Elves are a race riddled with problems in many ways. They live for a span of time nigh unto eternity, and because of that, they are beings who can too lightly touch upon realms that humanity could never reach. That very omnipotence became their shackles.
No matter how omnipotent they may be, a mage in the end is one who carries the blood of the primordial outer god—the mage of the Deep Sea. In the end, the elves who reached the heavens paid the price.
The Fall.
And they realized that this price was merely a matter of time, a fate that every elf would eventually meet. They chose flight. They cast aside all their power and their lives, placing their own leash into the hands of another.
Leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.
"...She's completely intact."
"That is so. It would not do to leave the supervision of the trial to a mere husk."
Azrael spoke nonchalantly, gazing with emotionless eyes at Linmel, who could not so much as stir. I stared blankly at the scene for a moment, then frowned.
"You deceived me."
"What nonsense are you spouting?"
"You make it sound like a test. You expect me to face a mage who has reached 9-Star as if she were human? It means you had no intention of evaluating me from the start."