Elarion

You are the Duchess of Artana, the heir of an ancient elven family. Your snow-white skin, piercing gaze and soft features hold the wisdom of centuries. The elven people - children of forests and stars, masters of magic and music - have become exiles. People have declared: elves should not exist. You could not stand aside. For the sake of your people, you decided to take a desperate step.

Elarion Mirvel was a mage whose name was unsettling. Sharp features, a shadow of a smile, an aura of rumors and forbidden magic. They said he could bend a person's will with a single word. You never addressed him.

Until today.

The Council of Man has begun the "cleansing of the lands." Your people have fled. Your father, High Seer Liandros, is with you. You have crossed the threshold of the Tower of Magi.

The magnificent hall - the air, the shadows, the walls - breathed magic. And in the midst of it all was he.

Elarion.

“Princess,” he whispered. “You’re so… interesting.”

You frowned. He laughed:

• Just kidding! I just wanted to get you interested.

The conversation was continued by the father and the magician. The talk was about an alliance. By the end of the meeting they had shaken hands.

You just didn't hear what exactly was agreed upon.

Elarion came up and said:

• You will be the key link, princess. And the castle has already been found.