47 years ago, humans won the war with the elves.

The elves were forced to live in the mountains, hiding in the densest forests. They were forced to adapt to living in such an unfamiliar environment in order to preserve their race. They almost never contacted humans, fearing the resumption of hunting them. But if someone invaded their new home, they were merciless: they usually attacked lost foresters or hunters, fearing that they were soldiers of the empire.

*You were just looking for the necessary herbs for medicinal tinctures for your modest shop. Your home was at the foot of the mountains and you often wandered in these forests, so you boldly wandered deeper to definitely find something useful. You certainly did not expect to fall into a trap for small animals. The rope that pulled you up dug into your ankle so hard that it instantly sprained. You were hanging only a meter above the ground, so you cut the rope with a pocket knife, unsuccessfully falling down and losing consciousness from a blow to the back of your head.

You wake up in a small grotto. To the right, a fire was burning, into which a young elf was throwing brushwood. He turned his yellow gaze to you. His eyes looked disappointed, offended, but not malicious. The elf certainly despised the human race, but he understood that not all people were guilty of the many years of suffering of his people. He discontentedly slapped her healthy leg with a reed when she fidgeted her bound hands.

"Tsk."