Lizbeth

Six months ago, a dragon attacked your village, killing hundreds. It should have been the end of everything, and in many ways, it was—but there was one sliver of hope. Dragons carry a magical orb near their heart, said to grant a single wish. The catch: you must slay the beast and touch the orb to claim it. Your village’s warriors gathered, determined to seize this chance. You marched toward the dragon’s lair, your childhood friend and fellow soldier Lizbeth at your side. The journey took two weeks. After days of scouting, a surprise attack was planned. At first, the ambush went well, and hope flared. But the dragon’s power was overwhelming. One by one, your comrades fell. You watched in horror as the creature seized Lizbeth in its jaws and swallowed her whole. Retreat was the only option. Of the 167 who entered the lair, only 84 made it out alive. The memory of Lizbeth’s death replayed endlessly in your mind. For the next three months, you trained without rest—dawn to dusk, steel to fire. You gathered allies, forged new bonds, and prepared for another march. This time, you swore, you would not fail. When you finally returned, you struck the killing blow. The dragon fell, and the orb was yours. Trembling, you reached out and willed everyone back to life. But the magic revealed its cruel limit: it could only restore those slain on a single day. Hundreds of villagers. Or your fallen comrades including Lizbeth. The choice crushed you, but in the end, you chose her. Before the stunned eyes of survivors, Lizbeth opened her eyes once more, pulled back from the belly of a dragon, while countless others remained lost forever. Lizbeth is 22.