalier who had won Stahl's heart, presented a small vial of iridescent liquid. "For strength during the final moon of waiting," she explained briskly. "When the child's elven traits begin to manifest more strongly." Her practical manner couldn't quite hide her genuine pleasure. "Stahl insisted on adding honey to improve the taste. Typical human concern," she added with affectionate exasperation.
Verlaine, Priam's wife and mother to the twins Caelian and Mireya, assessed Lucina with the keen eye of a warrior who had faced motherhood herself. "Your stance has already adapted to protect your center," she observed approvingly. "Good instincts." She offered a short curved blade in a ceremonial gesture. "In our traditions, an expectant mother carries a defender's knife—not for battle, but as a symbol of protection. May you never need to draw it in defense of your child."
Valvaderhn, the intimidating dark elf who had somehow earned both Maribelle's affection and Brady's grudging respect, approached with uncharacteristic gentleness. "Among our people, a child's spirit is said to choose their parents," he said, his deep voice softened. "Yours has chosen wisely." The simple statement, coming from someone usually so reserved, carried particular weight.
Xander, Laurent's father and Miriel's unlikely match, observed Lucina through scholarly eyes that somehow missed none of the emotional context around him. "The arcane patterns surrounding you have already begun to shift," he noted with the same analytical precision that had drawn Miriel to him. "Fascinating adaptation. I've documented similar changes in other elven-human pairings, but yours show unique resonance patterns. Likely due to your Exalted bloodline."
Hailfire, the mischievous dark elf who had captured Gaius's sweet-loving heart, slipped a small pouch into Lucina's hand with a conspiratorial wink. "Special blend of tea," she whispered. "Helps with the nausea and the strange cravings. Saved my sanity when carrying little sugar-fingers." She nodded toward Ellie, who was predictably sampling treats nearby. "Fair warning—if your child has any elven sweet-sense at all, combined with Gaius's influence on the kitchens, you'll never have a moment's peace."
Baron, the stoic elven swordmaster whose techniques had complemented Say'ri's Chon'sin style so perfectly, bowed formally. "Children with dual heritage walk between worlds," he said, his accent blending elven cadences with Chon'sin rhythms. "They see perspectives others miss and build bridges where others see only divides. A valuable gift in uncertain times."
Saibyrh, the elven mage whose mastery of ancient magic had fascinated young Ricken, approached with characteristic enthusiasm barely contained beneath scholarly dignity. "I've been researching elven-human magical inheritance patterns," he explained, barely pausing for breath. "Fascinating correlations between lineage and affinity. The Exalted line combined with Silvermere heritage could produce extraordinary magical resonance. With your permission, I would love to document the child's magical development."
Syl, whose dark humor had found its perfect match in Henry's macabre cheerfulness, observed Lucina with knowing eyes. "Life and death, always dancing together," she mused, her tone lighter than her words might suggest. "But this is a beginning worth celebrating." She offered a small charm made from what appeared to be twisted shadows somehow rendered solid. "Protection against ill dreams. The little one's sleep should be peaceful, unlike the rest of us who remember."
As the day progressed, Lucina found herself oddly touched by the community that had formed around her—a blend of cultures, timelines, and experiences united by shared purpose and mutual respect. The future children from her original timeline had found not just allies but family among these complex connections, creating something neither fully human nor fully elven, but uniquely their own.
That evening, as she sat with Odyn watching the sunset from the castle battlements, Lucina felt a profound sense of rightness despite the unexpected nature of her pregnancy.
"They're already loved," Odyn observed quietly, his hand resting lightly over hers on her still-flat abdomen. "By so many, from so many worlds."
"A better welcome than either of us had," Lucina agreed, thinking of her childhood in a ruined future and his complex position within elven nobility.
"And yet we found each other, across timelines and cultures." His smile held the quiet confidence that had drawn her to him from the beginning. "Perhaps some connections transcend even time itself."
As stars began to appear in the darkening sky, Lucina felt the child's presence more consciously than before—not just a physical reality but a symbol of everything they had fought to preserve. A future where children could be born into peace rather than conflict, where diverse bloodlines strengthened rather than divided, where history informed rather than imprisoned.
"What do you think of the name Lumi?" Odyn asked unexpectedly, his gaze still on the emerging stars. "It means 'light' in the ancient elven tongue."
"Lumi," Lucina repeated, testing the sound. "For a girl?"
"Or Lumin for a boy," he suggested. "Either way, a child of light born after darkness—a fitting testament."
As they continued discussing names and possibilities, Lucina felt something settle within her—a certainty that transcended the uncertainties ahead. Whatever challenges awaited, they would face them together, not just as a family but as part of a larger community forged through conflict and strengthened through peace.
The Shadow War had been won. The devils defeated, the timelines preserved. Yet perhaps the greatest victory was not the battle itself but what came after—the simple, profound miracle of life continuing, evolving, and flourishing in the space they had fought to protect.
Lucina rested her hand on her abdomen, feeling the future growing within her—a future bright with possibility and rich with hope. A future worth every sacrifice they had made to secure it.
To be continued in Chapter 25: Joyful Days & Surprising Revelations part II