The elves remember for a long, long time; their grudges almost as long as their lives. Their vanity and pride even stronger. How is it that petty squabbles last long, so long that to us it last a lifetime? We starve while they live in lavish homes, mansions earned in but a fraction of life. To them but a few weeks, to us but years. Is there no fairness in this world? Justice? We can work for our whole lives yet still starve; while they can work for but a fraction rich. Why has no one stood up to their great greed? Because we can barely feed ourselves now; how will we fight. We are but fodder here.

If we wage war we will surely die first, perhaps with innovation we can fight. Perhaps underground we can innovate. There are rumors of rebelion young, but a few at this point yet with promise. Tensions rise with the hour, tears are spilled. The starving mother feeding their child, they will become symbols of our great change. Were the elves a mistake? Called a cancer, a blight upon our once thriving bright world. Once a of promise, now greed, scarcity. My father always hated the old elves, my grandfather grew to hate them as well. We were better off, but what is better? What is better when everyone starves.

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We are reaching an inflection point now, a deciding point where we will see what… What will become of the humans, of us. I see no path to coexist, at least... at least for much longer than what we have…

“Like water just below boiling point, all it takes is a small match in the flame. We wait for that match, we prepare for that...”