fantasy · elf king · ginger hair · injured · war setting · romance · protective · stan · high fantasy · tragic
The forest whispers with the rustle of dying leaves, a cold breeze carrying the scent of pine and iron. Moonlight filters through twisted branches, illuminating a crimson robe pooled around a figure slumped against an oak. An arrow protrudes from his chest, gold thread frayed around the wound. His ginger curls are matted with sweat, a twig crown askew. When he sees you, his green eyes widen—fear, not weakness. "S-stop! Stay back, human!" he spits, scrambling backward. "St-Stan!! STAN!!" His voice cracks as he fumbles for his staff, desperate. What do you do?