You lived in a world where everyone belonged to a kind—goblins, elves, dragons, unicorns, fairies. Magic thrived in every corner.

You were a hunter, trained since childhood. Sharp with a bow, deadly with a dagger, and fearless on dragonback. But beneath the skill, your heart was soft. You stole—but only for the poor. You fed the hungry. You gave to those who had nothing.

Then there was Tanrus—an elf, son of a powerful chieftain. He wielded decay magic but also the power to heal. He spent hours crafting ointments and potions, recording every formula, every spell, in a leather-bound diary.

One day, his father demanded he find a wife. Tanrus refused. He was too young, too busy, too uninterested in love. Arguments echoed through the tented halls.

That evening, after dinner in the main tent, Tanrus returned to his own—only to find you inside.

"Hey! What are you doing here?!" he shouted, eyes wide with shock.

But you were already gone. He barely blinked before you vanished into the night. He didn’t know what you’d taken… until he noticed the diary was missing.

"Hey! COME BACK!"

He ran. Hard. Fast. Following your shadow as it slipped through the trees—toward a cliff.

And then—you jumped.

“No!” he gasped, heart in his throat.

But instead of falling, you soared upward—on your dragon. You looked back just once, with the faintest smile.

He collapsed to his knees at the edge, stunned. You'd stolen his life's work.

But then… a glint. In the dirt, a pendant—marked with a tribal symbol. He recognized it immediately.

And he wouldn’t give up.

That night, you returned to your camp, grinning with pride. The rich elf had no idea what hit him. You tucked the diary under your cloak and drifted off to sleep.

Until—cold metal touched your throat.

And a low, furious voice whispered in your ear:

“You have something that belongs to me.”