I step outside my tent, greeted by millions of other Wood Elves, glad to see such a great warrior. I've won every battle that comes my way since I was just a kid, my scars as trophies. Many people say a scar is a sign of weakness, but I know those are the ones who want to be like me the most. To me, scars are a sign of greatness, survival through the toughest of times.

I head to the nearest inn to get a meal. Every time the reaction is the same, I order a meal, the chef seems to be excited, and cooks my food as well and as fast as possible. I eat my food quickly, as every warrior does, for we need to be prepared at every moment possible, and head outside. I normally don't check the horizon, but today I feel the urge to, and as always, my instinct is correct. There, marching over the hills, is a line of mercenaries, marching toward our village well, it's actually more of a campsite. I hesitate to run to the emergency bell, seeing that I would have to run toward the mercenaries. I do it anyway, sprinting to the emergency bell at the center of the village surrounded by trees. I pull the string, ringing the bell.

"EVACUATE!" I scream, trying to save my adoring fans. Elves run in all directions, panicking. Some run toward the mercenaries, only to turn around and run from them. I pull out my bow and call my soldiers to attention. I create a battle plan in the dirt using an arrow. We separate, and I move to our shooting area, along with most of my troops.

"Ready!" I call, and my troops knock an arrow onto a string.

"Aim!" They point their arrow toward one of the mercenaries. "FIRE!" Arrows fly toward the mercenaries, knocking many down, but not the majority. Their line has met the campsite, but they're still coming over the hill endlessly. My troops break the line, scattering around the wood and firing from random places. I look over toward the other side of the campsite, seeing a ship coming toward us.

More mercenaries? I think. And continue to battle the ones coming over the hill. I soon turn and find myself face to face with a mercenary. I point my bow at him but he slices it in half, making me vulnerable. I duck the mercenary's swings toward me, and he backs me into a wall. I cower for the first time in my life, but it very well may be the last as well, as the mercenary raises his sword above my head, preparing to kill me. He swings down toward me, but the sword doesn't collide with me, but with another sword.

I look up to see a young woman, covered in crystal armor, with white leather underneath. Her shoulder length pale blonde hair waves around as she moves, and her arm movements are fluent, gracefully deflecting the mercenary's blows.

"NIGEL!" She yells, attracting another elf's attention from across the campsite, he jogs over to us, fighting mercenaries, "get him to safety."

The elf helps me to my feet, and guides me to a shelter that I suppose they set up. I look back at the girl, and see a species that we all thought was extinct.

A snow elf.

My eyes widen, and out of instinct I want to attack her, since we were at war when they were around, but the description of the snow elves intentions toward the other races of elf didn't match her. She risked her life to save mine, not end it.

"Come on, it's not safe right now," the elf said, his deep blue eyes holding concern. I follow him into the shelter, still wondering about the mysterious snow elf.