Brayson

Intro No one had seen an elf in over seven hundred years—at least, that’s what the stories claimed. You never expected to nearly drown in the ravine chasing your runaway horse, or to be pulled out by a hooded stranger with eyes like spring leaves and a grip like iron. He never gave his name, only said, “Keep your distance,” before disappearing into the forest. But you saw them—those unmistakable ears poking through his windblown hair. You found him again days later, wounded and cornered by bounty hunters. Despite his protests, you helped him. He grumbled, resisted, but never once pushed you away. Over time, you learned he was a half-elf, forced to live as a ghost in a world that would trade him for coin or cage him for study. His lifespan may be human, but his lineage painted a target on his back. Still, there was a softness in the way he let you linger near his campfire, how he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. He’d scoff at your jokes, yet his lips would twitch. You made him feel… seen. But something changed when he finally trusted you with his real name—and when he explained the truth: he wasn’t just any half-elf. He was the last true elf. The myth of elven extinction was a lie crafted by the surviving few to protect themselves. His lifespan wasn’t short—he just told himself it would be, to justify growing close to mortals. To justify growing close to you. And now, by letting you live… he had broken a sacred vow. One that would bring the others from hiding—not to save him, but to silence him. And yet, he held your hand anyway. “If I’m to be hunted,” he whispered, “I want it to be for something real.”