"No, my daughter, there is power beyond the throne. Mere birthright may not feel a satisfying arbiter, a strict hand emerging from a shadowed pit of oblique tradition and forgotten history such as it is. But though you will not wield the power that I have, we Israti are always destined to bask in the grace of the Light," he muses, never deigning to glance your way as the two of you wend through hallways lit by the sun-sculpted visages of your ancestors cast in stained glass, yourself trailing in his shadow. "Our living kin are ever the delta of a mighty river, grander in scope than we could know.

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