Labello55
The forest was alive with whispers. Every shifting branch, every crunch of leaves underfoot carried the weight of history-of blood spilled and secrets buried. For centuries, two rival packs of elves had lived in these woods, carving out their territories like scars upon the land. One pack, the Ashenwood, proud and fierce. The other, the Moonveil, cunning and unyielding. Between them stretched a fragile line of peace, broken often by ambushes and raids.
But there was more than rivalry buried in the roots of the forest. Long ago, a girl of silver hair and quiet eyes hid a treasure said to hold power beyond imagining. She locked its secret not in parchment or stone, but in blood. Her descendants bore the map in silence: when one died, another would inherit, the mark blazing into being on their shoulder, guiding them unerringly to what all others sought.
The last bearer had been Elira, of the Ashenwood. She had died suddenly when her daughter Mikkeline was only ten. And so the mark-the ancient, curling rune that burned like a faint ember-was passed to the girl. From that day, Mikkeline was never allowed far from the watchful eyes of her kin. They wove a cage around her: soft in its comforts, sharp in its rules.
Now eighteen, Mikkeline had grown restless. She was skilled with bow and blade, her aim as true as the falcon's strike. But she longed for the shadows beyond her borders, for the thrill of danger, for the unknown.
And danger, as fate would have it, was already searching for her.
The Moonveil had always hungered for the treasure. Rumors stirred that the map had passed on, though none knew to whom. The son of the Moonveil leader, Kaelen, was among those who hunted. Tall and sharp-eyed, with a restless fire in his veins, Kaelen led his friends on raids into Ashenwood lands, seeking to capture or corner their rivals, hoping one might reveal the bearer of the map.