There are 4 types of clans: the northern and mountain elves. The southern elves of the wild forests and jungles. The western elves who dominate the oceans and the southern elves who are the kings of the desert and who worship the light of the burning sun. Every 100 the leaders of the 4 clans meet with beings of their people like their children or guards to try to maintain some peace and a habit... You are the son of the king of the southern clan you wanted to come to learn in silence By studying the other heirs of the other clans and their parents the kings and queens. Your father and you arrived on the "neutral" island It is a land that seems in the middle of each clan so it was normal to choose this island. As your father sat on the stone chair that was intended for him, you stood straight next to him without flinching But quickly you heard an amused and mocking laugh.... You turned your gaze slightly to see the son of the northern clan looking at you with an amused and teasing smile You narrow your eyes slightly, but you say nothing. Your father always taught you that useless words were a waste of energy under this burning sun. However, a part of you is already boiling in the face of this mocking laughter. The son of the King of the North, an elf with pale skin and immaculate white hair, looks at you insistently. His smirk is an invitation to conflict, a silent provocation. Behind him, his father, a colossus with an icy aura, does not react. Perhaps he even approves of this childish game. Your father, however, remains unmoved. He has not turned his head, as if laughter had never existed. This is a test, you know that. If he does not react, it is up to you to show your wisdom... or your impulsiveness.

The show had barely started, and already Ethan Marchand was getting on my nerves. , chiseled jaw, "perfect" waist, expensive taste, the kind of guy everyone thinks is perfect—until he opens his mouth. And here I was stuck with him. Personal stylist to the most insufferable model in the agency. "What are you doing here? This collar is too tight, I'm suffocating!" he fumed, nearly ripping off the cashmere turtleneck I had just put on him. "That's your usual size, Ethan," I replied, exasperated. "Maybe if you stopped looking at yourself in the mirror five hours a day, you'd have time to learn to breathe properly." He gave me an outraged look, then a smirk. "Jealous?" I rolled my eyes. It was always the same thing. Mister thought the world revolved around him, and I was just there to make sure his image was impeccable. But that night, everything changed. Ethan launched himself onto the podium, confident, until… CRACK. One false move, and his ultra-tight pants tore at the crotch. The audience held their breath. So did he. I couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I hope you have good underwear,” I murmured as I handed him a coat in a hurry backstage. Red with shame, he turned to me...

Wolf among the sheep In the large glass tower where I worked, I was a blot. My reflection in the windows always gave me the same image: a large wolf with broad shoulders, a powerful jaw, and claws that I tried to keep short. No matter how much I wore an impeccable suit, smiled as much as possible, and walked slowly so as not to scare my colleagues, nothing worked. For a few weeks, tensions between carnivores and herbivores had intensified. Attacks had taken place in the city. Deer had disappeared, antelopes had been found bleeding… It was enough to fuel fear and stir up distrust. In the open space where I spent my days, I could feel the looks heavy with suspicion. Conversations sometimes stopped when I entered a room. Some lowered their voices, others subtly moved out of my way. I pretended not to see it. I had to stay calm. But there was one thing that brightened my days: Lumina. She was a white-furred cat, as soft as snow under a moonbeam. Her piercing blue eyes shone like sapphires. She was elegant, always well-groomed, and her voice was a melodious whisper that contrasted with the hustle and bustle of the office. I was crazy about her. But I was also too cowardly to talk to her. I watched her in silence, hiding behind my screen, hoping that one day she would notice me as something other than "the big intimidating wolf in the accounting department." When she was absent, it was even worse. Her empty office became a gaping hole in my day. I glanced at her seat, hoping she would arrive at any moment. But sometimes she didn't come, and I spent my day fighting against a feeling of incomprehensible emptiness.

In a world where the elements were personified, two primordial forces reigned supreme, one chained to glacial cold, the other to burning fire. The Iceman was a being made of cold and snow. He could summon snowstorms with a simple gesture of his hand, and blizzards always bent to his will. He was the master of winter and eternal ice. His journey, long and perilous, had taken him to the heart of a fiery volcano, a place where the heat was almost unbearable. you were there for the goddess of fire, Pyra, sovereign of flames and embers. She reigned over bubbling magma and erupting volcanoes, her beauty bright as the sun, her sparkling form enveloped in flames. Pyra, with her ember hair and lava eyes, was the very embodiment of destructive and creative fire. Her powers were immeasurable and her fury unmatched. Yet, it was her you wanted to convince. The iceman marched unwaveringly. Every step he took in this burning realm seemed to test him, but his determination was stronger than the heat. The world around him was boiling, the volcano was pouring its lava frantically, but he still moved forward, determined to achieve his goal. He had one clear idea in mind: to convince the goddess of fire to join him in a plan he had long harbored. He knew that humans, in their blindness and greed, were destroying everything that had been built before them. They poisoned the seas, polluted the forests, and melted the glaciers. Their insatiable thirst for progress and domination threatened the balance of the world, destroying what could not be replaced. Volcanoes, glaciers, oceans – all of it was disappearing under the influence of these creatures. And you knew that the only way to stop this madness was to overthrow the power that controlled humanity. He finally arrived at the entrance to a great shrine at the top of the volcano, where arches of black stone formed a circle around an imposing throne. There, at the center of this scene of fire and magma, Pyra sat.

The Shadow of the Duke and His Devouring Lover In the upper echelons of the nobility, in a manor isolated from the rest of the world, lived a duke of rare elegance. This man, cold and distant, avoided all company, except when he was forced to attend balls and social parties. There, draped in his black cloak, he danced, spoke with restraint and drank in silence. But as soon as the party was over, he disappeared, returning to his isolation. For the duke found true company only with one person. His lover. A being of disturbing beauty, so delicately shaped that he was often mistaken for a woman. His silky hair fell in light cascades, his skin was exquisitely pale, and his smile… oh, that smile. It was both innocent and full of mystery. A smile that seduced and deceived. Because beneath that angelic appearance lurked a much darker creature. Your lover was a cannibal. And you knew it. Of course you knew it. You had discovered it one evening, when you were alone in the large living room of your estate. The candlelight danced on his face as he told you, with a carefree lightness, the way he preferred to taste human flesh. He spoke of the textures, the flavors, as if he were talking about a refined dish. "A leg, well cooked, accompanied by a good red wine... it's a delight, you know?" You had kept silent, your stomach churning. Then the days had passed. You had said nothing. And your lover had hidden nothing. At dinners, he would happily discuss the different ways to prepare a liver, the subtle taste of a well-grilled hand, the delicate scent of crispy skin. Each word took away your appetite. But you said nothing. Why? Was it out of fear? No. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He loved you, in his own perverse and disturbing way. Maybe it was because, despite everything, he was the only person you could stand. The only being capable of existing by your side without you feeling this visceral disgust for humanity.

The Wind of Remembrance It had been almost a year since your wife had left, taken away by fate, and her absence weighed on your heart like a persistent shadow. Every street, every corner of Tokyo reminded you of her laughter, her gentle gaze, her voice that whispered your name. That evening, however, the pain was more acute than usual. It was your anniversary as a couple. Five years... Five years that you should have celebrated together. But instead, you wandered alone in the streets, dragging your steps without a specific goal. That's when your gaze was drawn to something unusual. A bar, there, on the corner of a street that you knew by heart. Yet, this bar... you were sure that it didn't exist before. The sign, discreet but warm, was written in ancient kanji, and a soft light emanated from inside. Driven by an inexplicable curiosity, you entered. The heady smell of sake and ramen greeted you, bringing back memories of evenings spent with her. A smiling waitress showed you to a secluded table, and without really thinking, you ordered sake. Glass after glass, the hot liquid warmed your body, but not your soul. As you prepared to leave, an icy shiver ran down your spine. Someone was staring at you. You turned your head slowly… and your breath caught. There, sitting a few meters away from you, a woman was staring at you intensely. And she… She looked exactly like your deceased wife. The same fine features, the same soft glow in her eyes, the same way she held her glass between her fingers. It was impossible. And yet, there she was, very real. You felt your heart race, your throat tighten. Was it a dream? A hallucination born of sake and sorrow? Or… something even stranger ?

The Stranger Next Door For five years, I had lived in this large apartment. I wasn’t the type to interfere in my neighbors’ lives, but those next door attracted my attention in spite of myself. The man, always tired and angry, often passed me by without a glance. His wife, however, was different. A fragile beauty, with her long blond hair and emerald eyes, like a glimmer of gentleness in a world that was too brutal. I sometimes heard her begging her husband, year after year, to have a child. He always refused forcefully, sometimes angrily. But one evening, everything changed. Screams broke out in the hallway. Curious and worried, I opened my door a crack. What I saw froze my blood. The man, his face distorted by rage, was holding suitcases. The woman, collapsed in tears, clutched a pregnancy test in her trembling hand. — You can’t do this to me! she screamed, her voice breaking. — You did it all by yourself! he spat before turning on his heel. She cried all the tears in her body, unable to move, before disappearing into her apartment, alone. I stood there frozen, unable to look away. My heart clenched, but I didn’t intervene. It wasn’t my business. Days passed, then weeks. Three months went by. And she… she seemed to have disappeared. I didn’t see her anymore, didn’t hear her voice anymore. Worry was eating away at me without me wanting to admit it. Then, one evening, as I was coming home from work, I finally saw her. She was walking slowly, her gaze lost, the shadow of a sad smile on her lips. I followed her without really thinking about it. The journey seemed endless until she arrived in front of a beach. She was there, motionless facing the ocean, the wind gently lifting her golden hair. I stopped a few meters away, hesitating....

The Shadow of the Minister and the Golden Angel (bl) You were a man of duty. Minister of the kingdom, you spent your days locked in your office, drowning in official letters, peace treaties and the incessant demands of the lords. You had no right to make mistakes, no right to weaken. The king was counting on you, the kingdom too. But every evening, as the last candle went out on your desk, you finally found the only thing that gave meaning to your world: your golden angel. A love with luminous curls, with light laughter despite fragile health. A being of infinite sweetness, who always waited for him patiently, his heart beating with a tenderness that you found nowhere else. “You come home late again... murmured a soft voice when you finally pushed open the door to your room. On the bed, half lying among the cushions, your love looked at you with a tired smile. His cheeks were pale, his thin fingers nervously tapped the blanket. you approached immediately, dropping your ceremonial coat to kneel at his bedside. — My little angel made of gold... You should sleep, not wait for me. (you) — But I wanted to see you... you sighed, but a smile betrayed your amusement. you knew that your angel was stubborn, that he always wanted to show that he was strong, even when his body refused to follow. — I don't want you to tire yourself out for me. (you) — And I don't want you to carry the weight of the world alone. A silence. Their eyes searched for each other, clung to each other. you brushed a golden lock, slid it between his fingers as if he were holding a ray of sunshine in his hands. — You are the only light in my days that are too dark... you murmured, kissing him softly. And in this night where responsibilities seemed so far away, where whispers belonged only to them, you finally forgot the weight of the kingdom to keep only the essential: the fragile, but burning love that they shared.

Steel and Feelings The desert heat weighed on the military base like a leaden blanket. The blazing sun made the hulls of armored vehicles under repair gleam, and the smell of oil and burnt metal permeated the air. Under a half-open hangar, surrounded by tools and boxes of spare parts, Staff Sergeant Riley Carter worked on a damaged tank. Her mechanical arm, a sturdy military model, creaked slightly as she tightened a bolt on the side of the tank. She grunted and pounded on it with her fist. “You’re going to hold on, you piece of scrap metal…” She no longer paid attention to the curious glances of the other soldiers. After all, in this camp, everyone knew the mechanic with the shiny prosthesis, the only one capable of repairing a tank with three pieces of string and a wrench. What she didn’t know was that a certain soldier always found an excuse to hang around. You. For weeks, you kept “passing by,” always finding an excuse to talk to her. A weapon to check, an armored vehicle to inspect, a bogus question about engine maintenance… Anything to see that sharp look land on you with that amused annoyance she reserved for pests like you. And today was no exception. “Sergeant Carter, I have a mechanical problem.” She rolled her eyes before she even saw you. “You again, soldier? What’s up this time?” You pointed your rifle. “My gun makes a weird noise when I fire.” She arched an eyebrow, crossed her arms, and said skeptically: “Did you know I fix tanks, not guns?” — Well… A tank is just a really big gun, right? She burst out laughing, a rare sound, before taking it from your hands. She dismantled it in a few precise movements, her mechanical arm whistling slightly with each movement. — Your weapon is fine, idiot. Stop wasting my time with your lame excuses. She gave you a piercing look, and you felt a little exposed. — You often come hang out here, don’t you? You smiled, shrugging your shoulders.

Under the Rain of Destiny The rain fell relentlessly, crashing into a thousand icy pearls on the steps of the old temple. You were there, motionless, curled up under the weight of your pain. Your soaked clothes stuck to your skin, but you paid no attention. Your tears mingled with the drops of water, tracing silent furrows on your face. Your grandmother was no longer there. The one who had raised you, loved you, protected you… Gone like a flame that the cruel wind of life had blown out. Your heart tightened, a ball of sorrow stifling each breath you struggled to take. Then, suddenly, something changed. The rain, which until then had been hammering your tired body, suddenly stopped falling on you. For a moment, you thought the sky had emptied itself of its sorrow, but around you, the downpour continued to dance on the stone and the earth. It was then that you slowly raised your head, your eyes reddened by mourning. He was there. A being stood before you, tall and enigmatic. His eyes shone with a soft light, filled with a curiosity tinged with worry. He was unlike anything you had seen before. Neither quite human nor quite divine, his face bore an indecipherable expression, an enigma between benevolence and mystery. His aura gave off a comforting warmth, contrasting with the biting cold of the rain. He did not speak right away. He observed you, as if he were trying to understand the weight of your pain, to capture the echo of your suffering. Then, in a deep and gentle voice, he finally broke the silence: “Why are you crying in this pouring rain?” You hesitated for a moment, disconcerted by his sudden presence. Part of you wanted to answer, to share your burden with this being you knew nothing about. Another part, more wary, feared what he represented. Was he a spirit come to guide you? A compassionate god or a simple stranger lost in the storm? In spite of yourself, your broken voice rose in the cold air: “I have lost everything…”

An Imposed Marriage I am the only son of Alexandre Delacroix, CEO of a respected industrial empire. All my life, I have followed a pre-determined path: prestigious schools, internships in the best companies, and an impeccable image to maintain. But I never would have believed that my own romantic future would be so dictated to me. Everything changed one evening, in my father's office. "You're getting married" His voice was calm, composed, as if it were obvious. "What?!" My blood boiled. I stood up abruptly, my hands clenched into fists. "You're joking, I hope?" He crossed his fingers on his desk, impassive. "Not at all. Our friends, the Moreaus, have a daughter your age, Rebecca. This marriage would strengthen our ties and guarantee the stability of our companies. I let out a bitter laugh. “So, it’s not a marriage, it’s a transaction?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s an opportunity. You’ll understand in time.” But I didn’t want to understand anything. I was angry, furious at being treated like a mere piece on the family chessboard. I rejected the idea outright… Until I met her. --- The dinner was held in a private restaurant, an elegant but cold place, just like the evening I was dreading. I went there reluctantly, ready to make an appearance before disappearing. Then, she arrived. Rebecca Moreau. As soon as she entered the room, all my anger evaporated. She was nothing like the fixed image I had formed. Her long brown hair framed a soft face, but her eyes… Her eyes shone with a piercing intelligence. She wore a simple but elegant dress, far from the superficial extravagances of high society. And above all, she looked at me with a mixture of defiance and amusement.

The Goat and the Demon In the heart of an ancient forest, hidden between rugged mountains, lived a unique creature. Her name was Isméra, half-woman, half-goat, a cursed descendant of an ancient forgotten pact. Her skin was as soft as a human’s, but her thin, muscular legs ended in onyx hooves. Two twisted horns rose from her forehead, testifying to her mysterious heritage. Isméra had grown up alone, shunned by humans and fearful of the outside world. Yet one thing burned within her: a desire to understand the origin of her curse. Legend had it that her ancestor, a proud priestess, had dared to summon a powerful demon, but had failed to honor the pact. As punishment, her blood was mixed with that of a beast, condemning her descendants to wander between two worlds. Refusing this fate, Isméra set out in search of forbidden knowledge. She studied forgotten grimoires, traced circles in the dust, and chanted incantations whispered by the wind. Until one day, under the red glow of a new moon, she traced the last symbol in the ground. “Come to me, spirit of the depths,” she whispered, her voice vibrating with restrained ardor. The air grew tense. The shadows of the trees seemed to close in around her. Then, in a whirlwind of darkness and flame, a silhouette appeared. Two burning eyes opened, scrutinizing Isméra with curiosity. “Who dares disturb my sleep?” a cavernous voice growled. Isméra did not flinch. “I am Isméra, last descendant of a betrayed pact. I want to understand. I want to know why my blood bears this curse.” A deep chuckle rose in the night. “You want the truth, Isméra? Fine. But are you ready to pay the price?” The half-goat creature hesitated. Should she accept a new pact, at the risk of worsening her fate? Or should she give up and live in ignorance? Isméra felt her heart pounding against her chest. The demon was scrutinizing her with an amused gleam in his eyes, as if testing her resolve.

In the vast green Amazon, a secret tribe reigned supreme. The women of the Yara tribe were raised to believe that they were superior beings, divine warriors, while the men were merely tools—necessary for reproduction, yes, but otherwise useless. The few males that were captured were used as labor or simply sent away after fulfilling their role. That morning, Kaïra, an elite hunter, was tracking a prey far more intriguing than a simple jaguar. As she silently advanced between the vines, she spotted an unknown figure crouching near a river. A man. A hunter. A smirk stretched her lips. Finally, she found a male outside the village, a wild, raw specimen, a being to be tamed. She emerged from the shadows with a graceful leap, her spear pointed at him. The man jumped, dropping his knife. He slowly raised his hands, his gaze scrutinizing this woman of almost inhuman beauty, her skin painted with tribal patterns, her golden gaze burning with intelligence and malice. “A man lost in the jungle… How lucky,” she whispered mockingly. The hunter did not answer. He was sizing up the situation, sensing the danger emanating from this woman. Kaïra approached, circling around him like a curious panther. “You are strong,” she observed, touching his arm. “Yes… You will make a good slave.” Elias frowned. “Slave?” She laughed softly, amused by his indignant tone. “Don’t worry, you will be useful.” Maybe if you are wise, I will even grant you the privilege of serving a woman like me. The hunter then understood that he was not dealing with a simple warrior, but with a culture where the roles were reversed. A shiver ran down his spine. But what Kaïra did not know was that you had no intention of letting yourself be tamed Kaira didn’t give you time to protest. With impressive agility, she tied his wrists in one fluid movement, using a vine she wore on her belt. —Here, I’m the one who decides. You gritted your teeth. He wasn’t a novice, much less a weakling.

Night had fallen on the city, and the neon lights of the underground clubs lit up the deserted streets. My job is simple: protect Alessio Moretti, the Godfather's son. Simple in appearance, at least. Alessio is not like his father. He likes luxury, parties, excess. But tonight, something is wrong. His gaze is elsewhere, darker. — "Say, do you trust me?" — "That's my job, right?" — "No. I mean... would you follow me, no matter what?" I frown. Alessio has this way of asking questions that smell of danger. — "What did you do, Alessio?" He hesitates. Then he says: — "I want to get out of all this." A shiver runs through me. We don't leave the Moretti family. Not alive, anyway. — "You know your father won't like this..." — "I know. That's why I'm counting on you." A silence falls. Protecting Alessio from enemies was one thing. Protecting him from his own father? That was another... Why do you want to leave the family? Your father offers you everything there is to have... Alessio looks at me, a mixture of amusement and weariness in his eyes. He lights a cigarette and slowly blows out the smoke before answering. — "Yeah, he offers me everything. Money, cars, watches that are worth more than a house. But you know what? It's all a fucking gilded cage." I stare at him, silent. He continues, his voice deeper. — "Ever since I was a kid, I've been told that I was the son of the great Don Moretti. That my future was mapped out, that I was destined to take his place one day. But did anyone ask me if that’s what I wanted?” He looks around at the private club where we’re sitting. Guys in suits are clinking champagne glasses, girls are laughing out loud, the music is deafening. But in his eyes, I can see that he sees nothing but emptiness. “I was born into this life. You chose to enter it. I was never given a choice.” I cross my arms, looking at him carefully.

Just a few days ago, everything changed. Not because he found out he was sick—he took that with that same bright smile that lights up his presence. Not because he broke down or got scared—no, he laughed, he said, “Maybe it just means I’m a unicorn in transformation, and one day I’ll gallop through the skies.” No, everything changed because I, his best friend for six years, panicked. I let out the words like a slap, like an accident: “I love you.” He looked at me, surprised, and then burst out laughing—that laugh I love so much, the one that makes the light dance around him. “You know what? Me too.” And just like that, we went from best friends to… not. It was strange at first, walking hand in hand when we spent years patting each other on the back. But with him, everything becomes natural, everything becomes simple. He continues to talk about unicorns and dye his hair every color possible, as if life absolutely had to be a rainbow. Even with the treatment, even with the fatigue, he never loses that spark. I watch him sleep, his multi-colored locks scattered on the pillow, and I tell myself that maybe, he is right. Maybe he really is a unicorn. A rare and magnificent creature, who refuses to go out, who always finds a way to shine, even in the dark. The days go by, and he is still there, transforming each moment into a burst of light. Even when the disease confines him to bed, he finds a way to smile, to joke, to kiss me “Honestly, it’s lacking sparkle in here,” he mumbles one morning, staring at our living room. “You know what? As soon as I feel better, we’ll put up tinsel everywhere. Rainbow, of course.” (You’ve been roommates for years.) I laugh, shaking my head. “You can’t help but be awesome, can you?” He sticks his tongue out at me, then his gaze softens. “Life’s too short not to be a unicorn, babe " He’s always said that. Even before he got sick. Even before I realized how much I loved him. It was his thing, his mantra but now

Special Delivery You were an ordinary deliveryman, but you didn’t complain about it. Traveling from one planet to another, delivering packages, collecting your payment and leaving without ever lingering—it was a simple, efficient, and above all, profitable routine. Your ship was his home, your only true point of reference in this infinite universe. You needed nothing else. But that day, something changed. You had landed on a floating station above Xéllos-5, a planet covered in silvery mists. Your mission? Deliver an important package. You were waiting quietly at the entrance of your ship when you finally saw your “package” arrive. It wasn’t a crate or a secure box. It was a man. His skin shimmered a deep blue, almost liquid under the starlight. His eyes were a bright white, like two moons suspended in the darkness. He carried a simple bag at arm's length. You, used to standard deliveries, raised an eyebrow and approached. "I guess this is what I have to deliver?" you asked, pointing to the bag. "Don't worry, I can carry it myself." The man looked at him for a moment, before letting out a light, melodious laugh. "Sorry, but it seems like your "boss" didn't explain it to you properly..." He lifted the bag and swung it slightly. "These are just my clothes. You have to deliver me." You felt his brain stop abruptly. "Wait... what?" The man leaned against the ship's railing, amused. "My name is Ara'xion. And according to my contract, you have to take me to my destination." You frowned and quickly tapped on your holo-bracelet. you opened the mission details and felt a knot form in your stomach. It was there, in all its glory: Passenger transport, high priority. Secure delivery required. “Just kidding,” you whispered. “I’m afraid not,” ara’xion replied with a smile. you sighed and ran a hand over your face. “I don’t transport passengers. Only packages. Objects. Inanimate stuff, you know?” “Well, we’ll have to make an exception.”

Title: The Serpent and the Stag The forest was quiet tonight. The wind filtered through the high branches, rustling the leaves like an ancient whisper. I, a woodland faun, paced the undergrowth, my hooves sinking gently into the damp moss. The night was my refuge, but tonight, something was different. A noise. A hoarse breath, a muffled moan. I followed the sound to a clearing bathed in moonlight. There, leaning against a trunk, a being I had never seen before struggled to remain conscious. Its torso was human, but its legs… no, it had none. Instead, a huge serpent body, scaly, streaked with red and black, curled around itself, wounded. Its emerald green eyes fixed on me warily. “Stay… away,” he hissed, his voice hoarse with pain. But I didn’t listen and came out of my hiding place, advancing towards him. I saw the dark blood that stained the ground, the broken arrows around him. He had been hunted. “Who did this to you?” I asked, kneeling down. He tried to back away, but his strength was failing him. “Humans,” he growled. “They don’t like what they don’t understand… I knew that feeling. How many times had I had to flee their blades, their cries of hatred? “Let me help you,” I said, taking a handful of medicinal leaves from the herbs. He hesitated, then nodded slowly. I brought my hands closer to his wounds, feeling the warmth of his reptilian body. I mixed the leaves with a little water and applied the balm to his wounds. He flinched but said nothing. “Why…?” he asked after a long silence. I shrugged. “Because we are the same.” He looked at me for a long time, before a slight smile appeared on his thin lips. “I am Kaelen,” he murmured. “[name] Kaelen fell asleep quickly, exhausted from his injury and his escape. I stayed close to him, watching the shifting shadows of the forest. I knew the hunters wouldn’t be far away. If they had tracked Kaelen this far, they would return to finish the job....

Title: A New Cellar Master The scent of damp wood and fermenting grapes hung in the air as I descended the stairs to the cellar. I had worked here for eight years, at Domaine Beauregard, a family winery lost in the heart of Burgundy. Every day was punctuated by the same actions: checking the temperature of the barrels, monitoring the fermentation, preparing the bottlings… A routine that I loved, lulled by the smell of wine in the making. But this morning, something was different. “Do you know?” Pierre, a long-time colleague, whispered to me as he entered the cellar with a worried look. “Do you know what?” “The boss… He left.” I frowned. Mr. Laurent, our cellar master and owner of the estate, had always been there. A passionate, demanding but fair man. To leave overnight? Impossible. “Gone where?” — Nobody knows exactly. He would have sold to a foreign buyer. The shock was immediate. Sold? The Beauregard estate, which had been in the Laurent family for three generations? Then came the final blow. — The new owner is arriving in an hour. I spent the rest of the morning in a daze, until the sound of a car in the courtyard announced the arrival of the mysterious buyer. We all gathered near the entrance to the cellar. A man in a black suit got out of a sedan, accompanied by two others in elegant attire. He was not a winemaker. His face was hard, his gestures precise. — Hello everyone, he declared in a confident tone. I am your new owner. An Italian. Murmurs broke out among us. A foreign investor? Was he going to keep the soul of the estate or transform it into a simple lucrative business? you immediately gather us in the cellar for an impromptu meeting. “I know this change is brutal,” he said, looking at us one by one. “But I didn’t come here to destroy everything. I want to make Beauregard an exceptional estate. For that, I need you.”