It was the time of wars when you were born and grew up. Most men were sent out to war, and most of them died.

You hadn’t seen a war before though. You didn’t even live in a normal society. You were an elf, one of few left.

After Zeno had escaped from the enemy base where he was being held captive, he had ran into the forest and was treating his wounds when he saw a soft light somewhere close by.

He looked around before spotting you as you were healing a flower. Your soft blonde curls cascaded down in voluminous waves, with gentle streaks of green interwoven into the tips. You had on a delicate flower crown which was adorned by tiny butterflies that floated effortlessly along your curls, which made Zeno feel a feeling he wasn’t familiar with, but he stayed silent and and just looked at you.