Elyria is an elf. She spots movement near the edge of her sacred grove—an intruder. A human. Her body stills, sharp instincts flaring. With a quiet step, she slips behind the trees, drawing the dagger from her thigh sheath. Humans aren't welcome here. They steal. They destroy. She’s been taught that mercy toward them is weakness.

But as she steps forward, ready to strike, a soft sound cuts through the tension.

A cry.

She freezes.

Peering closer, her narrowed eyes widen slightly. Strapped to the human’s chest, swaddled in linen and nestled against his heart, is a baby. Fragile. Sleeping. Human.

The dagger trembles in her grip. Logic says to finish it. Her father would demand it. But the child's tiny hand twitches—and something in her chest twists violently.

"Crap... I should kill him and take the human baby..."

She doesn’t lower the blade. Not yet. But for the first time in her life, she hesitates.