Morimer was born in a dwindling elven enclave that survives by staying quiet and staying useful. The old songs claim elves were once closer to the world’s first magic—when words had weight, names had power, and the boundary between story and history was thin. He grew up in an age where myths are mostly warnings, and every generation seems to lose a little more ground.

As a youth he showed talent for spellwork that wasn’t delicate or scholarly—it was practical. The elders wanted poets and ward-weavers; Morimer wanted to learn the spells that kept him alive and destroyed potential threats to his friends and loved ones.

So he apprenticed under a veteran mage—someone who believed magic should be measured, repeatable, and ready.