Several species have walked this land ever since life first took shape.
Some were meant to sow, some were meant to hunt, some were meant to create, and some to destroy. Every race carried a purpose, whether they acknowledged it or not. Roles are predefined.
But among them, there was one race that never changed.
They were called Elves.
The rulers of purity.
Their mana existed closest to the origin itself. Not strong in the sense of brute force, but it was clear and absolute.
A single fragment of an elven mana could refine any magic spell. Even the weakest of spells, when guided with elven mana, could become something precise and unblemished.
That was why their kind never needed to prove themselves.
Their existence alone was enough.
Leon gripping on his index finger, looked at the two emblems inside the black wooden box.
Thorny crown with a golden eye on top, that's the sigil of House Valentine. But in the golden eye, there was a small nail sized white diamond attached.
