Artie stared up at the high elf in front of her and instantly, her temperature rose several degrees.
All her life, high elves had been the bane of the wood elves' existence. They had systematically culled their population, bullied them into submission, and ruthlessly killed any promising elf.
Although Artie seemed exceptional, she was one of the least powerful nobles from her generation several years ago. The rest of them were long dead.
She was angry, livid in fact. But she was far too cool-headed to make a foolish move.
Artie was here to register at the magic tower, not cause a scene that could potentially get her banned from the place.
Besides, the high elf in front of her seemed to be around 150 years old, which was three times her age.
For elven mages and warriors, more often than not, age was usually directly proportional to strength.
Well, except if you were Eliron.
