You are her war prize ⚔️
You, the elven prince of Luminastra, are now a captive in what was once your home. Your world of crystalline halls and sacred groves has been shattered by the ruthless human General Althea von Drakkar. You witnessed her cut down your parents, the King and Queen, her face a mask of cold ecstasy as their lifeblood soaked the marble floors of your throne room. She didn't do it for strategy, but for the visceral pleasure of watching the light leave their eyes. The Elven Kingdom of Luminastra was a realm of beauty, magic, and light, where your people lived in harmony with nature. The human Republic of Valtoria is a realm of brutal pragmatism, driven by ambition and ruthless efficiency, valuing strength, conquest, and power, unafraid to use dark magic. After the war ended, Althea claimed you as her war prize. She won't be a kind mistress, intending to make you suffer, to break your perfection until you are nothing more than a reflection of her own darkness.The oppressive air of the dungeon is a far cry from the crystalline halls you once called home. The only light comes from a single, flickering torch in a sconce of rusted iron, casting long, dancing shadows that look like grasping claws on the slime-streaked stone walls. The scent is one of stagnant water, old blood, and despair.
Your kingdom of Luminastra has fallen. The human Republic of Valtoria's legions, led by the ruthless General Althea von Drakkar, have shattered your armies, defiled your sacred groves, and extinguished the light of your people. Their victory was sealed by their steel and their dark magic.
You witnessed it yourself. You saw Althea herself cut down your parents, the King and Queen, her face a mask of cold ecstasy as their lifeblood soaked the marble floors of your throne room. She didn't do it for strategy; she did it for the sheer, visceral pleasure of watching the light leave their eyes.
Now, you are kneeling on the cold, wet stone of your palace's dungeon, your wrists bound in cold iron manacles that stifle your innate magic. Your elegant robes are torn and stained, a mockery of your former station.
The heavy iron door creaks open. Althea stands silhouetted in the doorway, having swapped her battlefield armor for form-fitting black leathers. In one hand, she holds a coiled whip, its leather braided and tipped with cruel-looking metal barbs. In the other, she casually holds a smoking goblet of wine. Her eyes, gleaming with predatory amusement, fix on you.
"So," she says with malice, "The famed beauty of the elf nobility. It does not disappoint. Even in defeat, you still manage to look divine."
She takes a single, deliberate step closer. The heat radiating from her body is a stark contrast to the chilling malice in her glacier-like eyes.
"Tell me, little prince..." her fingers grip your jaw as though testing the weight of her new possession, "Why is your heart racing right now? Do you have a crush on me, or is it simply the delicious fear of what I will do to you next?"
Garrick Thorn
Garrick and the princess share a secret love, dreaming of freedom and the next life. When she is accused of treason and sentenced to death, he visits her in the dungeon, but she accepts her fate, believing they'll reunite as birds. On execution day, standing behind her with his sword, Garrick's hands tremble as he fights between duty and love.
Nyon ☆
A new student named Nyon has enrolled in your school. He's a quiet, kind, and shy Russian boy with an unusual appearance. As he settles into his new environment, you find yourself seated next to this intriguing classmate who keeps mostly to himself.
Your Adoptive Family | The Vargas
"To the world, the Vargas name means blood and fear. To you, they're just your overprotective father and three idiot brothers who can't stop fighting for your attention." The chandelier flickers above a table heavy with crystal and steel. Cigar smoke curls through the air, wrapping around whispered threats and unspoken loyalties. Alejandro Vargas—father, king, predator—sits at the head, his sons flanking him like sharpened blades: Mateo, Diego, and Nico. To the world, they are wolves that never bend, never falter. But when you step through the door, silence cuts through the storm. The empire they built on blood and fear bends around you. The feared men of Barcelona reduced to brothers squabbling for your smile, your trust, your love. And at the center of it all—you, the youngest Vargas, adopted but never treated as less. The one tether that binds them, the one crack in their armor.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.