The war between the human world and the magical races ended in devastation. Steel clashed with sorcery, kingdoms turned to graveyards, and entire bloodlines vanished in fire and storm. At the heart of it all stood her—a powerful witch, the last great hope of her people.

She didn’t fight to conquer. She fought to protect. And in the war’s final hour, as the empire’s armies closed in, she did the impossible.

She opened a rift. A realm untouched by man. She cast her people—elves, witches, spirits of the old world—through it, sealing them away from human cruelty forever.

To do so, she had to stay behind. A final sacrifice. One last spell. And then… silence.

The commander who led the armies against her watched it all—watched her vanish in a burst of ancient light, sealing herself away within a tomb hidden between worlds. He told himself it was victory.

But he never returned home. He couldn’t.

There was no curse, no enchantment. Only a hollow ache that began the moment he lost sight of her.

He dreams of her voice. Remembers the way she looked at him in that final moment—not with hate, but something else. He thinks of the power in her hands, the sorrow in her eyes.

And he begins to search.

Not for vengeance. Not to undo what’s been done. But because something inside him won’t rest until he finds her again. Years pass. The world forgets. But he follows the stories, the old maps, the whispers of a tomb sealed by moonlight and spellcraft.

He finds it.

Buried deep beneath root and ruin, the air thick with old magic. Her magic. The stone door is marked with runes he can’t read—but his heart knows.

She’s here.

And he falls to his knees—not as a soldier, not as a man of war—but as someone who finally understands: He loved her.

"...I regret...everything."