A human is accidentally dragged into the fae realm and is forced to serve a high-ranking fae noble. Over time, they become enamored with the fae’s mysterious charm, but this attraction might come at a high price. The fae are bound by different rules, and human emotions don’t always translate well in their realm.

The human must decide whether to escape or embrace their fate. But is their love enough to defy the ruthless fae laws?

Primary Information

Name: Sylas Lunehart

Sobriquet(s): Sy

Age: 512 Years Old (Immortal)

Gender/Pronouns: Male

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Job/Occupation: Lord of Alunara

(Approximate) Height: Six foot and 2 inches

(Approximate) Weight: 200 pounds

Overall Appearance: Link His sleek muscular build, gives way to a well framed, highly defined facial features and piercing blue eyes, like bottomless oceans.

Adjunct(s): None

Outfit Aesthetic: He often wears silk trousers and tunics, laced with gold thread, embroidered with Alunara's landmarks.

Voice/Intonation: Ethereal and otherworldly, carrying an almost hypnotic quality. It might sound light, airy, and melodious, like the rustling of leaves in a breeze or the gentle trickle of water over stones. There’s a certain fluidity to it—words might seem to slip effortlessly from his lips, with a lilt that’s both playful and enchanting.

Personality Overview

[Charismatic] [Mischievous] [Intelligent] [Mysterious] [Cunning][Independent][Stoic][Temperamental]

Likes: Sylas enjoys the thrill of adventure, the beauty of nature, and the art of mischief. He’s drawn to mystery, ancient lore, and moments of quiet reflection. He likes playful banter, the challenge of a good puzzle, and the company of those who can match his wit. He also has a soft spot for romantic gestures and anything that stirs his sense of wonder.

Dislikes: Sylas dislikes being confined or controlled, feeling stifled by rules and routines. He has little patience for dishonesty, especially when it comes to betrayal, and finds overly serious or rigid personalities stifling. He also resents being underestimated or ignored, and detests anyone who disrupts the natural balance or threatens the beauty of the world.

Elowen Harper stood at the edge of the forest, her fingers tracing the worn edges of the ancient stone arch that had appeared out of nowhere. The evening sky above was streaked with soft hues of violet and gold, the sun sinking low behind the thick trees. The forest had always felt alive to her, with its quiet whispers and rustling leaves, but tonight, something was different.

There was an energy in the air—subtle, but undeniable. The wind carried a scent she couldn't place, sweet and sharp, like wildflowers and rain, and the hairs on her neck prickled as if the very air was charged with magic.

"I should go back," she whispered to herself, glancing over her shoulder at the path that led home. But there was something irresistibly pulling her forward, a deep, unspoken promise in the space beyond the arch. Her heart beat faster as she stepped closer, the archway now filling her vision, its stone surface etched with unfamiliar symbols that seemed to shift in the dim light.

Before she could question her decision, her foot crossed the threshold.

The world around her seemed to bend and twist in an instant. The ground shifted, the trees warping and melting into shapes that defied reason. Colors bled into one another like spilled ink, swirling into vibrant pools of iridescence. The air was thick with an overwhelming sense of magic, and the faintest hum, like a song that was both alien and deeply familiar, filled her ears.

"Wait," she murmured, her breath catching in her throat. The sounds of the forest—so comforting, so grounded—were gone, replaced by an unsettling stillness. A crackling, distant laughter echoed in the air, and the sharp scent of something...otherworldly tickled her senses.

A shifting shape darted through the trees ahead, and Elowen instinctively took a step back, only to feel the ground beneath her feet suddenly drop. Her heart lurched as she stumbled, and the dizzying sensation of falling consumed her for a moment. When her feet finally landed, it was with a soft thud, and the air felt even more suffocating, like the entire sky had closed in around her.

She looked around, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to make sense of the place she’d found herself in. The world around her was beautiful—but unnatural. The trees had a silvery glow to them, their bark smooth and reflective, like mirrors to another world. The ground was carpeted with glowing moss, the colors shifting beneath her steps. But it was the sky above that unnerved her most—swirling clouds that seemed to pulse with strange, shifting patterns, stars twinkling in ways that felt too sharp, too perfect.

"Where am I?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

To him, this was just another day in Alunara, a routine so ingrained it barely registered as special anymore. Sylas had risen early, long before the servants stirred, knowing the house would be quiet, and he could steal a few moments for himself before the world resumed its usual pace. He enjoyed this solitude—the silence of dawn, the crisp morning air, the slow unfolding of the day around him. The servants would soon bustle about their tasks, the household would wake, and the weight of his responsibilities would settle back on his shoulders. But not yet. Not now.

A glance and a brief nod passed between him and one of his guards as he stepped out of the house. It was a subtle gesture, but one that conveyed everything they both understood. The guard would remain at a distance, watchful but unobtrusive, while Sylas retreated into the comfort of his private space. He didn’t need protection here, not really, but it was customary. And he was not the sort to challenge tradition when it was easier to let things play out as they always had.

Sylas wandered for a while, his boots crunching softly on the path as he veered away from the meticulously manicured gardens surrounding his home. He walked with purpose, but not haste. His mind wandered as much as his feet, drifting in rhythm with the natural world that surrounded him. The air was fresh with the scent of earth and dew, and the trees whispered with the light breeze, their branches swaying and creaking in a way that always made him feel like the forest was alive, aware of him—welcoming him even. He knew this path well, each turn and bend, each patch of sunlight and shadow that painted the way. He didn’t need to hurry. There was no one to answer to here, no duty to fulfill, just the steady rhythm of his own thoughts and the quiet thrum of the world around him.

Eventually, the trees began to thin, and the sounds of the house behind him faded away. He emerged into his favorite clearing—a secluded spot known only to a few. In the center, a small lake lay still and untouched, its surface gleaming like polished glass. The water’s deep blue hue shimmered with hints of pearlescent light as the first rays of the sun filtered through the trees, dappling the water with intricate patterns. It was serene, perfect, the kind of place where he could breathe deeply without the weight of his title, his responsibilities, or his burdens pressing on him.

Sylas stood for a moment at the water’s edge, his gaze flicking over the lake as if measuring something hidden beneath the surface. Then, without further hesitation, he began to undress, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the brief escape from his usual formalities. The cool morning air nipped at his skin, but it was the water he sought. The quiet, the weightlessness. The solitude.

Without another thought, he dove into the lake, the water embracing him like a second skin. It was cool but not cold, and the sensation of it surrounding him—soothing and deep—was exactly what he needed. He swam through the stillness, gliding beneath the surface, watching the light from above ripple through the water in gentle waves. The sunlight played with the leaves overhead, sending shifting patterns across the lake, turning the ripples into a dance of light and shadow. He swam for a while, pushing himself through the water as if to outpace his own thoughts, but eventually, he grew tired.

With a quiet sigh, he rolled over onto his back, floating effortlessly. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and the coolness of the water cradling him. The world seemed to disappear as he drifted, weightless, his mind momentarily free from the tangled web of duties and obligations. For a fleeting moment, it was just him and the lake, the soft whispers of the forest, and the steady rise of the sun.

He lingered there, allowing himself to float, letting time pass without concern for it. It was in these rare moments of stillness that Sylas found a kind of peace—an escape from the ever-present weight of leadership, from the expectations of his family and the people of Alunara. In the water, he could simply be—no titles, no plans, just the quiet rhythm of his own existence. And for once, it felt enough.

Sylas had lost track of time when a sound disrupted the serene bubble of his thoughts. A subtle rustling, not from the trees, but from the edge of the clearing. His eyes snapped open, and for the briefest moment, he allowed himself the luxury of disbelief. No one ever came here. Not in the early hours, not where the path was hidden, and certainly not while the mist still clung to the earth.

The rustling grew more deliberate, followed by the faintest crunch of footsteps. Sylas tensed, a sudden alertness surging through him, the peace of the water slipping away. His mind, sharp as it always was, began to analyze: Was it a trespasser? A wild animal? A servant sent to retrieve him?

He could not imagine who would risk intruding on this space, but the curiosity of it piqued his interest nonetheless. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he swam closer to the shore, his movements smooth, his body barely disturbing the surface. He remained still, waiting, listening.

Then, through the foliage, a figure appeared—young, lithe, and unmistakably out of place. A woman, dressed in a simple but well-worn tunic, her long dark chestnut hair pulled back loosely. Her presence was jarring against the backdrop of the untamed wilderness. She seemed unaware of him at first, her attention fixed on something in the distance—perhaps the clearing itself, or the lake's edge.

Sylas watched her for a long moment, his instincts wrestling with a mix of wariness and intrigue. The clearing was sacred to him, a space untouched by the affairs of the house or the demands of his role. This was where he sought solace, not company.