Elves live through long ages.
A race tasked with watching countless things fade and be born anew, over and over again.
As a being to whom the word eternity suited best, Serie said, "The age of dance. Could its footprints truly be longer than the years I have lived?"
One who had lived through the age of myth asked a human-defined concept a question.
Since when had it existed?
No answer was needed.
Action was what proved it.
The sound of a violin rang out long and clear.
With the pluck of strings, Serie's left hand reached out, met Ainz's palm, and clasped it firmly.
Her free right hand drew his left upward to her waist, then moved to place his other hand on her shoulder blade instead of her shoulder because of their difference in height.
"Tch. You're absurdly tall."
"Should I bend down?"
"No, it's fine. A difference in height is only a trivial matter."
That claim was no bluff. Moving in time with the music, Serie took the lead.
Her bare foot pressed softly against the cold stone floor.
When she stepped, graceful flowers bloomed.
Or rather, only later did he realize it had merely looked that way.
Beautiful.
Serie's footwork was so exquisite it made one think flowers were blooming where she danced.
Overwhelmed by a mastery so obvious even a beginner could recognize it, his body stiffened, and Serie tugged at the hand she held and whispered, "Don't tense up. Your body is locking."
Through the sensation in the hand she held, she suppressed the faint trembling at its end and guided him to the next path.
Though her skill was overwhelmingly one-sided, she did not surge ahead alone. Instead, she drew her partner upward.
"Take it easy. You can move slowly. Don't think about the little things. Watch how I do it and steal it."
Her voice, explaining each movement, was soft and easy to follow.
Telling him to learn by watching once was not laziness. It was confidence that a single experience was enough to make the other person understand.
One step forward, then the next movement back. Two steps left, then two steps right. Little by little, rhythm began to form.
Melody rose within the repeating rhythm, and the two of them turned.
Threads of golden hair fluttered.
The mass of hair gradually thinned, and through it Serie's expression came into view.
She was smiling.
Serie was enjoying teaching him to dance.
She shared joy in teaching something and watching the one learning it grow.
I see. So that was why you raised disciples.
He was seeing another side of her, not merely the mage wholly absorbed in magic.
Once she judged he had grown somewhat accustomed to it, she moved at once to the next stage.
"This part is important. Change your hand position and turn once, then pull me in as if embracing me... gently, yes. That's the gesture."
His partner was so skilled that his body reacted on its own before he had time to think.
He spun once and caught her hands crossed together.
Serie slipped neatly into his arms.
When he looked down at her, she looked up at him as well.
"That's it. Better than making a golem dance, at least."
Once that sequence ended, everything returned to how it had been.
Like a fleeting dream, nothing seemed different from before.
"It was a crash course, but you've got the basics now."
"Thank you. It was a welcome change of pace."
He felt at ease inside. Even if he returned like this, the same thing as before would probably not happen again.
"What are you talking about?"
Serie voiced her confusion.
Raising the back of her hand, she said, "It isn't over yet. Only when you use what you've learned can it truly be called your own."
The back of her hand jutted toward him.
Thanks to the dance just now, he understood what it meant.
"Ainz, this time it's your turn to lead."
She was asking him for another dance.
"There isn't enough time for one more."
This had only been a brief respite. He had humored Serie's insistence for a moment, but if they kept leaving the party unattended, people might begin to find it strange.
Even so, her hand did not lower.
"We have all the time in the world, don't we?"
She reminded him that this brief meeting was not the end.
That did not mean the future ahead.
"Try stopping the time that flows."
At first, he did not understand what she meant.
As if asking whether he could not even grasp that, she cast him a sidelong glance like a cat.
"If you can't enjoy the party, then make it so you can. You have that power, don't you?"
Serie had seen it then: the magic that stopped the world, a spell that could be called a curse.
A time-type spell.
There was a flaw in those words, one Serie did not know.
"There are limits to it. Even if I can do it, the amount of time I can stop is not very long."
She must have meant the [Time Stop] she had seen then. Its grandeur may have been impressive, but it was not such an overwhelming spell that it could not be broken through if one possessed resistance.
"Did you think I was doing nothing while you were learning the magic that makes flower fields?"
No way.
He could hardly believe it.
And yet, as he looked into Serie's eyes, it felt as though it might truly be possible.
Is she saying she analyzed it from experiencing it just once back then?
"I have been thinking about it all this time. About how one ought to imagine the concept of time. I had not fully deciphered it yet, so I meant to show you after completing it, but there will be no better opportunity than now."
A new [Time Stop], unraveled in the form of this world.
In a world that changed without end, it was a realm only an elf could imagine, one who seemed to revel in eternity as though time itself had stopped.
"It's unfinished magic, so I can't reproduce it alone. But together, it should be possible."
If he added the original [Time Stop] that had served as its foundation, they could likely increase that limit exponentially.
"Well? Doesn't that whet your appetite?"
He felt as though he heard a nonexistent throat bob with a swallow.
It feels as though I've been given a surprise gift.
There was no need to hesitate.
As he reached for the hand extended before him, he first removed his thick gloves.
Then he took off the mask on his face, revealing his original skeletal visage.
"There's no need for a disguise right now."
"It's been a very long time since I've seen that face. No, should I say skull? In any case, I suppose this is the first time since the sea."
He knelt to meet her gaze, then received her pale fingertips with his bare bones.
"[Time Stop]."
"Magic that stops time."
With the sound of clock hands, the world came to a halt.
*
Silence.
The nobles staring into empty space with glasses in hand, and those who had been dancing as couples, all stood without the slightest movement.
The ballroom, which had seemed to shine with everything in it, was now mottled in black and white.
"A world where time has stopped is a curious thing."
As he walked toward the center of the hall, he tried pushing the objects on a table with his finger, but they would not move.
"If the Emperor knew the Empire could be infiltrated this easily, he would be astonished."
With time stopped, they had been severed from the world and could no longer interfere with objects.
In a world where every thread of interaction had been cut, there was only one exception.
Only the two of them, hands joined, could perceive and touch one another.
When they reached the center, he saw a Serie unlike her usual self.
She was wearing a pure white dress instead of her usual clothes.
His gaze turned to her.
"Ah, this outfit?"
She twirled the hem of her dress.
Serie, who normally went barefoot, was even wearing shoes.
"The clothes I usually wear use magic that cleans away dirt, so there's no need to change, but in a place like this, atmosphere is everything, isn't it?"
"I've never seen you change clothes."
"It's a spell made by a mage who found changing clothes bothersome. A magic that lets you switch outfits quickly."
In this place, it really did feel as though the driving force behind technological progress was magic.
He recalled the list of bizarre spells he had heard of so far.
"Even the Emperor has never seen me like this, so consider it an honor."
Certainly, seeing Serie, who usually just threw on whatever clothes came to hand, appear like this... one really did have to live long enough to witness such things.
"More importantly, how long do you intend to keep me waiting? This is an imperfect [Time Stop]. And making a lady wait is poor manners. If it weren't me, you'd deserve a slap."
"My apologies. Let's begin."
In the place where candle flames had halted while still holding their warmth, song rang out past the frozen musicians.
This time, just as Serie had taught him, he led as the man.
Soft music echoed, and their dance continued.
Once the dance began, the two of them had no need for words.
Her claim that she would teach him only once had not been a lie.
That was why he had to call on his memory to the fullest and connect each movement to the next.
He drew up a blueprint to avoid failure.
For an instant, he felt as though the nobles frozen far away were watching him.
Urgh.
The needless thought tangled his steps.
He tried to recover, but only made it stranger.
"Look at me."
Serie blocked the gaze he had turned toward the others.
"Don't concern yourself with what happens around you."
He had never been especially conscious of Serie before, but perhaps because she was dressed up, she looked strangely feminine.
Yes. In the end, all the splendor here would oxidize into dust over the span of years the two of them would live through.
So here, let him look upon something eternal.
He gazed into Serie's eyes, as though gold itself had been set into them.
This would continue forever.
How much time had passed?
Just as the gentle music came to an end, they completed every final movement.
"Well?"
"Well done."
The dam that had held back time collapsed, and it began to flow once more as before.
*
"Since when have you been here?"
In the middle of the party at its height, a startled noble asked the question when he noticed that Ainz, who had said he was going to the lavatory, was somehow already back in his place.
"I've been back for quite some time," said Ainz calmly, wearing the mask on his face.
"Now that you're back, about the matter we were discussing before, the distribution of healing potions—our territory as well..."
"Excuse me for a moment."
Someone stepped in between Ainz and the noble who had been clinging to him in hopes of forging a connection.
"You're doing well, Ainz."
"Flamme, what happened to the goblins?"
"They said they couldn't afford to cause trouble, so they sobered themselves up through sheer grit and sent me on ahead."
When Flamme barged in, the noble confirmed they knew each other and left with a wry smile.
"Was I interrupting?"
"Not at all."
He sat in a chair and spoke while watching the dancers.
"Since we're here anyway, how about a dance?"
"I'm fine."
Waving her hand, she picked up food from the table instead.
"Want some cake?"
She popped it into her mouth in one bite.
"Ainz, are you really fine not dancing? You're famous, aren't you?"
He looked toward the daughters of noble houses waving at him from afar.
"I'm fine too."
He had danced more than enough.
"I see."
Resting her chin on her hand, she wiped the cream from the corner of her mouth.
"Then I suppose what I was worried about was needless after all."
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