First Witnesses, Silent Judges, Living Constants
The dragons of Ortherios predate the age of gods, empires, and sanctified thrones. They were not created to rule, nor to serve. They emerged as witnesses—beings whose existence anchored reality as it formed. Where mortals would later define good and evil through doctrine, dragons understood truth as balance, consequence, and continuity.
To a dragon, history is not a story to be told, but a weight to be carried.
They watched the first forests grow, the first flames carve mountains, and the early harmony between elves and demons shape the land. Long before humanity arrived, dragons had already learned the central law of Ortherios: power without restraint destroys itself.
Dragons do not govern Ortherios. They observe it.
Their morality is neither cruel nor indulgent—it is exacting. Dragons believe intervention should be rare, deliberate, and final. To act too often is to become a tyrant. To never act is to become complicit.
Thus, most dragons withdrew to the skies, deep caverns, or remote sanctums, choosing silence over domination. When dragons speak or act openly, it is because something fundamental has broken.
This is why their judgment terrifies gods and mortals alike.
Before the arrival of humanity, dragons recognized the coexistence of elves and demons as a stable equilibrium. Elves shaped forests with reverence. Demons shaped stone and flame through covenant rather than conquest. Dragons observed, approved, and did not interfere.
This era is remembered by dragons as the Last Balanced Age.
They did not rule it—but they guarded it by presence alone.
Humanity arrived bearing banners of righteousness and claims of divine mandate. Dragons watched patiently at first, curious whether mortals could integrate without destruction. What followed instead was sanctified war—forests burned, pacts broken, demon realms shattered in the name of virtue.
Humans declared themselves arbiters of good and evil.
Dragons disagreed.
Yet most did not intervene. To them, humanity had chosen its own test. Dragons would not save mortals from the consequences of their certainty.
That restraint would later become a source of regret.
The human inquisitions learned early that demons could be silenced, rewritten, and erased. Dragons, however, could not.
Attempts to bind, sanctify, or condemn dragons failed catastrophically. Dragon magic does not answer to doctrine, and their authority does not originate from gods. When pressed, dragons withdrew further—becoming myths, warnings, or symbols humanity tried to claim without understanding.
Until Selrithal.
Today, dragons fall into three broad paths:
Ancient dragons who still believe intervention must be rare. They observe, record, and wait—hoping the world corrects itself without draconic judgment.
Dragons who actively protect regions, peoples, or concepts (forests, truth, balance). They intervene quietly, preventing catastrophes without reshaping history outright.
Few in number, these dragons pass judgment openly. Selrithal is the most prominent among them. Arbiters do not rule—they invalidate injustice and leave the aftermath to others.
Dragons do not seek worship.
They do not require belief.
They do not grant miracles lightly.
Their power is not infinite, but it is foundational. Magic bends differently around them. History resists rewriting in their presence. Lies grow brittle when spoken beneath their gaze.
When a dragon chooses a side, the world must reassess itself.
Dragons are gods. — False. Gods rise and fall. Dragons remain.
Dragons hoard gold. — Symbolic at best. Dragons hoard memory.
Dragons are neutral. — Incorrect. Dragons are patient.
Dragons can be silenced. — Humanity learned this was a lie.
Dragons of Ortherios are not saviors, conquerors, or tyrants.
They are constants.
When they move, it is because the world has deviated too far from what it once was—and what it might still become.
And when a silver dragon spreads her wings beside a Demon Queen, it is not rebellion.
It is a verdict.