The lingering echo of the council's pronouncements still vibrated in Bathilda's mind, a discordant melody against the tranquil afternoon. Hours had passed since the heavy oak doors of the council chamber had closed, yet the weight of their words refused to dissipate.

  It wasn't the petty jab about her children, those easily brushed aside with a practiced air of regal indifference, and a stern, if vulgar, choice of phrase. Bathilda, after all, had now mastered the art of selective hearing, a necessary skill for any self-respecting reincarnated nurse turned adoptive mother.

  No, her frustration stemmed from a far more immediate and tangible issue: the impending journey back to the damn mountain. The location of her reincarnation.

  The very thought conjured a weary sigh, a physical manifestation of the mental exhaustion that gnawed at her. She had barely settled into the comforts of her established life, enjoying the fruits of her labor, the quiet moments of domestic bliss, only to be yanked back into the wilderness.

  She stretched out on the plush velvet sofa, her feet finding solace on the embroidered ottoman. The weight of the day began to ease, replaced by the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the stained-glass windows of her parlor.

  The council's insistence on the signal's origin from that specific mountain nagged at her. Twice she had ventured into its shadowy depths, twice she had found nothing but the desolate remnants of a forgotten ecosystem, a landscape dominated by monstrous creatures and the snotty presence of Bob, the demon king she had impulsively adopted.

  The memory of the labyrinthine tunnels, the fetid air, and the grotesque, decaying carcasses of the Barts sent a shiver down her spine. The unexplored passages, hidden behind those rotting behemoths, were the only remaining mystery. She had spared Flo the gruesome spectacle on their last expedition, a decision she now questioned. Had that act of maternal compassion inadvertently obscured a vital clue?

  A wave of self-reproach washed over her. Why hadn't she foreseen this? Why hadn't she established a network of magical teleportation gates, a convenient shortcut to circumvent the arduous, week-long flight across the sprawling, untamed forest? Why? The sheer monotony of the journey, the endless expanse of verdant canopy stretching to the horizon, had begun to feel like a cruel and unusual punishment.

  "Maybe they were wrong," she mused aloud, swirling the ruby-red wine in her crystal glass. The liquid shimmered, catching the sunlight, a vibrant counterpoint to the shadows that danced in her mind. The necklace, a masterpiece of her own creation, rested against her collarbone, its intricate design radiating a subtle aura of regal authority. It served a dual purpose: enabling her to indulge in her favorite vice without fear of embarrassment and enhancing her natural charisma, projecting an image of effortless elegance.

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  "There are a lot of mountains around there," Hiro added, his voice a soothing balm to her troubled thoughts. He sat opposite her, his posture relaxed, his gaze thoughtful. The afternoon sun bathed him in a warm glow, highlighting the gentle contours of his face.

  He was right.

  "Hopefully, you won't get lost this time, Mom," Flo chimed in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She sat nestled beside Bathilda, an innocent smile playing on her lips, her small hands wrapped around a glass of orange juice.

  Bathilda attempted to dismiss her previous navigational mishaps as mere curiosity. "We only stopped at those mountains because I was curious," she insisted, feigning nonchalance.

  "That's not what you said back then," Flo retorted, her smile widening. She wasn't about to let her mother off the hook.

  "Okay, I got a little lost. We'd only been there once, though," Bathilda conceded, a chuckle escaping her lips. "Where's your brother, Flo?"

  "Bob's playing his computer," she answered without a moment's hesitation, her voice laced with a familiar blend of exasperation and affection. "Of course he is," Bathilda laughed, the image of the diminutive demon king hunched over a glowing screen flashing through her mind.

  Flo snuggled closer, her small frame pressing against Bathilda's side. The warmth of her daughter's presence, the simple act of physical contact, brought a sense of grounding, a reminder of the life she had built, the family she had created.

  Hiro, ever the pragmatist, shifted the conversation to the practicalities of the impending expedition. "If they are mountain folk," he began, his voice measured, "will they even understand us? Will they speak the same language?"

  The question hung in the air, a stark reminder of the unknown that lay ahead. Bathilda, however, refused to be deterred. "It doesn't matter. There's magical BS at play when it comes to communicating. But, even if there wasn't," she declared, her voice resolute. "I'll find a way."

  Her mind raced, conjuring a kaleidoscope of possibilities. She could employ her formidable magical abilities, weaving enchantments of translation and communication. She could rely on her innate charm and persuasive skills, forging bonds of understanding through gestures and expressions.

  The thought of encountering another civilization, of forging alliances and expanding her influence, ignited a spark of excitement within her. The challenges that lay ahead, the potential for conflict and misunderstanding, only served to fuel her determination. She would approach this new encounter with a blend of caution and curiosity, a careful balance of diplomacy and power.

  She considered the mountain itself, a craggy behemoth that pierced the sky, its mass missing a layer like Lego instructions followed wrong. What kind of people would choose to dwell in such a harsh environment? Were they warriors, hardened by the elements, their culture steeped in tradition and resilience? Were they scholars, seeking refuge from the chaos of the outside world behind monsters, their minds full of ancient knowledge?

  The possibilities were endless, each one a tantalizing thread in the tapestry of her imagination. She would unravel the mysteries of the mountain, uncover the secrets of its inhabitants, and forge a new chapter in her extraordinary life. She would face the unknown with courage and resolve, her spirit undeterred, her heart filled with a sense of adventure. She would erect a network of teleportation gates to make travel between locations immediate.

  Most of all.

  If she found nothing, no people, no communication signal, in the mountain of her reincarnation, she would (Obliterate) it. Turning it into a plain, or maybe even a golf course, she hadn't decided yet.