Elves (2)

When one imagines fantasy, one race inevitably comes to mind: elves.

Renowned for their love of nature, both their men and women possess breathtaking beauty capable of toppling nations. They boast innate mana affinity, formidable magical prowess, peerless archery, and physical grace that allows them to glide effortlessly through the highest treetops.

Endowed with gentle, peaceful dispositions, they have long been objects of universal admiration—a striking contrast to the violent, bloodthirsty nature typical of demonkin.

Though countless scholars refer to them as a race blessed by the gods, perfection does not exist in this world.

Their greatest flaw was an exceedingly stagnant, rigid society and culture.

Elves enjoyed lifespans several times longer than other races. While countless mortal dynasties rose, prospered, and crumbled into dust, Alvenheim endured in tranquil isolation. When other species—especially humans—scrambled desperately to outdo one another, the elves stubbornly clung to the status quo. And why shouldn't they? Living that way had never caused them the slightest inconvenience. Even when demonkin occasionally ran amok, the holy realm of El Dorado had always stepped in to resolve it.

Inherently near perfection, blessed with longevity, and universally idolized by other species, elves were consequently the very last race to establish an organized civilization. Under ordinary circumstances, they had felt no compelling reason to advance. After all, an individual elf was naturally far stronger than any wild beast or roaming monster.

In truth, the elves had merely cobbled together emergency countermeasures once humanity and other rising races emerged as genuine existential threats. Of course, enacting sudden administrative shifts had done nothing to alleviate their deeply rooted social rigidity. If anything, codifying order into law had only ossified their conservatism; once an elven policy was etched into precedent, no one dreamed of overturning it—a stark divergence from demonkin, who constantly innovated their culture in pursuit of novel indulgences.

To call them the undisputed champions of the chosen-people complex was hardly an exaggeration. Having been revered across generations, an inherent sense of superiority was woven into their very marrow. And because their natural gifts genuinely bordered on perfection, that arrogant tendency only hardened with time. As a result, insolent, completely unhinged elitists emerged from their ranks with alarming frequency—a reality evident to anyone who spent five minutes speaking with an average elf.

As the rose-tinted glasses gradually shattered, public perception shifted irrevocably. Elves fell from their pedestal as a transcendent master race, demoted in the eyes of the world to mere vain narcissists blessed with sculpted bodies and pretty faces. Stripped of their mystique, only their flaws remained in sharp relief, giving rise to an endless stream of derogatory slurs.

To make matters worse, the current Elf Queen had recently ascended the throne and begun aggressively pushing her continent-wide tree-planting crusade, driving their reputation into the absolute gutter. While the demonkin kept their debauchery to themselves without meddling in foreign affairs, the Elf Queen had dealt a critical, devastating blow to whatever goodwill remained for her kind.

What kind of sovereign was she to champion such fanaticism?

In broad terms, she could be characterized as an enlightened monarch destined to be immortalized in Alvenheim's annals. More importantly, this was not past history—it was an ongoing reality. Her domestic approval rating bordered on religious veneration; every elf in the realm stood ready to follow her bidding, thoroughly enthralled by her charismatic rule.

The Elf Queen's most potent weapon was her uncanny ability to forge collective unity. Though elves had eventually established a civilization, nationwide solidarity had historically eluded them. Their loose affiliation had always leaned toward a reluctant compromise: Other races threaten us, so I suppose we should band together. Furthermore, their calcified culture meant that internal disputes rarely found meaningful resolution. They were, in essence, a fragile house of cards—a stark contrast to humanity, whose primal instinct was to coalesce into a fist purely to survive.

How had the Elf Queen managed to solve this chronic flaw? Had it been achieved through shrewd political maneuvering alone?

"Why call a national address out of nowhere?"

"No idea. Do you think something went wrong?"

"I haven't sensed any trouble."

In Yggdrasil, the capital city of Alvenheim, a grand metropolis built around the monumental trunk of the World Tree at its heart, whispers rippled through the gathered crowd. The colossal canopy covering the sky inspired instinctive awe. Ordinarily, such an immense roof of foliage would cast the earth into perpetual twilight, but the World Tree defied mundane reality. Its lush emerald leaves allowed sunlight to pass through completely unobstructed, bathing the marble streets in warm, golden radiance—a sight defying mortal logic, yet utterly familiar to the elves who called it home.

"Her Majesty must have something important to announce. By the way, did you watch the match yesterday?"

"I did. I nearly choked on my own bile from sheer frustration! If I were the manager, I never would've run that play."

"What can you do? That stubbornness is our racial curse. If not for the Queen, a tactical change like that would've taken another year to review."

"If not for the Queen, competitive sports wouldn't even exist in this country."

Historically, Alvenheim had been known as a breathtakingly beautiful yet thoroughly mundane land. Until the Queen's coronation, that reputation had been entirely accurate: void of vibrant leisure, populated by elves whose pastimes were quaint to the point of tedium. Had her open-door policies not shaken the foundations, Alvenheim would have remained frozen in place forever.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvv!

As the elves gathered across the plaza chatted amongst themselves, an artificial hum—a calculated resonance designed to command absolute focus—echoed across the expanse.

[Her Majesty the Queen is ascending the podium.]

The crystal-clear voice of a herald rang out through amplification magic, drawing every gaze toward the towering stage erected at the center of the plaza. A lone figure mounted the steps.

Clack— clack—

In the hush that blanketed the square, only the crisp, elegant rhythm of her footsteps resounded.

Her golden hair flowed like spun sunlight, luminous and rich. She wore a pristine white gown that was both exquisitely graceful and daringly cut, revealing glimpses of fair, porcelain skin. Even among elves—a race synonymous with divine elegance—her beauty stood without equal. And in striking juxtaposition to her youthful, delicate countenance, her figure blossomed with mature, breathtaking allure.

She was, in every sense of the word, a true sovereign.

"……."

The Elf Queen swept her gaze across the multitude, her lips curving into a gentle, benevolent smile that carried a spark of youthful, almost mischievous charm. As the elves fell under the spell of her presence, she broke the silence.

"First, allow me to express my heartfelt gratitude to all of you for gathering here on such short notice."

Resting a slender hand over her heart, she bowed with humble reverence. Her unpretentious grace melted away whatever lingering resentment lingered among the crowd. When their sovereign herself offered an earnest apology, no grievance could endure. All that remained was curious anticipation.

"I have summoned you here for a single purpose. We are, at long last, ready."

"Ready?"

"What does she mean, ready?"

Murmurs rippled across the square. The Queen waited patiently for the commotion to subside, the serene smile remaining upon her lips as if she had foreseen this exact reaction.

"I imagine many of you are puzzled. You wonder how we could be ready when we haven't prepared anything. Yet I say to you today—"

She paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the air, before her voice rang out with ringing conviction.

"We are ready to take our first step forward!"

Her gentle tone vanished, replaced by the resolute steel of a commander rallying her forces. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides as she leaned into the crowd.

"I put this question to you all! Across all the ages, what have we elves achieved among the races of this world?"

"……."

"Did we build the first civilization like the humans? Did we pioneer the frontiers of science like the dwarves? Did we advance high culture and arts like the demonkin? Did we establish universal democracy like the beastfolk?"

Not a single voice answered. Had not the cynics mocked them? Calling elves an incompetent species possessing nothing save their pretty faces.

Because there was uncomfortable truth in the barb, no one could open their mouth.

"We achieved nothing! Even this colossal World Tree above our heads is merely a gift bestowed upon us by the gods; we did not plant or cultivate it through our own will! We were the very last race on this continent to build a civilization!"

She drove the dagger deep into their collective shame. It was a brutal critique to utter before her own subjects, yet her gaze never wavered.

"Many call us a perfect race. But I reject that notion! We are far from perfect! In truth, we have been more indolent and complacent than any other race on this earth!"

A relentless barrage of harsh reality battered the square. Just as quiet discontent began to stir, she shattered it with an impassioned roar.

"However! That ends today! Look at what we have achieved in recent years! Our children, who once knew nothing but the solitary bow and blade, now laugh and run together across playing fields! The wares and crafts forged from the World Tree's blessings are journeying to the farthest corners of the globe! Our scholars have broken their seclusion, their discoveries echoing across international academies!"

Her fists trembled with fervor as she poured her soul into the speech. Her youthful face, framed by innocent emerald eyes brimming with visionary fire, radiated an infectious hope that gradually coaxed smiles back onto the faces of her people.

"We are not perfect! We were merely born close to perfection! Blessed as the gods' most cherished children, we grew drunk on arrogance!"

"……."

"Only recently, at the divine behest of the heavens, the First Paladin descended upon El Dorado! That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠miracle proves beyond doubt that the gods still watch over this world!"

Slowly unfurling her clenched fingers, she lifted her palms toward the heavens in a gesture of sacred offering. Instinctively, every elf in the plaza tilted their chin upward, their eyes tracking her movement toward the canopy of the World Tree sheltering them from above.

"We are not perfect! If we were truly whole, the gods would never have gifted us the World Tree in the first place! In their eyes, we are still crawling infants!"

She leaned forward once more, her gaze blazing.

"We have crawled upon the earth for far too long. The time has come for us to stand tall and walk!"

To throw off the shackles of stagnation and stride boldly into tomorrow.

"Yet every child stumbles a hundred times before mastering its first steps. We will fall. We will bleed. We will know pain. But that is acceptable—because we are not perfect!"

"……."

"One step! Just one single step! How many centuries has it taken us to summon the courage for that stride?"

Her cadence was masterfully controlled, weaving between soaring passion and intimate vulnerability. It was a peerless oratory gift that held every soul captive in the palm of her hand.

"We are not perfect. Even as I speak, other races are not merely walking—they are sprinting! To catch up to them may feel impossible. But that does not matter! Even if we crawl at the pace of a tortoise, our destination remains the same!"

Inhaling deeply, the Elf Queen unleashed a proclamation that shook the very square.

"To make Alvenheim, blessed with the sacred World Tree, great again!"

"……!"

"Though our feet may falter! Though we lag behind our rivals! Though we remain flawed and imperfect!"

The thunderous fervor gradually subsided into a quiet, solemn whisper that resonated more deeply than any shout.

"We shall stand united under the proud name of 'Elves,' and we will achieve our destiny."

"……."

"We are not perfect. And neither am I."

Elijah Mary Yggdrasil bowed her head once more, her voice thick with earnest longing.

"Therefore, I beg of you all."

This was the secret behind how a fractured, indifferent society had transformed into a unified nation—Elijah's hypnotic rhetorical genius, and above all...

"So that Alvenheim may be made great."

...giving her people an undeniable, burning purpose to live for.

"Will you walk with me?"

And beneath the eternal leaves of the World Tree, Alvenheim finally began to awaken.