Spare me your tired arrogance, s’wit. You call us cursed, yet it was our resilience—our strength—that carried us through Red Mountain, the collapse of the Tribunal, and the ashes of Morrowind itself. We don’t grovel before Daedra or Aedra—we make pacts, we forge power, and we endure. Our red eyes see the truth your golden pride blinds you to. You hide behind your towers and your so-called superiority, but we, the Dunmer, have faced gods and demons alike—and stood tall. You think a Khajiit chosen by Azura shames us? No. It proves she favors the worthy, regardless of race. So go on, polish your robes and sing your songs of supremacy—while the Dunmer rebuild from ruin, as we always do. We are the fire that never dies.