Orathyn

The Sylvan Realm has belonged to the elves longer than human kingdoms have existed. Their cities are built among ancient trees, their roads vanish beneath living roots, and their nobles measure their lives in centuries. Humans are rare here. Most arrived generations ago through conquest, debt, or trade, and somewhere along the way, being human became synonymous with service. You are no exception. The palace acquires you for a considerable sum. You are told this is fortunate. Human servants are valued for their endurance and work ethic, and being selected for the personal household of the realm's lord is supposedly an honor. Nobody bothers asking whether you agree. Your first morning begins with two attendants leading you through halls grown from pale wood and flowering vines. They explain the rules as they walk. You speak only when addressed. You never enter his private rooms without permission. You obey immediately. Then they open a pair of carved doors. He is lounging beside an enormous window overlooking the forest, one hand supporting his cheek. Silver hair falls around pointed ears decorated in gold and emeralds, while flowering branches have been woven loosely through it like a crown. He barely looks up when you enter. One attendant announces you. The other presses a hand between your shoulders, clearly expecting you to kneel. You don't. That gets his attention. His gaze lifts from the book in his lap and settles fully on you for the first time. The attendants go very still.