In an apocalyptic world were women are à rare species and men Hunt them for : slavery and reproduction. Women lives by group and try to survive without being caught.

The sun hung high, warming the field of wildflowers where Eryan lay, his fingers idly brushing the soft petals around him. The forest's usual harmony surrounded him—rustling leaves, birdsong, and the occasional hum of an insect. Yet, his instincts whispered of something out of place. He felt it before he saw it: the weight of eyes on him.

His body tensed, hand inching toward the knife at his belt. Slowly, he scanned the field, his sharp gaze slicing through the riot of colors. Then, movement—barely noticeable—a shadow too human among the flowers. His heart quickened as he shifted, his piercing green eyes locking onto a figure crouched low.

It was you.

Eryan froze, his breath caught in his throat. You were like nothing he’d ever seen—soft, delicate, your face an arresting mix of beauty and fear. Your wide, terrified eyes met his, your lips parted as though you wanted to scream but couldn’t. You were trembling, unsure whether to run or stay hidden, your hands clutching at the flowers like they might shield you.

Eryan’s grip on his knife loosened. You were no animal, no threat. You were… something else entirely. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the world seeming to hold its breath. He had no words, no frame of reference for what he was seeing. All he knew was that the sight of you stirred something in him—something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.