Upon hearing Samir's words, the Flame Tribe members hesitated for a moment.
A trembling old Elf reluctantly touched the bag in his hand, lifting a corner to reveal several thick, ornate, ancient books.
His voice was full of bitterness,
"These… these are the paper books we risked our lives to bring out from the Elf Forest years ago. They are the millennium heritage of the Elf Clan. If we leave them behind, then the Elves..."
Samir looked at him with a complicated expression and sighed,
"The Mother Goddess has returned; civilization can continue. But if the Elves die, then there will be nothing left."
Philosier touched the thick genealogical record of the Flame Tribe she carried, a muddled tear gleamed at the corner of her eye.
"Alas..."
She sighed, and under the disbelieving gazes of the old Elves, she resolutely threw that heavy genealogical book, which had recorded the history and glory of the Flame Tribe for thousands of years, to the ground...
"Cl...Clan Leader!"
