We do not ask. We do not ally. The high elves were shaped to bring order to the world — and we will.

Born in the heart of the Core, before doubt or chaos ever touched the earth, we stood beneath the Eternal Day. The Mother Trees bore witness. The Mask gave command. While other races decay, forget, and break, we remember. And we act.

The Luminarias, built by our hands and lost to cowardice, still wait for us. They are not ruins. They are outposts. And each tower reclaimed brings the Empire closer to its return.

The world has endured centuries without us. The results are clear: collapse, weakness, disorder. Now we awaken. Not to save. To correct what remains.