We are elves, the firstborn sons of the Creator.
I am Fino, my father's eldest son.
As time goes by, our glory will eventually fade away.
The whirlpool of fate flows, and my joys, sorrows, honors and disgrace are no more than dust and foam.
However, that day will eventually come——
The fierce north wind is vaguely the cry of ancient mad songs.
In the vast forest, the figure of the exile is still lingering.
Meteors passed by, and legends remembered the glory of the moment.
The wrathful flames are not extinguished, and the gods gaze upon the burning clouds.
Note:
1. This article is an independent story, and there is no need to read the original works in advance.
2. I weave my own story in a fantasy world that belongs to others, so all rights belong to the original author.