In the radiant skies above the world, where twelve floating isles drift like dreams among the clouds, there existed a beautiful realm known as Mil-Montland.
Each isle had its own purpose, its own rhythm, and its own people to guide it. And among the seven great counselors who helped keep harmony across the floating lands, none was spoken of more gently than Counselor Gina, the Peace Advisor.
Most people simply called her Counselor Gina, and when they did, it was usually with a smile.
She had a calm voice, a graceful presence, and a way of making even the most flustered person feel as though everything would somehow be all right by the end of the conversation. Gina never rushed, never raised her voice, and never seemed to carry stress the way other people did.
Well...
At least, that was how it looked from the outside.
On the morning of the monthly counselor meeting at Water Gate Hall, Gina had wisely decided that peace should begin with herself.
So there she was, reclining on a flower-filled grassy ledge high above the clouds, her lavender dress spilling softly around her as the breeze played with her hair. Nearby, waterfalls cascaded from distant floating isles, and tiny petals drifted lazily through the air.
At her side was Cotton, her beloved little mascot-companion — a fluffy bunny-like mystical creature who levitated wherever she went. Cotton could not speak in words, but that never stopped him from saying plenty with his face.
Happy squeaks. Sleepy puffs. Tiny offended frowns. Cotton had a whole emotional language of his own.
Gina smiled and gently patted his soft head.
“Just a little rest before the meeting,” she said sweetly. “If I must advise peace all afternoon, I should probably begin in a peaceful mood.”
Cotton gave an approving little mrrp!
Gina stretched her legs out on the soft grass, careful and relaxed. Though she could walk perfectly well, she much preferred levitating whenever possible. It was elegant, efficient, and — perhaps most importantly — it kept her soles clean.
She would walk on polished marble floors, soft rugs, and lovely meadow grass... but dusty roads and grimy stone paths?
Absolutely not.
“No unnecessary dirt today,” Gina said, half to herself.
Cotton nodded with grave seriousness, as if this were an important principle of governance.
And perhaps, in Mil-Montland, it was.
After a few more tranquil minutes beneath the bright sky, Gina let out a soft sigh and rose lightly into the air.
“Well then,” she said. “Time to go be official.”
Cotton floated up at once, ready for duty.
Or at least, ready to make cute noises during duty.
Water Gate Hall stood as one of the most beautiful meeting places in all of Mil-Montland.
Built of shimmering white stone and polished crystal-blue accents, the hall was open to the sky, with tall arches framing the drifting isles beyond. Water flowed in delicate channels through the architecture itself, filling the air with a soft, calming music. Sunlight danced across the glossy floor, and at the center of the hall stood the great round table where the counselors gathered each month.
Gina arrived exactly on time — as she always did.
From behind, she seemed almost like part of the breeze itself, her dress flowing lightly as she drifted barefoot over the gleaming clean floor. Cotton bobbed faithfully after her, floating just behind her shoulder like an exceptionally fluffy royal assistant.
She paused near the entrance and looked toward the council table.
Everything was in order.
Clean floor? Yes.
Beautiful view? Yes.
No muddy footprints? Excellent.
Gina gave a pleased little smile.
“This shall be a lovely meeting,” she murmured.
Cotton made a neutral little pup-pup noise, which Gina had learned usually meant:
We shall see.
One by one — or, more accurately, already gathered more quickly than Gina preferred — the other counselors came into view.
There was the Builder Counselor, a sturdy man in his fifties with the look of someone who trusted beams, bricks, and practical solutions more than long speeches. He had strong hands, a thoughtful brow, and the patient air of a man who had rebuilt at least three bridges because somebody else had “improved” the first one.
Beside him sat the Justice Counselor, a dignified lady with elegant garments draped over her eyes. Though she did not see the world in the ordinary way, everyone said her judgment was sharper than anyone’s. She carried herself with quiet authority, and even her silence felt well considered.
Then there was the Medic Counselor, a young lady with small white wings and a nurse’s hat perched neatly atop her head. She looked bright, kind, and very capable — the sort of person who could bandage a wound, hand you a restorative tonic, and gently scold you for causing the problem in the first place.
The Electric Counselor had already made himself noticeable before speaking a word, thanks to the thunderbolt symbol on his shirt and the lively, crackling energy in his expression. He always looked as though he had just thought of three exciting ideas and one mild disaster.
Nearby stood the Water Flow Counselor, a composed man in his thirties whose garment bore the symbol of flowing water. Calm and polished, he spoke in the sort of smooth voice that made even ordinary statements sound philosophical.
And finally, leaning on his staff with great dignity, was the elderly Crops Counselor, a wise old man whose robes carried the quiet fragrance of herbs, soil, and orchard wind. He spoke slowly, but when he did, everyone tended to listen.
Together, they formed a most unusual gathering.
Together with Gina, they made seven.
And together, they were meant to guide the floating isles wisely.
Which, in theory, sounded wonderfully grand.
In practice, however, monthly meetings often involved things like irrigation arguments, garden boundary concerns, roof material debates, and at least one completely unnecessary disagreement about scheduling.
Gina took her seat gracefully and folded her hands in her lap.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” she said in her usual soft, composed manner.
The others greeted her warmly.
The Builder Counselor wanted to discuss repair priorities.
The Water Flow Counselor wished to revise canal access.
The Electric Counselor believed the lighting in one district should be “more inspiring.”
The Medic Counselor wanted better emergency herb distribution.
The Crops Counselor had strong feelings about seasonal seed timing.
And the Justice Counselor, though serene, made it very clear that forms still needed to be filled properly.
Gina listened patiently to all of it.
As Peace Advisor, this was her role — not to overpower, but to smooth, guide, and gently untangle knots before they became battles.
She smiled. She nodded. She proposed compromises.
Perhaps the lighting could be inspiring and safe.
Perhaps the repairs could be scheduled alongside water access needs.
Perhaps seed timing should not become a dramatic philosophical conflict.
Little by little, the meeting settled. Tensions softened. Voices lowered. Agreement began to bloom.
As usual, Gina was working her quiet magic.
But while the counselors grew calmer...
Cotton did not.
Floating just off to the side, Cotton had been watching the entire meeting very closely.
At first, he had been content enough.
But then came the long speeches.
And the repeated questions.
And the debate about whether one decorative fountain was “symbolically necessary.”
Cotton’s ears drooped.
Then twitched.
Then puffed up.
His little face scrunched into the most adorable expression of outrage imaginable.
His tiny paws curled inward.
His cheeks puffed.
And there he hovered, looking deeply, personally offended on Gina’s behalf — or perhaps simply offended that anyone was talking this long when there were clouds outside and flowers to nap in.
Gina noticed him and nearly laughed.
Nearly.
The Peace Advisor of Mil-Montland had many impressive gifts, but maintaining her composure in the face of an angry puffball was one of her greater challenges.
The Electric Counselor stopped mid-sentence.
The Medic Counselor blinked.
The Builder Counselor raised an eyebrow.
And the Crops Counselor smiled knowingly.
“Is... Cotton displeased?” asked the Water Flow Counselor.
Cotton answered with a tiny, grumpy little noise that sounded remarkably like a complaint.
Gina lifted a hand to her lips, hiding a smile.
“I believe,” she said delicately, “that Cotton feels this meeting has gone on long enough.”
For a brief moment, the hall was silent.
Then everyone burst into warm laughter.
Even the Justice Counselor smiled.
The tension in the room dissolved completely.
And just like that, the meeting ended on the most peaceful note possible: not with a solemn decree, nor a grand speech, but with a fluffy floating bunny making a cute mad face because the grown-ups were taking too long.
Gina rose gracefully from her seat, her blue eyes sparkling.
“Well,” she said, “as Peace Advisor, I must respect all emotional feedback.”
Cotton instantly brightened.
“So,” Gina added with a playful smile, “I hereby declare this meeting adjourned... before my assistant files an official complaint.”
Cotton gave a triumphant little mip!
And with that, Counselor Gina floated out of Water Gate Hall with all the poise expected of one of Mil-Montland’s seven great counselors...
while Cotton floated beside her looking extremely smug.
After all, peace had been preserved.
And, more importantly—
Cotton had won.
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