"We built the first throne from a broken wheel." — Stone inscribed at Mirehold Gate
The Eithari were not gifted godhood. They survived it. Born in the aftermath of fallen dragons and weeping gods, they rose from ruin. They carved their civilization into cliffstone and drought. Their capital, Mirehold, is a city built into pain and memory. They are not defined by greatness—but by refusal to fall.
The most hybrid-prone of all races, Eithari blood mingles easily with demon, elf, or angel.
Traits emerge unexpectedly across generations—proof of survival, not impurity.
Mages are called Stonevoices, Signal-Binders, or Windmouths. They use grief-work as spellwork.
The Eithari do not beg gods. They keep records. Of every fire. Every fall. Every failure that still walked forward.
They are the stone-souled, ghost-armed, the ones who stayed when others fled. Their power is not forgiveness—but remembrance.