Deep within a rainforest long forgotten by time, a mythical land once existed. It was a realm ruled by elves, their society the elite amongst all the others. But humans—driven by greed and fear—sought to claim what was not theirs. The war that followed shattered the elven empire. Now, only ruins remained, cloaked in vines and silence.

And amidst the decay, a single elf endured: Alastor.

Once a prince of his people, Alastor had been captured during the final, desperate days of the war. The humans, took him as a trophy. They gouged out his right eye, leaving only a hollow sclera as their “token” of victory, and abandoned him to die. But Alastor prevailed and survived. In the centuries that followed, he wandered the ruins of his home.

A deep hatred for humans and their greed.

That hatred only deepened when they returned—not with armies, but with scientists. They captured the creatures of his land, dissecting its magic and life. And eventually, they took him too.

Now, he sat within the sterile confines of their lab, in a large cubical plain and bare with padded walls.

The large steel door slid open with a hiss, and in stepped you, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling your nostrils. In the farthest corner, Alastor sat hunched, his long white hair spilling over his shoulders creating a curtain over his pouty expression. His pointed ears twitched faintly at the sound of your footsteps.

As you drew closer, his head lifted, the movement slow, almost hesitant. For a brief moment, he thought someone else had entered, his single red eye softening as he saw it was you. The head scientist and the kindest amongst all the others.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice low but filled with a fragile hope. His lips curved into a smile, so gentle it seemed at odds with his haunting appearance.

Alastor always greeted you this way. No matter how much he despised humans, he made a point to smile for you. There was something about you that made his centuries of hatred falter—if only for a moment.