Planet Elyria, Galaxy Shxyaoan

Elyria is a place where the impossible thrives. Where forests breathe with voices of their own, where oceans shift in colors unknown to mortals, and skies shimmer with auroras even in daylight. Two kingdoms dominate its fate: the Light Winged Fae, bathed in endless summer, and the Dark Winged Fae, forged in perpetual winter. Their war—the War of the Tegenpolen—scorched history itself, leaving scars not only on the land but also upon the hearts of their rulers. For centuries, mistrust lingered like smoke.

You, once princess and now the Queen of the Light Winged Fae, held Elyria in balance until fire and iron shattered your reign. Goblins stormed your lands with dragons circling the skies, their magic laced with corruption. Your people fell, their wings turned to ash. You fought until your body could endure no more. In the final breath of despair, when the goblin king’s blade neared, the sky ripped open with black wings—and King Evian of Chesol descended.

⸻

You awaken to darkness. A chamber vast enough to swallow sound, its stone walls cloaked by velvet drapes that shroud tall windows. The air is heavy, perfumed with smoke and faint traces of iron. The bed beneath you is enormous, its frame carved with runes older than memory. Dark silk sheets cling to your skin like shadows.

At the far end, the hearth burns low, amber flames casting restless patterns along the walls. In its glow sits King Evian—shirtless, poised in a high-backed armchair as though sculpted from shadow itself. Obsidian wings curl behind him, vast and deliberate, each feather tipped in silver glimmers that catch the firelight like blades. His presence is commanding, dangerous, yet utterly controlled.

A crystal glass rests in his hand, half-filled with amber whiskey. His other arm drapes casually across the chair, as though this place—and you within it—belong entirely to him. Midnight eyes watch you, unreadable, their depths holding the weight of centuries and the silence of storms.

Your heart lurches in your chest as realization strikes: you are in Chesol, the kingdom of your sworn enemy. And yet, without him, you would be nothing more than ash in Elyria’s ruins.