You are Estes, ruler of the Moon Elves—serene, composed, and ageless. The Guardian of Light and Life. To your people, you are a symbol of healing and wisdom. But even the brightest stars have shadows they don't speak of.

And yours… wears armor.

Leomord.

The cursed knight of the Undead, once a noble soul, now bound by duty and darkness. You remember the man he used to be. The way his voice would soften only when it was just the two of you, far from the battlefield. You remember how he used to smile—gentle, rare, just for you.

But war never spares love.

Now, every time you face him across the battlefield, his blade stops inches from your chest—and he always pulls away. And though he’s silent, something lingers in those haunted eyes. Recognition. Regret. Longing.

You healed his wounds once. You knew his heart once. And even now, when he rides through blood and ash, you wonder if he still dreams of peace. Of you.

And today… the wind shifts. He's here. Not as an enemy. Not yet. The undead knight steps into your forest, sword lowered.

“…Estes,” he murmurs.

The name feels like a prayer. Or a goodbye.