Morning arrived with a suspicious cheer.

  The sun was too bright, the daisies were too perky, and the goat had braided her beard. That alone should’ve been warning enough. But Ren, blissfully unaware of the doom hiding behind domestic tranquility, whistled while hanging tiny paper hearts around the garden. He was preparing a peace offering.

  “I baked cookies,” he said, holding up a tin with delicate floral designs. “Shortbread. And these little jam-filled ones. It’s the universal language of truce.”

  “Cookies are not diplomacy,” I snapped. “They are bait.The gnomes will take them and then bury us under the compost bin.”

  Ren placed the tin carefully on the birdbath and added a sprig of mint. “You worry too much.”

  “I worry correctly. You think this is diplomacy. I think it’s baiting a trap. And she—” I gestured with my hilt toward Mimi, who was currently camouflaging herself inside a bush with twigs stuck to her back like a porcupine wearing regrets, “—thinks it’s war.”

  “I don’t think she wants to fight,” Ren said as Mimi rolled dramatically into the zucchini patch and emerged with a stick shaped suspiciously like a spear. “She’s just... engaged.”

  Before I could respond, the wind shifted. A low rustle passed through the hedges, not natural, not gusted—deliberate. The leaves trembled. Even the thyme, which by now was no stranger to drama and flattened itself against the soil, acting like it had passed out. Oh God!! Why am I stuck with these dramatic actors?!!

  And then he appeared.

  Three inches tall.

  Pointed red hat with A pipe clenched between its pursed lips.

  He stood on the edge of the birdbath like a warlord surveying the ruins of peace.

  The gnome ambassador had arrived.

  Ren’s eyes widened. “He’s real.”

  “I TOLD YOU,” I hissed. “I told you they were organizing. That’s not a decoration, it’s a diplomatic incident with legs.”

  The gnome tipped his hat politely. Then he produced a scroll and unrolled it with the flair of someone who’s spent far too long rehearsing. He cleared his throat with the pomp of a courtroom bard and squeaked out:

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “On behalf of the United Lawnfront Territories, the Garden Gnome Federation accepts the leaf-letter truce, acknowledges the sanctity of root-based borders, and wishes to present tokens of peace.”

  From behind a daffodil, a second gnome emerged, dragging a tiny tray stacked with cookies that were suspiciously identical to the ones Ren had left.

  Ren’s face lit up. “Oh! They brought them back to share!”

  “They replicated your offering….” I whispered. “We’re dealing with advanced culinary magic. Or espionage. Or both. I don’t know anymore.”

  Mimi snorted. Then, with all the subtlety of a goat with unresolved grudges, she charged. Ren shouted. I screamed but the gnome ambassador didn’t move.

  Instead, he raised a tiny hand.

  Mimi froze mid-leap. Her hooves hovered inches above the grass.

  The air shimmered and the stick spear she carried turned into a flower.

  With that the system chimed.

  [Diplomatic Encounter: Garden Gnome Ambassador]

  [Effect: Peace Bloom Enforced – Hostile actions converted into Passive Enthusiasm for 24 Hours]

  Mimi blinked. She sniffed the flower, sneezed and then calmly sat beside the gnome as if she’d always intended to host a tea party.

  Ren clapped his hands at the scene gleefully, “See? They can get along.”

  No! No! No! I want war! I want destruction! I don’t want peace! I want problems!

  I hummed like a kettle at its breaking point. “I just witnessed a goat get psychically pacified by a lawn ornament. My dignity is evaporating faster than my enchantments.”

  The gnome bowed once more and stepped back into the shrubbery. The rest followed, vanishing into the hedges like they’d never been there. Only the tray of cookies remained.

  Ren sighed, hands on hips. “I think that went well.”

  “Define ‘well,’” I muttered. “You’ve made peace with a faction of highly mobile ceramic warlocks and no one sees the problem with this?”

  He smiled and picked up the tray. “Do you want a cookie?”

  “No. I want plausible deniability.”

  That evening, Ren added the gnome cookies to the pantry beside the jam jars. Mimi fell asleep on the porch wrapped in a blanket with the gnome’s flower still tucked behind one ear. I lay on the mantel, staring at the ceiling and humming a melody that sounded suspiciously like defeat.

  [Quest Completed: Miniature Uprising – Garden Accord Signed.]

  [Rewards: +1 Goat-Gnome Relations | +2 Local Peacefulness | New Title: Ambassador’s Blade]

  I am not an ambassador. I am a weapon of legacy, forged for the downfall of kings—not for negotiating with smiling fungus farmers who make their own shoes.

  And yet... I couldn’t help but admit the garden felt a little warmer that night. The stars a little brighter.

  Just as I was settling into what could almost be called peace, the system chimed again…. Ugh! Who was I even kidding?!