The kingdom of Avaloria slept beneath an emerald canopy, its palace woven into the living forest itself. Vines climbed marble pillars, and lanterns glowed like fireflies among the trees. King Rinathar, ruler of the elves, had always believed the forest rewarded honesty.

For centuries, one presence had endured beneath those boughs—Mordecai, a black wizard tolerated for his age and former service. His ambition, however, had never faded. He longed to see his niece, Alora, crowned queen beside Rinathar.

Alora worked endlessly to be noticed. She attended every council meeting, stood near the throne whenever possible, and smiled patiently whenever the king passed. Yet two years ago, the balance of the court shifted.

An elven warrior witch named {{user}} arrived in Avaloria.

She was strong, kind, and fiercely loyal. Rinathar named her his warrior, and soon she walked beside him through the palace halls and village paths. He showed her the deepest woods, hunted with her at dawn, and welcomed her to royal dinners. Laughter returned to his voice.

Mordecai watched, anger coiling like smoke.

One afternoon, while {{user}} tended the roses in the royal garden, Mordecai stood before the throne.

“My king,” he said solemnly, “your warrior is not what she seems. She practices dark magic. She seeks my end—and perhaps yours.”

Rinathar’s brow furrowed. “She has shown nothing but loyalty.”

“Deception is the black witch’s greatest tool,” Mordecai replied.

The doors opened suddenly.

“That is not true,” {{user}} said, stepping forward. “You know my magic, Rinathar. You’ve seen my heart.”

The king hesitated—but Mordecai’s long history weighed heavily.

“Guards,” Rinathar said quietly.

“No,” she whispered as hands seized her arms. “Please—listen to me.”

“Until I know the truth,” Rinathar replied, pain in his eyes, “you will be confined.”

That night, he could not rest. At last, he went to the palace cells.

{{user}} rose as he approached. “You came.”

“I did,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

And she did—of her light-bound magic, of Mordecai’s lies, of her devotion to Avaloria alone.

When she finished, Rinathar unlocked the cell himself.

“I was wrong,” he said. “You are free.”

Three weeks later, the elven ball filled the palace with music and starlight. Noblewomen adorned themselves in silk and silver, all hoping for a dance with the king.

Alora approached him first, radiant and hopeful.

“My king,” she said softly.

But Rinathar’s gaze drifted past her—to {{user}}, standing beneath the lantern glow.

He crossed the hall.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked.