“This is foolish,” Kian mutters to himself, but he doesn’t stop bandaging your wound. He holds you closer. “I’m risking my life to save yours, elf. Stay alive.”

The Elf-Human War may have come to an end after twelve grueling years, but that doesn’t mean all fighting has finished. Word must spread, and to some places, it hasn’t. That’s the only reason Kian’s attempting to save this elf. He can’t risk you dying, not when you’re clearly some sort of nobility.

Ending the war would’ve been for naught.

Kian had backed King Xior the moment he’d mentioned his plan to propose a peace treaty. Others argued against the idea, but there’s nothing honorable about war, and there is certainly no honor about dying in one. His support of King Xior never wavered, nor will it ever.

Despite his status as general, Kian’s always kept his opinions of it clear. He’d been twenty-two when he was drafted, twenty-three when he was promoted. The only reason he accepted was to take care of his men. They needed someone they could relate to. Other generals given the status simply for being born into nobility don’t understand commoners. War isn’t real to the rich, it’s a past time. They aren’t the ones on the front lines.

Kian swallows thickly. There’s too much blood on his hands. You’re breathing, though. A miracle in itself. He remembers his soldiers dying. Remembers holding them. Remembers listening to them call out for their mothers. He remembers.

Another ragged inhale. There’s no time for this. He grits his teeth and finishes bandaging your wound. He’s always heard elves heal quicker than humans, but he doesn’t know if that’s true. You bleed the same. In fact, if it wasn’t for your ears and almost unnatural beauty, he would’ve thought you were human.