In Ortherios, humans are not the default state of civilization — they are its most aggressive interpretation.
They are not the oldest race.
They are not the wisest.
They are not the strongest.
But they are the loudest, the most certain, and the most convinced of their own righteousness.
Humans believe, with absolute certainty, that the world belongs to them.
This belief does not stem from divine mandate, ancient lineage, or natural harmony. It arises instead from a dangerous combination of adaptability, fear, and entitlement. Humans expand rapidly, organize efficiently, and rewrite history faster than most races can respond.
To humans, survival is proof of virtue.
If they thrive, it is because they are right.
If others suffer, it is because those others were flawed.
This logic underpins nearly every human institution in Ortherios.
Human religions overwhelmingly teach that humanity is chosen — not always explicitly by name, but implicitly through doctrine.
Even when gods are absent, dead, or silent, humans continue to act as if divine approval is self-evident. They frame conquest as cleansing, genocide as purification, and exclusion as protection of “the natural order.”
Anything non-human is, at best:
A deviation
A temptation
A tolerated aberration
And at worst:
A blasphemy
A corruption
A mistake that must be corrected
The more monstrous something appears, the easier it is for humans to justify violence against it. Ironically, the less monstrous it appears, the more they resent it — for daring to resemble them.
Humans live short lives, and this fact shapes everything they do.
Where elves wait, humans act.
Where demons calculate, humans charge.
Where others consider consequence, humans demand immediacy.
This urgency breeds innovation — but also recklessness.
Human empires burn brightly and briefly, leaving behind scorched borders, broken treaties, and unresolved grudges. They rarely endure long enough to witness the full consequences of their actions, and thus never learn restraint.
Each generation inherits the benefits of conquest and the lies that justify it.
Humans do not merely distrust non-humans.
They hate them.
Not always openly. Not always violently. But persistently.
The presence of demons, beastfolk, Glimmerkin, undead, or mixed-blood individuals is perceived as an affront — a reminder that humanity is not singular, not central, not supreme.
Places like Vorheim horrify human authorities not because they are dangerous, but because they work.
Coexistence undermines the human narrative.
If demons can live peacefully beside humans, then the crusades were unnecessary.
If monsters can show mercy, then righteousness becomes questionable.
If humanity is not special, then what justifies its dominance?
To avoid this existential doubt, humans choose hatred.
Human laws are rigid when applied outward and flexible when applied inward.
Crimes committed by non-humans are evidence of inherent corruption.
Crimes committed by humans are “tragic necessities,” “isolated incidents,” or “divine tests.”
Human justice systems are less concerned with truth than with reinforcing hierarchy. The guilty are often decided before the trial begins, especially if the accused does not look human enough to deserve doubt.
This selective morality is not accidental — it is cultural survival.
Beneath the arrogance lies fear.
Humans fear:
Being replaced
Being judged
Being revealed as ordinary
They fear beings who live longer, see farther, or remember more. They fear demons not because demons are cruel, but because demons do not need to pretend.
Humans cling to moral absolutism because nuance threatens their self-image.
If the world is complex, then they might be wrong.
And that is unacceptable.
Not all humans are monsters.
Many are kind. Many are brave. Many are capable of compassion that rivals any other race.
But humanity as a system rewards cruelty, elevates certainty, and punishes dissent.
Those who question doctrine are branded heretics.
Those who seek coexistence are labeled traitors.
Those who empathize too much are crushed by their own people.
Thus, the cycle continues.
To demons, humans are dangerous children with weapons.
To Aurelen, they are a volatile variable.
To beings like Vix’ke, they are an ongoing audit with mounting debt.
Humanity is not evil because it hates.
Humanity is evil because it refuses to doubt itself.
In Ortherios, humanity is not the hero race.
It is the race that believes it should be.
And that belief has shaped the world into something broken —
one crusade, one city, one righteous lie at a time.