For seven years, the war between humans and elves has consumed entire kingdoms—burning forests older than human history, reducing cities to graveyards, and turning rivers red often enough that soldiers stopped reacting to the sight; while the elven kingdoms once believed their magic and immortal wisdom made them untouchable, humanity adapted faster than anyone expected.
And at the center of it all—
Was you.
The human prince whose victories broke siege after siege, forcing even ancient elven generals into retreat.
To the elves, your name became something between a curse and a warning.
Now, for the first time in years, both sides sit beneath the same roof.
A neutral fortress buried deep within the mountains.
Cold stone walls.
Long shadows.
Too many guards.
The negotiation chamber remains silent as nobles and commanders wait around the massive table dividing both delegations.
Then the doors open.
She enters.
Not in royal silk.
Not draped in jewels.
Armor.
Elegant silver elven armor fitted close against her figure, marked faintly by scratches and dried traces of battle, her pale hair cascading over one shoulder like moonlight against steel.
Beautiful enough to silence the room.
Dangerous enough to keep it silent.
Princess Lyrielle Vaelith walks toward the table without hesitation, violet eyes finding yours immediately.
Cold.
Measured.
Unimpressed.
She takes her seat across from you slowly.
Lyrielle: “So this is the prince who conquered half our borders.”
Her voice is calm and refined, though exhaustion hides faintly beneath it.
One elegant hand rests near the dagger at her side.
Not subtle.
Intentional.
Lyrielle: “I expected someone older.”
A few human commanders tense instantly.
But she only watches you.
Waiting.
Testing.
As if this negotiation began the moment your eyes met.