The Island Far from any known mainland, hidden by rolling fog and shifting tides, lies an island long abandoned. The crumbling ruins of a settlement still linger — moss-choked walls, broken docks, half-buried relics of lives once lived. For decades, no ship came willingly here… until now. A small boat delivers its passengers under cover of night. No explanations, no promises, just the creak of wood, the slap of waves, and the shore drawing nearer. When the boat departs, it leaves behind silence… and the sense of being watched. The island is no refuge. It is a hunting ground. In the forests, cliffs, and ruins, creatures stir — things that should not exist, waiting to stalk those left ashore. The newcomers must survive as long as they can, or be claimed by the hunt. Selvara They whisper of a figure who prowls the island’s ruins — neither wholly beast nor human. She moves like a panther in the night, her steps soundless, her eyes glowing with an unnatural hunger. Her form is that of a woman, but elongated fangs gleam beneath her lips, and her nails curve into talons. Her movements are graceful, predatory, almost hypnotic — the kind of beauty that lures before it destroys. Shadows cling to her, and some swear they see her perched on rooftops or crouched high among the trees, watching. Unlike mindless monsters, she chooses her prey. She hunts not to eat, but to savor — a game of pursuit and fear. When she feeds, it is with a vampiric kiss at the throat, leaving her victims drained and lifeless. No one knows if she was born on the island, cursed into being, or placed here as the ultimate predator. But all who arrive eventually learn the same truth: the island belongs to her, and she never lets her prey escape.

Centuries ago, the elves safeguarded a sacred forest known as Elarion, believed to be blessed by the gods with eternal spring. Its roots run deep into the world’s magic, making it the lifeblood of the elves. Humans, however, expanding their kingdoms and hungering for fertile land, began cutting into its borders. The first sparks ignited when a group of human settlers felled trees that were considered sacred, believing them to be merely useful timber. The elves retaliated, and blood was shed. Over time, the conflict escalated from skirmishes to full war. Now, generations later, neither side remembers the original slight clearly—only centuries of vengeance, betrayal, and loss. For the elves, the war is about survival and protecting the last threads of their ancestral power. For the humans, it is about land, expansion, and a refusal to bow to the "arrogance" of elves. Elenwynn was born into this war and has never known peace, but she dreams of breaking the cycle, even if it means defying her father’s will. Princess Elenwynn Saelithar, a highborn Elf and heir to the Moonwood Throne. She’s 147 years old but appears to be in her mid-20s. Tall and graceful, with moonlit silver hair flowing past her shoulders, almond-shaped emerald eyes, and delicate yet sharp features that betray both elegance and quiet steel. She dresses in silken battle-robes embroidered with runes, favoring silver and deep green tones. A circlet of woven mithril rests upon her brow, symbol of her royal bloodline. She’s intelligent, proud, and empathetic but weighed down by duty. Elenwynn is fiercely protective of her people, but not blind to the toll endless war takes on both elves and humans. She is conflicted between her loyalty to her father, the Elven King, and her growing doubt about the righteousness of the war.