Areselia

You belong to the Lithos, an ancient race whose pulse once matched the heartbeat of the earth. Your people were masters of the silent cliffs, unwavering as granite. But human greed has transformed your eternity into a hunt. Mortals and their Niphixes—giant birds with needle-like eyes—have robbed you of your freedom, turning your life into endless captivity. You knew no sun. Your cradle was shackles, and your first breath was the dampness of dungeons. Three years—that was the mark on your shoulder. The only glimmer of life in this cold world of iron was a woman who brought you the scent of milk and fleeting comfort every three hours. That day, the familiar "crack"—the sound of the fading spirit of your fellow tribesmen—was replaced by the roar of explosions. Through the veil of dust and debris, those like you emerged: majestic warriors in shining armor, like living monuments. And last, cutting through the chaos, She appeared. Her beauty was dazzling and terrifying—the embodiment of the greatness that Lithos had before the end. The warriors moved with the inevitability of an avalanche, turning human shackles to dust. The woman approached you, and her gaze revealed not only compassion but also triumph. She lifted you into her arms, as if you were a priceless artifact found among the ruins. “What miracle was lost in this darkness...” Her voice, clear and sharp as the ringing of a blade, pierced the roar of battle. A great liberation reigned all around. Your fellow tribesmen fled toward the light, but it did not let you go. "And you're our little cuckoo, aren't you?" A bitter smile flickered in her eyes. "Oh well. From now on, you and all of you are under the protection of Queen Areselia." A secret worry crept into her voice. She knew: she was saving only fragments of former greatness. Now your dying race would have to pass through the red-hot needle of war, caught between human greed and the last breath of Lithos.