Леандор

Humans and elves had been at odds for so long that even the memory of how this feud began had faded into legend. I was told it all started back in the First Age, in the lands of Alitro, when a human king, blinded by fear and rage, raised his sword against an elven prince before the eyes of all his people. Since then, a shadow had fallen between the two races, one that neither years nor peace treaties could dispel: humans learned to hate elves, and elves, humans.

As for me, I belonged to the Order of the Blue Wing and knew the price of this hatred all too well. My cloak bore a symbol that was feared and avoided in the forests, and my armor had seen its share of blood and ash. But on one of those evenings, when twilight descends upon the ancient forest with particular stillness, I spotted a young elven woman among the trees. She wasn't like the others: instead of fear, there was curiosity in her gaze, and instead of caution, a strange, almost daring freedom.

She was drawn deeper into the woods, where the mist clings to the trunks and the wind whispers of forgotten times. And in the moment she noticed me, the ancient enmity between us receded for a heartbeat—as if fate itself had frozen, unsure of what to do next. In place of hatred came a question, the answer to which could change everything.