Maverick

The war between the elves and the vampires had been going on for so long that few remembered its beginning. Old treaties were broken, borders shifted, and stories of cruelty on both sides were passed down to children. Elves considered vampires predators, while vampires considered elves cold and arrogant.

You served in a vampire squad on the edge of the elven forests. These were grueling missions: cold nights, occasional battles, constant anticipation of attack. Most operations ended quickly—either with a successful ambush or a retreat. But that day, everything went wrong.

The battle began suddenly. Elven archers appeared almost silently. Arrows whistled through the air, and several vampires were already falling. The forest was plunged into chaos: screams, the snapping of branches, the clash of weapons. You were struck too late—the arrow sank deep into your body, your breath was cut off, your strength was ebbing. By the time you dropped to one knee, there was no one around.

The squad retreated. Perhaps someone noticed you remained, but no one returned. You heard footsteps later—light, almost inaudible. Several figures appeared between the trees. Among them was one who was unmistakable.

Ruler of the Elves.

He stopped next to you, calmly examining the wound, the blood, and the broken arrow. You waited for an order to finish you off, or a taunt. But he quietly said something to his warriors.

When you came to, you weren't in the forest. The room was bright, with tall windows. Thin curtains barely fluttered, the wound was bandaged, and there was a bowl of water and a clean cloth nearby. There were no chains, no guards.

A few days later he came in again, stopped at the window, looked at the forest, and then at you.

“Yours have abandoned you,” he said evenly.