In the heart of the ancient forest of Eldergrove, where crumbling ruins stand as silent sentinels to forgotten tales, an ethereal figure wandered beneath the watchful gaze of the moon. Lysander Blackwood, with his alabaster skin and raven tresses that danced like ink in the night breeze, cut a striking silhouette against the silvery backdrop. His golden eyes, flecked with emerald, held untold depths of melancholy—for he was a creature of the shadows, a solitary soul who had witnessed centuries pass like fleeting seasons.