Ordenians or Zalethi.
Elves or Humans.
Whoever finds this journal, I welcome you to my truth.
When I was told to write down my tale, I resisted. I believed it to be vanity.
Who was I to believe that my life deserved ink?
But then, I understood. If I did not speak for myself, others would. And in their mouths, my tale would twist into legend, into fable, into lies.
So I entrusted this book to one I loved dearly, with instructions to keep it hidden, but never unreachable. I hope, if you read these words now, that the path to this place did not demand too much of you.
...
The world of Aloth has seen many concept-defining events. I was there for most of them.
The day the sky was torn in two and stitched closed again by the power of ten saints.
The day Alkavanesh broke time itself, cursing the world to stumble ever since.
Or a quieter day, when a king fell to the blade I held in bloodied hands, marking the end to a century of war.
There are thousands of such days. Thousands of moments. Thousands of truths. And a thousand pages to write them on.
The road to ending the war between the Ordenians and Zalethi was gruelling but legendary, of that I promise you.
But I will not begin with grandeur.
I will not start with saints or wars.
I will begin with the moment that changed everything.
The day I awakened my core earlier than all others.
The day my journey truly began.